George Pelecanos - Firing offence

McGinnes glanced over his shoulder at the stairs, tapped another hit into his pipe, fired it up, and tapped out the ashes into his palm. This one he blew towards my face. “Well, it will be a helluva lot easier to work on that out of here than in the office. You know Louie won’t bother you. Besides, you’ll be back on the sales floor, which is where you belong.”

“I might have to remind you how it’s done.”

“You’d just be remindingdo, be remi me of what I taught you in the first place, son.”

“Remember that day I sold a sandbox to an Arab?”

McGinnes said, “That ain’t shit. What about the time I sold a blind man tickets to a silent movie?”

Louie called down that there were customers on the floor. We approached the stairs, and McGinnes elbowed me in the chest and m oved ahead, gunning up two steps at a time. He was giggling like a schoolgirl as he hit the landing.

McGinnes chewed on a mint and checked out the floor as we walked down the showroom’s center aisle. Malone stood in the Sound Explosion talking to a light-skinned woman in a leather jacket. He had a Frankie Beverly ballad playing through the stereo, and was close up in her face as he made a slow and awkward attempt at moving to the music.

A guy in a hundred dollar suit with disheveled graying hair stood with his hands in his pockets, blinking absently at the confusingly long line of TV screens lit against the wall. He unfolded my Post ad from his jacket, stared at it, then returned his gaze to the wall.

“Malone’s back there talking himself out of another deal,” McGinnes said. “I’ll take that yom over there by the TVs.”

McGinnes walked over to the customer, staying loose but erect. “How are you today?” he said, extending his hand. The customer shook it limply, without looking McGinnes in the eye.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Something special for you today?”

“Yes.” The customer jabbed a finger at a spot on my ad. “I’m interested in the nineteen-inch Zenith for one ninety-nine. Do you have it to look at?”

“Oh yes, it’s right over here,” McGinnes said, pointing at the far left section of the wall and gesturing for the man to step ahead of him. McGinnes turned his head back to me, crossed his eyes and hung his tongue out of the side of his mouth. Following the customer, he dragged one leg like a cripple, recovering his posture just as the customer turned to face him.

“What can you tell me about this set?”

“It’s a fine set,” McGinnes said, “and a good value.” The picture on the set was lousy. McGinnes had attached the faulty antenna lead, the one he switched each week to the advertised piece, onto the Zenith.

By comparison the nineteen-inch Hitachi, which sat next to the Zenith, had a beautiful picture. The customer became distracted by this, his head moving back and forth between the two sets.

“Why does that set have a better picture than the Zenith?”

“Oh, they have a high-contrast tube in the Hitachi,” McGinnes said n-ioffhandedly.

“What is that?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” In his shirt pocket McGinnes had clipped two pens, a jeweler’s screwdriver, and a small folding magnifying glass, which he pulled out. He placed it over the tube of the Zenith. The color dots were dull against a pale gray background. McGinnes looked back at the customer for effect, then switched the glass to the tube of the Hitachi. The dots were brilliantly illuminated against a black field.

“Interesting,” the customer said. “How much is the Hitachi?”

“Two forty-nine.”

The customer frowned, then pushed his glasses up over the bridge of his nose. “That’s more than I wanted to spend.”

“Well, if you think about it, you’d actually be saving money by buying this set.”

“How’s that?”

“Electronic tuner. The Hitachi’s got an electronic tuner, no moving parts in the tuner whatsoever. The Zenith, which is a fine set, don’t get me wrong, has an old-style click tuner, the first part to go bad on any TV set.” McGinnes spun the dial on the Zenith harshly. “You do that every day, it’s going to wear out. And when it wears out, it’s going to cost you more than the extra fifty bucks you’re going to spend initially on the Hitachi. Not to mention, of course, the Hitachi’s got a much better picture, which you can see for yourself. With a TV set, when you get it home you’re not going to remember what you paid for it. You’re only going to know whether you like the picture or not.”

“Well… ”

“Plus the fact that we’re an authorized Hitachi service center for this area. In-home service. And for a small charge, which most customers recognize the value in, you can have a maintenance agreement with Nutty Nathan’s to extend that in-home service.”

“I don’t think I’d be interested in that. Besides, if the set’s as good as you say it is, I won’t be needing any service.” The customer smiled smugly.

“Oh, it’s a gamble, I know,” McGinnes said quickly. “And chances are pretty good you’ll never need the service. But you know what they’re charging now just to walk through your front door? Fifty bucks! Just to step in your house, before they even touch the set! I can give you the names of ten people who’ve called to thank me personally for suggesting a maintenance agreement. Anyway, I’m not trying to belabor the point. You do want the Hitachi, though, don’t you?” McGinnes was nodding his head rapidly, a trick he used to make the customer do the same.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I do.” Though McGinnes had closed, the customer’s fists were balled defensively in his pockets.

“Where are you from?” McGinnes asked, and smiled.

“From up around Lancaster, P-A.”

“No kidding. I’m from the Allentown area.” The customer seemed to relax as he unhunrec as he ched his shoulders. McGinnes, an army brat, was from many places, but Pennsylvania wasn’t one of them. “This city’s fine, but I tell you, there’s a lot to be said for my hometown. I miss the slower life, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Let’s just step up to the counter and get you written up.” They walked to the front of the store, McGinnes’ hand gently on the customer’s arm.

The young woman who had walked in earlier carrying her books tapped me on the shoulder and I turned. She was half a foot shorter than me and had a brown speck in one of her very green eyes.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully and smiled. Her front tooth was chipped, just a little. She had on short, black, buckled boots, black patterned stockings, and a jean skirt. Her white oxford was open four buttons down, revealing the beginnings of strong, smallish breasts.

“Hi,” I said.

“You working here now?”

“Yeah. For a little while, anyway. My name’s Nick.”

“I’m Lee. I work the register and sell add-ons up front. Can you take a sales call?”

I looked around. Malone was still in the Sound Explosion and appeared to be chewing his customer’s ear off, literally. McGinnes was up front, writing the deal.

“Where’s Louie?” I asked.

“Out making a deposit.”

“I thought he made his ‘deposit’ in the afternoon.”

Lee chuckled. “This one’s monetary, not seminal.”

“What line?”

“Pick it up on two,” she said, jerking her thumb behind her towards the small appliance wall. “Over there.”

I found the phone and punched in the extension. “How can I help you?”

“To whom am I speaking?” said an effeminate voice, lowered purposely to affect masculinity.

“Nick Stefanos.”

“And your title?”

“I’m in management,” I said emptily.

“Well, then, maybe you can help me. I have a complaint.”