SHERMAN WHISTLES WHILE HE WORKS Chapter One: Back To The Grind
It's hot and muggy as I sit in my room at the Extended Stay here in Cincinnati. The air conditioning hasn't kicked in yet, but the fan is blowing hard, filling the room with white noise and billowing out the drapes near the foot of the bed, letting in flashes of evening sun that I don't particularly want to see. The freezer compartment in the tiny fridge is jammed with as many cans of Tecate as I could fit, and I'm taking occasional pulls from a pint of Jim Beam while I stare at the television and wait for the beer to get cold, chasing the booze with a bottle of Vitamin Water and a heap of regret.
It had been three lonely days on the road, one more 'job' that I didn't want to do. Another poor soul on ice and a big chunk of mine chipped off in the process...
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I had just returned from my Oklahoma City trip with cash in my pocket and some time on my hands. I was looking forward to some rest and relaxation. As I napped in the cool of my basement, the windows covered with cardboard to block the afternoon sun, my cell phone chirped, flashed blue. It was my boss. I was hoping that I wouldn't be hearing from him for a couple of weeks. At least. A month would have been even better. I picked up the phone.
“Sherman?”
“Yeah.”
“Chop chop.”
That was it. No detailed conversations over the phone and I understood my end of the deal. The routine was always the same. Two hours later I was sitting on the patio at Mr. B's drinking a cold one when he walked up to me and dropped a manila envelope on the table. “Order me a Long Island,” he said. “I've got to hit the head.”
I snagged the waitress, a thirty-something dishwater blond with a ponytail and too much makeup, placed his drink order and peeked inside the envelope. There must have been some mistake. The photo of the target this time was a woman. A young, pretty one. I folded the flap back down, secured it with the clasp and waved at the waitress again. “Hey,” I said. She came back, a sour look on her face. It was a beautiful late summer afternoon, a glorious Friday, the sun was below the buildings and we were sitting in the long shadows, a cloudless blue sky above and a cooling breeze blowing out of the north along Main Street. All the tables were packed with thirsty folks celebrating the end of their work week. The waitress was busy, and the look in her eye let me know I was making her life more difficult. “Sorry, dear,” I said, “but I'm also gonna need a nice healthy shot of Patron, the silver if you've got it.”
“You need training wheels?” she asked, enthusiastically chewing her gum as she talked, working the gum hard, then cracking it loud to punctuate her question.
“Not necessary,” I said shaking my head.
Blondie left without saying anything else and I absently watched her ass bounce until she disappeared through the doorway.
“So, how's it going, Sherman?” said the boss when he came back.
“Not bad, Boss,” I said. I didn't know his real name. That much was necessary, but the prick actually seemed to enjoy being called 'Boss'. I didn't really care one way or the other, but sometimes it bothered me that he always called me 'Sherman'. It reminded me of High School gym class and a couple of nasty beatings I suffered at the hands of older bullies. The waitress came back with the drinks and he tossed her an easy, confident smile, lots of white teeth, looked her up and down. He was dressed to the nines, always was. A tan Italian suit, black silk shirt, no tie. Sandy hair combed straight back, not one strand out of place in spite of the breezy conditions.
“Thank you, baby,” he said to the waitress, looking her straight in the eye.
“You're welcome,” she said, returning his smile and nearly spilling my shot when she set it down.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I'm gonna need another beer, too.” She looked at me with the same eyes as before...the mean ones, then gave her gum another crack, grabbed my empty bottle, smiled at Boss and waltzed her ass away.
“I looked at the photo,” I told him when she was gone. “This one just ain't my thing. I think I'll pass.”
He took a sip of his Long Island. “Ahhh... now that hits the spot,” he said. He looked around, tipped his sunglasses down and peeked over them at a tanned blond walking by wearing a short skirt that exposed her shapely bare legs. Boss craned his neck to follow her down the sidewalk, spoke to me with his head turned. “I'm afraid you don't have a lot of choice on this one, Sherman. It comes down from the higher ups.”
“You can't get somebody else to do it?” I asked.
“I'm afraid not. But hey, it pays great. This one's major league, not that penny ante shit we started you out with. Sure, it's a little trickier and there's some dirty work involved,” he said turning back to look at me, “but it'll be good experience for you. You'll thank me later.”
“I doubt it,” I said.
“Oh, I think you will. There's a new I.D. and a matching credit card with a three grand limit in the envelope for expenses up front... rental car, food, incidentals, hotel. Make sure you stay some place shitty, by the way. Don't attract any attention. When this baby's in the can, you'll get forty grand in cash from the man.”
“Forty grand?” My biggest payday so far had been eight thousand.
“I told you you'd thank me.”
The waitress came back with my beer and Boss slurped down the last of his drink, noisily sucking at the empty glass through the straw. “You need another one, Hon?” she asked him with sugar in her voice. He stood up, towered over her by a foot and a half, looked down and smiled.
“Uh uh, baby. I gotta run. But you take care of my man here,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder and indicating me with a wave of his other hand. “Adios, Sherman.” A casual salute and he was gone.
The next afternoon I was eight hours into my drive to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, gingerly piloting the tan Chevy minivan I'd rented through torrential rain along the turnpike at the base of the mountains, four ways flashing, the wipers slapping across the windshield almost as fast as my poor heart was beating.
