Snitch Factory: A Novel (6 page)

“
Chica,
what is this?” he asked.

Me, I burst into tears, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to tattle on myself. I’d never confess; it was my secret, not his. My darkness, not his world.

 

Closing time found me zipping up my skirt in the women’s bathroom. There’d been a discharge on my panties. This was to be expected: I’d been eating lots of sweets lately. Cookies, ice cream, carrot cake, chocolate muffins. If I wasn’t cautious, I’d come down with a yeast infection. On my way out of the can, I bumped into Bart Rubio.

“Hey, girl!”

“Yeah?”

“You know I got my hepatitis C test results back.”

“Well, what were they?”

“Take a guess.”

“C’mon, give.”

“Negative.”

“Congratulations.”

“You gonna party with us later?”

“Maybe.”

“Why can’t you just commit yourself to it?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you in an hour.”

With Rubio gone, I was alone. The building had emptied out, as if someone had pulled the plug with everyone swirling down the drain. Some went to catch the bus home, others to get rides from their spouses.

So you can imagine my surprise when I entered the cubicle and discovered Eldon was going through my desk drawers. The idiot was so enthralled with his search, he
didn’t even hear me come in. I settled back on my aching arches, motionless, intrigued, content to watch him.

The janitor’s white hair was luminous, near-blinding in the overhead light. He was rummaging methodically through the top drawer, the one below it and its successor with the zest of a man who knew what he was hunting for.

He wouldn’t find much. I could’ve stopped him and told him to conserve his energy. But I enjoyed watching him bend over my desk.

Eldon’s neck was crisscrossed with vintage acne scars. He wore a chambray work shirt, boots with soggy neoprene soles, and Wrangler jeans. I wondered what he smelled like between his legs, down there in the morass of his crotch. It had to be musty, with ghost ships for testicles and a toothpick for a cock. He ransacked the drawers, jettisoning their meager contents onto the floor, and went through the wastepaper basket. Lastly, he perused the hill of applications on my desk.

I had to hold back a smile. I knew what Eldon wanted, but he was rooting about in my house. Should I close the doggie door on him, and listen to his agonized groans?

One day, he’d come to his senses and understand. It was me he desired; not the paraphernalia of my job or the trappings of my power, and certainly not my paperwork. What he wanted was an explanation of why he hated me. But he could never have that from me, never.

“That’s enough, Eldon.”

He practically jumped out of his boots at the sound of my voice. Every blood vessel in his lime-green eyes had contracted, methedrine-crazed, when he saw me. I read in his stare the superstitious putz had actually thought he’d seen a demon, a hobgoblin.

“Fuck, Charlene! Don’t ever do that again!”

“Excuse me. Next time, I’ll knock first, okay?”

“You took a few years off my life.”

I was delighted. That I could scare him so deeply made me feel better about myself. The same way a judiciously planned and executed foray of shoplifting improves one’s self-esteem.

“Eldon, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing? Weren’t you supposed to go home already?”

“If I have to work around the clock, I’ll be here.”

“I thought the union made you go home at five-thirty.”

That was an impoverished riposte on his part. I could hardly contain my scorn. There were more clever things to say, but I decided to operate at Eldon’s level.

“Okay. Let’s take this one from the top. I’m here because it’s my office, you shit. What’s your alibi?”

Eldon winced admirably. “You should have left by now. It’s after six o’clock.”

About three years ago in an altruistic mood, I had personally intervened to get him off the dole rolls and into a training program, which resulted in his present job. That was all very cute and perky, but to find him fucking around in my office was galling. Why did he detest me? How obvious: I’d helped him when he didn’t want it, and this was the payback.

When I saw the welcome mat of his chest hair above the collar of his shirt, the bobbing of his adam’s apple and his desperate mouth, I had to love Eldon for the choices he’d made. What a talented man. I said to him, unkindly, “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Don’t just stand there. Speak up for yourself, damn it! I could make a lot of trouble for you!”

This was not a good time for him. He wouldn’t be able
to look back over the scrapbook of memories that comprised the greater part of his adult life to see this caper as a victor y.

