The Flu 1/2 (5 page)

Tom spoke slowly and seriously to his daughter, Dylan. “Up...sell.”

Dylan nodded and gave a thumbs up. “Upsell. Got it.”

“No, you don’t. You’re pacifying me,” Tom snapped. “Let’s review.”

“Daddy, let’s not,” Dylan complained as she stood before the video counter. She shifted her eyes toward Mick who, as usual, was leaning against the counter. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Dylan asked Mick. “Like eating donuts or something?”

“You’re killing me,” Mick said.

“Leave the law alone,” Tom told her. “Back to this.” He pointed to the display case. “The name of the game is suggestive selling. Do you realize you are my only employee who never sells anything but video rentals?”

“We rent videos.”

“What is this?” Tom asked.

“Candy and stuff.”

“Candy and stuff.” Tom rolled his eyes. “Looks to me like a bit more than videos. I put them here for a reason, Dylan. What would that reason be?”

“To sell?” Dylan asked.

“Exactly. Do you sell this stuff?”

“Nobody ever wants to buy on my shift.” She shrugged. “What can I do?”

“Up...sell,” Tom reiterated. “Suggest a candy bar, a bag of popcorn. Suggest something. I have to move this merchandise before I get the special items in for when Lars arrives. Now, Joey does real good.”

“Joey is a teenager who buys the candy himself,” Dylan said.

“Still it’s a sale on his shift. That’s why he’s my best employee.”

“I should be your best employee. I’m your daughter.”

“I don’t play favorites. Now...” Tom stepped back, “get behind the counter again, and let me see your sales technique.”

“Oh, this is really lame.” Dylan folded her arms and walked back to her ‘behind the counter’ position.

“Smile,” Tom instructed. “And practice here on Chief Owens.”

“Christ,” Dylan complained. “He’s our worst customer.”

“Hey,” Mick snapped in defense. “And I believe you shouldn’t be swearing in front of patrons. Should she, Mr. Roberts?”

“Absolutely not,” Tom said. “Especially blasphemy. Now, go on Mick. Approach the counter.”

Mick hurried to the back, snatched a movie, walked back to the counter and laid it down. He flashed a grin.

After hesitating, Dylan played along. “Video card, please.”

Mick handed it to her.

Dylan shifted her eyes at her father’s whispering, “Upsell.”

She looked back at Mick. “Care for any candy?”

“No. Just the video,” Mick said.

Dylan huffed. “Dad.”

Tom tossed up his hand. “You didn’t convince me. I wouldn’t buy from you either. Try again.”

Irritated by Mick’s snarky smile, Dylan started to get antsy, but she tried to appease her father. “You know, Chief Owens, we have your favorite chocolate covered peanuts. Mmm. How about a box?”

“Nah. Just the video.”

Grunting, Dylan grabbed the video. “Fine, that gut of yours doesn’t need candy anyhow.”

“What gut!” Mick blasted.

“Dylan,” Tom scolded, “I don’t believe insulting the customer works.”

Snidely, Mick leaned down closer to Dylan. “Tell you what...”

“Oh, boy.” She rolled her eyes.

“I will come in here,” Mick continued, “every single night you’re working....”

“You do anyhow.”

“Let me finish.” Mick held up his hand. “I’ll come in here every night, video rental or not, and buy something from you if...if you’ll....” The sound of the door opening didn’t silence Mick as much as the sight of Sam walking in did.

“Hey, Dylan.” Sam smiled. “Mr. Roberts...Mick.” Sam turned to the counter. “Just brought the boys back.”

“Thanks.” Dylan smiled. “Are they home?”

“Yep. Fed too.” Sam said, nervously. “You know, I have this car to work on, but...I can work on it tomorrow if, you know, you might be in the mood to do the family thing tonight. You, me, the boys, go to Central Park, watch the concert...”

Before Dylan could answer, Tom did. “She can’t. I’m taking the boys to the concert and she’s working until after ten. You’re out of luck.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded. “All right. I’ll come by then.”

