The Interview (15 page)

Fred left me there alone. I sat in an old swivel chair. I watched the
clock on the wall and wondered what jail would be like. Thirty
minutes after I punched Jimmy in the nose, the door opened.

“Well, why am I not surprised?” She closed the door
behind her. Same cop that pulled me over. Great. Better and better.
She stood with her back against the door. One hand on her gun. The
other on her nightstick.

“How’s it going, Officer?”

“I think it’s safe to say my day is going better than
yours.”

“Probably.” I looked at her nametag while I had the
chance. I didn’t know when she would flip out and throw me
through a window then shoot me for trying to escape. “Officer
Bradford. Do I need a lawyer?”

“No. He’s not pressing charges. He said something about
you being under a lot of stress, then headed off to get his nose
taken care of.”

“Do I need a witness?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. I got the impression from our last
encounter that you don’t like me for some reason.”

“Should I not like you, Mr. Jenks?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“OK. So what do we do now?”

She stepped away from the door. She crossed the room and kneeled in
front of me. Her gun belt squeaking and creaking. She rested her arms
on my legs. I didn’t feel threatened yet, but it was early in
the conversation. She looked up at me and I wondered why she was
assuming such a submissive position. I always thought you wanted to
be higher than your adversary.

“Now, Mr. Jenks. You’re going to tell me about Tristan.”

She rose slowly upward, using my legs as a leverage point. She leaned
in close, dragged the buttons of her uniform along the buttons of my
uniform. When her face was level with mine, she put her mouth up to
my left ear and said, “And if you’re lucky, I won’t
hurt you too bad.”

“I’m kind of hoping you do.”

She put her nose on mine. Smiled. Her eyes danced with something I
hesitate to call excitement, but it was the only word that came to
mind other than, “Fucking Psycho!”

“I like you, Kelly. I do. It’s going to be a shame if you
don’t start giving me what I want.”

“I don’t know what you want. I know what you can have.”

She pulled away a few inches. She licked the tip of my nose. “As
appealing as that is, I have a job to do.”

She stood up. “You’re free to go, Mr. Jenks. For some
reason I think you still have a job and they want you to do it
today.”

Officer Bradford opened the door and vanished.

It’s a fantasy most males have. A hot female cop doing
something like that. Turns out, it’s totally different than I
thought.

IT WAS TRUE. I STILL had a job. And they still wanted me to do it.

I walked over to the supervisor’s desk.

“Hey, Carl. Sorry about that.” Like I spilled a drink on
him or something.

Carl looked at me without making eye contact. “We’re kind
of in a bind. Would you mind carrying your route?”

A bind. I guess that was one way of describing it. They were a route
down because Jimmy was on the way to the hospital. To go two routes
down would have cost too much in overtime. They were stuck with me
for the moment.

“Sure. I’m OK now.”

“Stress manifests itself in funny ways sometimes. There’s
a one-eight hundred number if you need to talk to someone.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The Postal Service cares about you, even if you think
they don’t. Depression, alcoholism, drug abuse, any of those
problems can be discussed in confidentiality.”

“Good to know. I’m going to go finish casing, then get
out on the street.”

“Will do, Kelly. Thanks for hanging in there.”

I stopped at the Accountable Desk. The accountable clerk was not
around, so I grabbed my stuff out of the slot and signed the book. An
Express Mail needed to be to Normandy by three. It was my first
street so no problem. Two certified letters and a registered letter
completed my accountable mail.

I cased up with
Soundgarden
pounding my brain. I pulled
down my mail, loaded my truck, and hit the street.

THE ATHENS GANG WAS CONDUCTING science experiments in the middle of
the street. I watched a geyser of coke suddenly shoot straight up in
the air. Cool.

“Mail Dude!”

“What up, little demons?”

“Blowing stuff up.”

“Nice.”

“Check this out.”

A two-liter bottle of generic coke was placed on the ground by one
kid. The next kid came in and took the top off. The third swooped in
and dropped a small round something into the bottle. A few seconds
went by, and Whoosh! Old Faithful, Orange County style. The street
was a mess. Soda and gobs of something I couldn't make out covered
the ground.