“It was an accident. I, ah, had to do some cleaning. That’s why I’m here.”

“Is that so? You made your move, now tell me what it’s about.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, Charlene. I was just tidying things up.”

“But who gave you the right to do this when I wasn’t here?”

“Nobody did. I’m a janitor. I can go anywhere I want to.”

“I’m gonna ask you again. Why are you doing this? Did somebody tell you to?”

He whined, “C’mon, you’re making more of this than you have to.”

I could neither extol nor repudiate the man; he would tell me zilch. Eldon saw the expression in my eyes, and like a pet when it sees its master acting strange, he turned sideways and began to whimper.

“You aren’t going to say anything about this, are you?”

“Is that all you’re concerned with? Aw, for fuck’s sake, I don’t give a shit who knows about this or not.”

“What are you gonna do with me?”

“How the hell do I know?”

If you’ve ever wanted to hit someone out of spiteful frustration, hit them proper and solid; you know that dishing out physical punishment is the best method to get rid of emotional discomfort.

However, I couldn’t slug Eldon, no matter how bilious I felt. I was right on the border of it, but that would’ve been counter-productive. He wasn’t that much taller than
me and somehow this made me pity him. The pecker saw me wavering and he took advantage of it.

“Let me go, please. It won’t happen again.”

“Uh huh.”

“C’mon, Charlene.”

“Swear on it? You won’t go apeshit on me like this again?”

“Cross my heart and swear to die, homegirl.”

“Get out,” I pointed at the door. “And don’t ever come back.”

He swallowed once, then flung himself past me, leaving a bank of stale sweat and Thrifty Drugstore aftershave wafting behind him. My papers were strewn across the entire cubicle. Eldon had been diligent in his task. It would take me an hour or so to put everything away. I scratched my head, and got down on my hands and knees under the desk.

H
arry Hendrix was at the bar with a few of the others, Simmons, Rubio and Vukovich. The bartender was getting pickled, which made her friendly, and she was trading jokes with the guys.

Harry parked his elbows on the bar top, took his drink and held it up to the light, then said to me, “You know what? You’re dick whipped.”

My fellow social worker’s eyes resembled boiled eggs. Since I didn’t like eggs, I had to look away. Hendrix saw everything in polarized terms and took that for cowardice on my part. He said, “You’re going to get hurt. Getting married over and over, it’s an invitation to disaster.”

“I like my husband, Harry. He’s been kind to me, and he pays his own bills. My other husbands, they got me into hock. Have you ever been in debt? I hate it worse than getting a pap smear. I was at the pawnshop every other Friday. Anyway, when was the last time a woman was good to you? Do you remember?”

“Don’t ask, Charlene. Don’t ask.”

“Then don’t banter with me about that stuff.”

“Never mind then, but what’s eating at you?”

“What do you know about this Eldon Paskins?”

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, curious because he couldn’t recognize the name.

“The janitor. The guy who looks like an albino Charles Bronson.”

“I don’t know. We don’t talk. What would I say to him? You know, there’s people I don’t relate to, and he hasn’t made that much of an impression on me. What about him?”

“He was going through my desk.”

“You saw him do that?”

“Got him in the middle of it.”

“Have him arrested.”

“For that? What for?’

“At least get him fired. You should tell Gerald.”

“Yeah, right.”

“If you don’t want to do that, then don’t fuck with it, and don’t let it bring you down. We’re here to have a good time. Bart tested negative. There’s no greater victory in this life. Let’s drink to that.”

“We can drink to a lot of things. What about that woman you were seeing?”

“The chiropractor?”

“Yeah, her. Weren’t you talking about getting hitched?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“Liar. You chickened out.”

In the dim, Vaselined light of Clooney’s, Hendrix’s skin made me think of yesterday’s macaroni. Simmons was playing pinball. Rubio had gone over to another table to flirt with a couple of thirty-or-something ladies. Clooney’s was a nice place. It had a horseshoe-shaped bar, a football scoreboard on the wall, and a kitchen that served meatloaf and salisbury steak. A furry mutt was sleeping under a
video machine. I was on my third beer, and we’d been in there for only fifteen minutes.