“She might be later,” Tom added. “Not that I’ll pay her, she takes so damn long to close the store. Wouldn’t count on it.”

“Still,” Sam shrugged, “I’ll stop by. Do you mind, Dylan?”

Dylan shook her head. “No. If you want.”

“Ok.” Sam smiled. “See you later.” He walked to the door. “Mr. Roberts...Mick.”

Tom kept his eyes on the door until Sam left. “Asshole.”

“Dad!” Dylan gasped.

“Can’t help it, he is,” Tom said.

Mick smiled. “And you wonder why I like your Dad. But....” he tossed his hands up, “guess I’m out of luck. I was gonna see if you wanted to hang out and watch that concert with me.”

Again, before Dylan could respond, Tom did. “Oh, sure she can, Mick. My wife wanted to work tonight anyhow. So come on and pick her up about eight.”

“Dad!” Dylan turned to him. “I can’t afford to lose the hours.”

Mick laughed. “Two hours? Hell, I’ll pay you what you lose.”

“Isn’t that prostitution?” Dylan asked.

“Better to get paid for it, than to give it away.”

“Isn’t that a Lars line?” Mick asked.

“Could be,” Tom answered. “All the good ones are. And speaking of Lars, I have to get on the horn with that dealer. None of Lars’ favorite movies have arrived and he’ll be showing up in a little bit for his month-long visit. Everyone else in town is preparing.”

“Tell me about it,” Mick said. “Heard Jean’s Diner is ordering that Italian desert. Tara-something or other.”

“Tiramisu,” Dylan corrected. “And that’s not what she ordered. She ordered cannelloni.”

“Whatever.” Mick tossed out his hand. “So you going with me or not?”

“Not.” Dylan answered then smiled. “Sure. Why not.”

The door to the video store opened once more, and Tom turned his head. “Ah, Mr. McCaffrey,” he said.

Mick had heard the name, but hadn’t met the man. Not that he wanted to, but when Dylan’s attention quickly shifted from him, he wanted to see the guy. He blinked in surprise when Patrick’s appearance failed to match his name.

“Evening,” Patrick said holding his video case.

“Hi, Patrick.” Dylan smiled while tucking her hair behind her ears in a flirtatious manner.

“Stop that.” Mick pulled her hand down then untucked her hair.

Patrick smiled and laid the case on the counter. “Just wanted to drop this off.”

“Are you...” Dylan tilted her head, “gonna rent something else for maybe you and your wife this evening?”

“My wife?” Patrick asked.

“You know, a woman you possibly live with,” Dylan fished.

“Stop that,” Mick snapped.

Flinging her hand at him to hush him, Dylan smiled again at Patrick. “Video?”

“No. Not tonight,” Patrick answered. “I’m planning on taking in that concert.”

“Possibly with your...girlfriend?” Dylan questioned.

“Stop that,” Mick said again, louder.

“For crying out loud!” Tom’s hand slammed to the counter. “If you want to know, Dylan, just ask the man if he’s involved.”

Horrified, Dylan just wanted to duck behind the counter.

“Mr. McCaffrey” Tom faced him, “are you married?”

“No.” Patrick shook his head.

“Engaged? Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Homosexual lover?”

“Dad!”

Patrick chuckled. “No.”

“So....” Tom continued, “you are an available heterosexual man?”

“Yes.”

“Meet my daughter, Dylan. Estranged from her asshole husband, attractive woman, nice, outgoing....” Just about the point where Tom received a blushing smile from Dylan, he erased it with more rambling. “Nice girl. Good heart. She’s also deeply involved here with....” Tom held out his hand toward Mick, “the Chief of Police. Mr. McCaffrey, meet Mick Owens, our Chief.”

Dylan groaned and slumped.

Mick stood up straight for the first time and extended his hand to Patrick. “Nice to meet you.”