“Wait, watch this!”

I obliged them to keep the peace. Course, I couldn't wait to see what
they did next. A bottle of ketchup. Box of baking soda. What was
going to happen? They poured the baking soda into the bottle of
ketchup and closed the lid. I watched. I waited. Nothing.

“Wait for it!”

I am. Getting bored. POP! The ketchup bottle exploded. Now I knew
what the gobs of something in the street were. Ketchup. The baking
soda reacted with the ketchup and the buildup of pressure popped the
top and sprayed the shit everywhere. Kids are amazing.

“Very cool, dudes.”

“Yeah, we found it on the net. We got some other stuff.”

“Why does it smell like bleach?” I asked him.

“My mom's cleaning.”

“Jesus, she's gonna fry her lungs breathing that shit.”

“Yeah, we can't go inside when she gets like this. She used to
vacuum when she was stressed. Right before they got divorced, my dad
had all the carpet taken out of the house and had wood floors put in.
So now she bleaches.”

“Huh.” Terribly sad. “What else you got?”

“I got some crickets, couple bottle rockets, some other stuff.”

“Sweet. Have fun guys.” We knuckle-bumped and I started
on my way. He stopped me. “Hey, do you have any matches?”

I turned and looked at him. He was eight or nine, cute kid with an
AC/DC shirt on. “Why?”

“My mom hid all the matches.”

“Why?”

“I kinda lit the backyard on fire last week.”

“How'd you do that?” I liked the kid.

“I was trying to write my name in flames on the grass. I found
a gas can in the garage. It had some gas in it. I wrote my name with
it then lit it on fire. Mom called me a pyro and took all the
matches.”

“Was it cool looking?”

“Very!”

I threw him my lighter. “Don't burn the house down.”

“Sweet!”

We shouldn't hold our young people back. The kid had imagination, he
should run with it. “I'm serious about the houses.”

“No worries, Mail Dude. I got it.”

This would probably come back to bite me in the ass. Oh well. It
would have to get in line.

LUCINDA FOUND ME ON BRUNSWICK. I had about an hour left on the
street. She idled at the curb while I dropped the mail, then I
sauntered over to see how much trouble I was in.

“Hey, Cindy.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Just trying to make you white. You scare me.”

“You're such an ass, Kelly.”

I shrugged my shoulders. Lucinda was a good boss. She didn't deserve
to get run out of Placentia.

“Carl called. Told me what happened this morning.”

“I'm suspended. On paper.”

“You punched Jimmy.”

“Yeah. But come on. Suspended on paper. I had to hit him.”

“I got suspended on paper last week. I did not hit anyone.”

“Really? They got you, too?”

“I've been written up so many times the last two weeks I'm
beginning to feel like Pedro.”

Pedro was the office joke. He was slow in the office and on the
street. He had the shortest route and the lowest volume in the
office, yet he was still constantly running into overtime. The union
had him covered though. There wasn't anything anyone could do.

“Sorry. I'm going to miss you.”

“I'll be fine. What comes around goes around. It's just no fun
when it comes back around on me.” She smiled. Lucinda had been
given the postmaster's job by the former Area Manager in much the
same way Graciella was now getting Lucinda's job. Difference was,
Lucinda actually knew what she was doing.

“I need a favor,” she said.

“What's that?”

“I need you to take care of Stefan's swing.”

“Oh, come on, Cindy.”

“I know. Robert is supposed to handle it today, but his truck
broke down. We got him a loaner from Yorba Linda, then it broke down.
He's a couple hours behind. And everyone else is covering Jimmy‘s
route.”

“Not my problem. I'm suspended and now you're giving me a
swing. I punched out my fellow employee. I should be in jail or
something. The beach at the very minimum. This is just wrong on so
many levels.”

“I'll make you a deal.”

“Gee. That sounds promising.” I do sarcasm really good.

She laughed. “You're off on Monday, right?”

I nodded my head.

“It's Graciella's weekend to run the floor. She's going to be
gunning for you, so do this for me, and I'll give you tomorrow and
Saturday off. Four-day weekend.”