In the back near the toilets, Vukovich was smooching with this babe that I’d never seen before. He picked her up from the floor, as he was at least a foot taller than her, and she was french kissing him like a doe at a salt lick.

“That’s the pre-op he’s been seeing,” Harry said, blinking at Vukovich. “She’s from Vietnam, but no one knows that. It’s a secret.”

“What’s the secret?”

“She’s got no papers. She stays on Lexington Street near you. Matt says the ethnic Chinese on the block hate her. He’s worried they’ll turn her in to the INS.”

Simmons put a dozen quarters into the jukebox and singles by the Ike and Tina Turner Revue, the Isley Brothers, the Flamingos and Johnnie Taylor started ripping through the bar’s speaker system, one after another. This inspired Bart to strip off his shirt and to pirouette in a circle, shouting that he wanted to dance. I knew Harry was mad at me because of what I’d said, about him being afraid. That’s why he started yelling at Rubio.

“Hey, Bart! Put your shirt back on, you dweeb!”

Rubio heard him and without ceasing to shake his hips from side to side, hoping to impress the ladies with his dancing expertise, he flipped Harry the bird.

Hendrix chugged away at his beer, then smacked his lips with a certain kind of prescience like he was going to say something important.

“Charlene.”

“What?”

“I want to get away from the city. Take it easy. Go some place where I can have a break.”

“You want to leave San Francisco?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t I want to move somewhere else?”

“Where would you go? San Jose?”

“Nah, not that far. Maybe Oakland.”

“Gertrude Stein used to live there.”

“Who’s that? A broad you know? Why don’t you introduce me to her?”

“For one, she’s not your type, and anyway, you’re not leaving town, Hendrix.”

“The fuck I’m not. The rent is too high over here.”

I finished my beer and thought about having sexual intercourse in a field of flowers. What kind of flowers, I didn’t care. Getting loaded pushed me outside the circle of life, pushed me nearer to the other world and closer to eternity. “Harry,” I said. “I’ll make a bet with you.”

My co-worker’s face lighted up like a Christmas tree in a suburban living room window during the holidays. “Yeah? What for?”

“To see who stays in San Francisco longer, you or me.”

“For how much?”

“Ten bucks.”

“Don’t be a cheapskate.”

“Okay, twenty-five bucks.”

“Consider it done, Mrs. Hassler.”

Having successfully removed his slacks, Bart Rubio was doing a striptease to the catcalls of the other patrons. He was about to pull off his jockey shorts when the bartender scolded him.

The women Rubio had been flirting with departed, re-affirming my belief that unless social workers are married, they never have sex, which makes them drink more than ever. I asked Harry if he wanted to go get something to eat, maybe a taco. It felt like someone had made a Cesarean
incision across my stomach, and with the three beers in me, I was getting dizzy. Before Hendrix could respond to my suggestion, Rubio turned yellow and threw up, splattering the black and green floor tiling with a deluge of watery barf.

Clooney’s was filling up with its usual after-dinner blue collar customers. It was a signal that me and my boys should be heading out. The guys and gals who worked in the factories around South San Francisco by day didn’t like to drink with us social workers. But Vukovich had gone over to help Bart and Simmons was moping by the video machine, jangling the spare change in his pockets. Harry turned to me and asked, “You want another drink?”

Hendrix’s lips were moving; saying no would have insulted him. Those idle threats he made about leaving the city; the poor schmuck had nowhere to go. This was it for him, the Mission. I looked down at my watch. I should’ve been home an hour ago. “Sounds good to me,” I said.

The crooked smile on Harry’s seamed visage was worth every second of the sacrifice I would make. Cantankerous or not, it didn’t take much to please him. “Two vodka doubles with Bud chasers,” he told the bartender.

While we drank, Harry talked and I daydreamed about my first years on the job. According to Petard, my star had been rising along with his. At a private meeting, just between the two of us, he’d explained himself to me.