“Whoa.” Patrick looked up. “Remind me not to break the law in this town.”

“Or the next,” Tom added. “And speaking of breaking the law, I have to work on those trial films I want in for Lars. Excuse me.” Tom waved and walked off toward the back of the store.

“Well, I’ll see you tonight.” Just as Patrick started to leave, his eyes skimmed the return cart. “Wait.” He backtracked and pointed. “Is that the new horror flick?”

Dylan looked. “Oh, yeah, just came back.” She lifted it. “Did you want to rent it?”

“You know what?” Patrick said. “Yeah. I’ll watch it after the concert.”

“Great.” Dylan smiled. “Any candy?”

Mick moaned.

“Um...sure. Chocolate covered peanuts.” Patrick pointed.

Dylan snidely shifted her eyes to Mick then grabbed a box. “Four dollars.”

Mick’s attention was caught. “Whoa. Wait. You didn’t ask for his video card.”

“Don’t need to.” Dylan told him. “I know him.”

“You know me and I have to show my card.” Mick argued.

“You’re the worst customer we have.” Dylan returned to Patrick. “Four dollars, please.”

“This isn’t right.” Mick lifted a finger. “And, busy with Lars’ films or not....” he took a step back, “I’m telling.” Turning, Mick walked in the direction Tom had gone.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Dylan replied.

“I’ve been in town a week,” Patrick said, “Everyone is going nuts, getting ready and making arrangements for someone named Lars. Who
is
this Lars guy?”

* * *

Andapa Village

Madagascar, Africa

Lars Rayburn’s shoulder-length hair was at one time considered his most attractive feature, but that was when Lars was under the age of forty. In his fifties, the long blonde hair had become stringy and grey, balding far back at the temples and crown. But Lars didn’t care. A thin man of average height, he never was vain, nor was he one to care what people thought of him. Perhaps that was what made Lars so likeable.

In the humid heat, sweat formed heavily on his chest as Lars, wearing only a pair of tattered white pants, finished his examination of the five-year old boy. He lifted the child, adding a joke in the native language just before handing out candy that could only come from the United States of America.

Pleased, the boy ran away, and the child’s mother stammered her gratitude after Lars told her the child would be just fine.

Time for a quick break.

He thought he caught a breeze through the window opening in the metal shed he generously called a clinic. Lars inhaled it, appreciating the momentary relief from the heat. More patients waited outside, as they always did. They traveled far for the free care he provided.

One thing was true about Lars, and everyone knew it. He made his money from royalty checks he received from romance novels he penned under the name of Madeline Welsh. That was no secret.

Outwardly and officially, Lars was a man, a doctor who fled the heaviness and evil of the United States to bask in the beautiful world of Madagascar. He donated his time, efforts, and knowledge to those who could not afford proper medical attention, thriving on the pleasure he received from helping others. He was nothing less than a saint to the natives and government of local communities.

That was outwardly and officially.

Unofficially, Lars was there for other reasons. An observer in Madagascar, a data, statistic and sample collector for the World Health Organization with whom he had been employed for over twenty years, he gathered the true and rarely known facts that were desperately needed, dirtying his hands in the field he not only loved but considered his specialty. Each year, without fail, he monitored and delivered the painful truth to the World Health Organization that the Bubonic Plague was alive, well, and still claiming lives at an astronomical rate in his chosen home of Madagascar.

Lodi, Ohio

The question, ‘may I borrow your son,’ frightened Dylan beyond belief. She didn’t want to tell Patrick ‘yes’, but somehow when the handsome teacher came over requesting Anthony so he could get him ice cream with the other kids, all Dylan could do was nod. Watching the suave new Lodi resident left her speechless. But she knew that any schoolgirl smirk she had on her face better disappear because Mick would be back soon. She kept shifting her eyes to Patrick and the children he had with him. He got along with them well and was a natural teacher. She waited for the moment Tigger came running back because something had happened. Dylan kept waiting. Tigger only played.