“You know I'd do the swing for you, Cindy. You don't have to do
that.”

“No, Kelly, I do. Think of it as a going-away present.”

“Usually the person going away gets the present.”

“Not this time. Do the swing, and let Graciella figure out how
to cover your route for a couple days.”

She had the mail in the back of her SUV. I hauled it out, threw it in
the back of my truck, then smoked a cigarette with her. It was the
last time I saw her as a postmaster.

THE TURINS LIVED ON THE third to last street. Orleans is an uphill
pain in the butt. Everyone on the street is on every mailing list
imaginable, so it's heavy. Christmas time is a nightmare. But the
people were nice, and that included the Turins. They were a younger
couple, late twenties, no kids. Kristin was pretty in a plain way,
and Ted was fat in a used-to-be-a-jock way. Kristin drove an Acura
MDX. Ted drove a BMW 3-series. Kristin's DMX was in the driveway when
I walked up to the house. Ted's car was nowhere to be seen.

My last certified letter was for Kristin. I knocked on the door.
Kristin opened the door and used it as a shield and said, “Yes?”
We're not on a first-name basis.

“Hi, Mrs. Turin. I have a certified for you.”

The look on her face made me wish I hadn't knocked. It was part fear,
part terror, and part a rush of tears. Great. She stepped out from
behind the door. The first thing I noticed was her arm was completely
encased in plaster. Then she was in my face, crying, sobbing.

I stepped back. “Mrs. Turin, are you OK?” Stupid
question. It needed to be asked though.

“No. Please. It's Kelly, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Please don't tell, Ted. Can't you just refuse it. Ignore it or
something. Please.”

“Mrs. Turin, the certified is not a big deal. I'll take care of
it.”

Relief swept over her.

“Oh, thank God. I shouldn‘t be getting certified mail. I
shouldn‘t be getting any mail.”

This is what happens when I miss a softball game. My internal rhythm
gets all jacked up. Throw in a Tristan, Alex, and Mr. Bat, and I
become a walking, talking crusader. This was not my problem. But that
wasn't true, and I knew it. I had watched Casey go through her hell
for years and did nothing. My father raised me better.

“What?”

“Listen, Kristin. If your husband is hurting you, then I know
somebody who can help.”

“No, he doesn't hurt me.”

“OK, then. Why are you freaking out about a letter?”

She just started crying more. This would be a good time to have a
cell phone. It would be an even better time to have Casey's number. I
had neither. This was lame.

“I'll be right back. Promise you won't go anywhere.”

She nodded.

I ran back to my truck, dumped the rest of the street's mail into my
bag, then took off to find Casey. We usually finish up at the same
time. She had a forty-five minute head start on me this morning, but
I had a feeling she had been laughing so hard today that she might be
behind. Her route is right next to mine on the street. I hustled
through our neighborhoods and found her in five minutes. She was in
the driving section of her route, which was good in terms of getting
her to follow me quickly.

I pulled up next to her, jumped out and ran around the front of her
truck.

“What's up, Kelly?” She greeted me with a smile. “I
can’t believe you hit Jimmy.”

“I need you to come with me right now. Follow me.”

I turned and ran back to my truck, flipped a u-turn, waited for her
to do the same, then started back to Kristin with Casey in tow. I ran
a couple stop signs, and was pleased to see Casey follow my lead. We
pulled up in front of the Turins.

“What's going on?” No smile now. All seriousness.

“This lady needs some help. I need you to take her somewhere.”

“OK.” Some people just get it. Casey's one of them.

The door opened as we approached. “Kristin, this is Casey.
She's a friend of mine.”

“Hi, Kristin. This sucks, huh?”

There was snot on Kristin's face, tears poured forth from her eyes,
her life was coming apart, but Casey cut through it all with those
three words.

“I just don't know what to do.”

“I do. Come on.” Casey went inside with Kristin. I stood
there not sure of what to do before I decided to transfer the
remainder of Casey's route to my truck. I had just finished up when
the BMW 3-series pulled into the drive.

Ted Turin climbed out of the car and gave me a smile. “Engine
trouble?”

I smiled right back at him. This might be a problem. “Something
like that.”