Chapter 10- Michael P.O.V

Kats,” Michael said, disgusted. “I should have known.”
Carl Barber better known as Kats, was a nineteen year- old loser. He had gone to Tabb High for five years taken advanced pottery and Shop one, two and three, and haven’t graduated. He’d had a lifelong dream of joining the marines, but without the diploma, they wouldn’t accept him. He worked at the gas station up the street from Tabb High. He had oil under his fingernails a surgeon couldn’t have removed. Whenever kids from school had driven into the station- dozens of students cruised in every morning and afternoon- Kats got into a fight with them.  Admittedly, Kats usually didn’t start the fights. He was one of those rare people no one respected. Guys would pull into the full-service area and tell him to dust their tyres. According to Bubba- who took Kats as seriously as everybody else but nevertheless spent a fair amount of time in his company- Kats had been genetically cloned from Rodney Dangerfield. Nothing ever went his way, that was for sure.

“Stop, Nick,” Michael said. “I know this guy.”

Nick looked bewildered. He shook the weapon in his hand. “This is real Mike. He was pointing it right at us.”

Michael came from behind the counter, furious. “So you hold us up with a real gun! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Kats grinned, his ugly teeth protruding from beneath his thin black moustache. It was not true, like some said, that he greased his hair and moustache with oil from the gas station, at least not intentionally. But it was a fact he was always running his hands through his hair even when he was labouring beneath filthy dripping heaps.

“I was just trying to give you boys a little scare.” Kats giggled. “I did, too. I saw the way you fumbled that cash register!”

Michael turned to Nick. “All right go ahead and waste him.”

“Mike!” Kats cried, squirming in a pond of Miller Lite.

Michael took a step closer. “I fumbled the drawer on purpose! I hit a button to call the police. It also trips an alarm in the house of the owners. They’re all going to be here in minutes. What am I supposed to tell them?”

Kats tried to get up without cutting himself brushing off scraps of glass knit together with torn beer labels. “Christ, Mike, what’s the big deal? The gun wasn’t loaded. It was just a prank.” He grinned again. Michael really wished he would stop. “How’d you like my disguise? I knew you wouldn’t recognise me with that voice I was using. Got it off an old gangster movie I watched last night. What do you think of my piece huh? Picked it up at the swoop meat last Saturday. It fires a twenty-two-“

“Shut up” Michael said wearily. “Just take your piece and get out of he before the police arrive. I don’t know what I’m going to tell them.” He tried to count the broken bottles. “But I do know one thing you’re paying for this mess.”

Kats tried to snap the revolver from Nick’s hands and failed. Nick did not appear to trust Kats anymore so than when Kats had been holding them at gunpoint. Nick instead gave the weapon to Michael, who accepted it reluctantly. Michael had never understood why anyone had made handguns. They were no good for hunting. They were only good for killing people. Had Kats been storing it in the refrigerator, he wondered. The steel felt unreasonably cold in his hand. He was anxious to get rid of it.

“Why should i?” Kats asked angrily. It was this big lug here who tripped me. I ain’t paying for it, no way.”

“If you don’t,” Michael said flatly. “I’ll give the police your address.”

Kats saw he was serious, nodded. “OK , lighten up. I’ll pay for the beer. And I’ll leave now.” He started towards the door.

“Go out the back,” Michael said. “I don’t want some cop taking a shot at you.” He held out the gun. “Take this with you.”

Kat smiled as he accepted the revolver, slipping it into his belt beneath his shirt. He had a fetish for guns. It was probably part of the reason why he wanted to join the marines. His crummy single-room apartment was packed with rifles, shotguns, all kinds of ammunition. “Good thinking. Hey you’re not really mad at me are you Mike? You know I would never try to rob you. You and me, we go way back. Coming to the game later?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Michael chuckled in spite of himself. This was turning out to be a weird day. “Go ahead, get out of here. Go home and take a shower. You stink.”

“Thanks Mike. See you later.”

When he was gone Michael called the police. Turned out they had received no alarm. He called one of his bosses, told him he had accidentally bumped the button. The boss gave him the same story as the police; no alarm had gone off. Hanging up the phone, Michael pulled out the wiring attached to the button.

“At least now we’ve got your feet to protect us,” he told Nick. “That is, if you haven’t changed your mind and want to quit.”

“I’m not quitting, Mike. I’m just beginning to feel at home.”

Between the two of them, they cleaned up the mess. The equivalent of three cases have been destroyed. Michael decided to juggle the numbers on the store inventory until Kats came up with the money, if he ever did. Michael figured he’d probably end up paying for the damage out of his own pocket.

Michael’s replacement, the twenty-year-old son of one of the bosses, came in at 9 o’clock. Amir went full time to the local junior college and spent most nights at the store. As a result, he was chronically exhausted and did little during the wee hours of the morning except run the cash register and study. He simply nodded when Michael introduced Nick as their new employee. Michael hoped Amir’s father had the same reaction.

Michael and Nick were walking out the front doors of the 7-Eleven when the phone rang. An hour had passed since the phoney hold up. It was Bubba. Michael took the call in the small office at the back.

“Did you invite Nick Grutler to come to the game with us?” Bubba asked.

“Yeah.” The invitation had surprised Nick, but he had accepted without hesitation. He seemed to be looking forward to it. “Where are you? You said you’d pick me up at nine.”

“Kats is here,” Bubba said lowering his voice. “He told me Grutler tried to kill him.”

“Did Kats also tell you he pulled a gun on us?”

“Yeah, but that was a joke Mike. What’s wrong with this guy? I hear he practically cut The Rock’s throat this afternoon.”

“Get off it, Bubba. You know as well as I, The Rock started it. Nick’s cool. Are you going to pick us up or not?”

“If it was just up to me, I’d be there already. But Kats wants to go to the game, and he says if Nick comes with us, things might get ugly. He’s full of it, I know, but why don’t you and Nick go on alone?”

“Since when does Kats tell you what to do?”

“It’s no big deal. “Let’s not fight about it. I’ll meet you there. Come on, it’s getting late, and I want to talk to Clair before half-time ends.”

Michael was disappointed in his friend. “Whatever you say Bubba.”