Percival Everett - Half an Inch of Water - Stories

“What did you do in San Francisco?” Donnie asked.

“I was a model,” Keasey said.

Harold leaned against the truck. “Say what?”

“I was a model,” Keasey repeated.

“Yeah, right,” Donnie said. “Modeling what?”

“I was a hand model.”

“What’s that?” Harold asked.

“You know. In ads for watches and rings there are hands. I have good hands. I had good hands.”

“Had?” Harold asked.

Keasey held up his left hand, all four fingers of his left hand.

“What happened to the middle guy?” Donnie asked.

“Chopped off,” Keasey said.

“We can see that.” Donnie lit a cigarette. “How did you lose the damn thing? Flipping the wrong person the bird?”

“You want a soda?” Harold asked.

“What?”

“A soda, a drink. Donnie, you want one?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said.

“Sure, I’ll have a Dr Pepper,” Keasey said.

“Wouldn’t you like to be a pepper, too,” Donnie sang.

Harold stepped over and used his key to open the soda machine. “Tell us about the finger,” he said. “What happened?”

“Lost it in a bet.”

Harold and Donnie looked at each other.

“That happens,” Donnie said.

“All the time,” said Harold.

“Fuck both of you.” Keasey took a long pull on his Dr Pepper. “I bet a bunch of money on the Super Bowl. I didn’t have the money. Guy says he’ll take a finger. What could I say?”

“Could have offered him a toe,” Donnie said.

“He didn’t want a fucking toe.”

“I would have given him my little finger,” Donnie said.

Keasey gave Donnie an exasperated look. “He wanted the middle one, all right? Only consolation is that when I think about it I remember I gave him the fucking bird finger.”

“Not much consolation,” Harold said.

“At least I got workers’ comp out of it. Insurance, anyway.”

“How much does a finger go for these days?” Harold asked.

“A nice piece of change,” Keasey said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

Harold raised his orange soda. “To fingers.”

They drank.

“Hey, you guys want to make a buck?” Keasey asked.

“Let you chop off our fingers?” Harold said and laughed.

“No, it’s a hell of a lot easier than that. I need somebody to pick up something down at the bus station in Laramie. As you know, my wife is pregnant, so I can’t go. I can’t go nowhere.”

“What is it?” Donnie asked.

“A box.”

“I figured that much. How big is the box? Is it heavy? And, most importantly, what’s in it?”

“It’s not big or heavy and it’s just got some personal stuff in it.” Keasey finished his Dr Pepper.

“Why didn’t you just have it mailed to you up here?” Harold asked.

“My idiot friend in San Francisco lost my address and thought Laramie would be just fine. He didn’t how far away we are from Laramie. So, it’s waiting at the station down there.”

“Can’t they send it up here?” Donnie asked. “That’s a long-ass drive all the way down to Laramie.”

“They won’t. Say they need to see my identification.”

“You must be able to do it online,” Harold said. “You can do everything online now.”

“Okay, okay,” Keasey said. “It’s not really a shipment. It’s something I left down there in a locker.”

Harold cleared his throat. “I can’t leave work. I’ve got cars backed up through the weekend.”

Keasey looked at Donnie. “What about you?

“No wheels. I fried my engine.”

“You can take my truck,” Keasey said. “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars. All you have to do is bring it back here.”

“I need to know what it is,” Donnie said.

“What a couple of pussies,” Keasey said. “It’s personal, I told you. You want to make five bills or not?”

Donnie looked at Harold. Harold turned and walked over to stand beneath an old Ford Ranchero on the lift.

“Five hundred dollars.”

“Is it drugs?” Donnie asked.

“No drugs.”

“Counterfeit money?”

Keasey laughed. “No counterfeit money. Just some personal items, mine and my wife’s.”

Donnie looked again toward Harold, but his friend was at least pretending to work on the Ranchero’s transmission.

“Listen,” Keasey said, “I got to go pick up some things from the market for my wife. You think this over and tell me your answer when I get back.” He turned to Harold. “Here’s your thirty.” He held up three tens.

Harold walked over and took the money. “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Keasey said. “I’ll be back in a few,” he said to Donnie. “You’ll still be here?”

Donnie nodded. He stepped over and stood beside Harold while Keasey got into his truck and drove away.

Harold went back to work on the Ranchero.

“What do you think is in the box?” Donnie asked.

“I don’t give a shit what’s in the box.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Nope,” Harold said.

“I am.”

Harold laughed. “You’re curious about five hundred dollars.”

“Sure. Why not?” Donnie said.

“He’s not going to let you look in the box anyway. Jesus. A bus station locker? Gotta be drugs.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“What else could it be? His toothbrush collection?” Harold said. “Just name one thing it could be other than drugs. Hey, if you want to do it, do it. Don’t look to me for permission.”

“I don’t need your fucking permission. Toothbrush collection?”

“I’m going to get back to work now. If you want to wait for Keasey in the office, you can. You can stretch out on the sofa, watch Oprah, and enjoy your last hours of freedom.”

“What are you saying?”

Harold flipped the wrench in his hand. “I’m saying that there’s drugs in that locker and if you’re crazy enough to go get them, then I’ll be sending you cookies in the mail for a few years. And for what? For five hundred dollars.”

Donnie waved his hand, dismissing Harold’s words. “What channel is Oprah on?”

The Ranchero was off the lift and parked in the yard. It was the dark side of dusk when the bronze Silverado crunched gravel and Keasey got out. Harold stepped away from the tool bench he’d been straightening. Donnie staggered, nap-drunk, from the office.

Keasey walked over to Donnie. “What did you decide? Want to take a little drive?”

“What’s in the box?” Donnie said.

“Like I told you, just some personal stuff,” Keasey said.

“Any drugs?” Donnie asked.

Keasey made a show of trying to think, scratched his chin. “Nope, no drugs in the box. I would remember something like that.”

“A grand,” Donnie said. “I’ll do it for a thousand dollars.”

“Ain’t this some shit?” Keasey said.

“It’s a long drive,” Donnie said.

Keasey gave Donnie a long, hard look. He glanced over at Harold, then back at Donnie. “That’s a lot of money.”

Donnie raised an eyebrow and stared back at the taller man. “It’s not all that much.”

“Okay, a thousand dollars.” Keasey laughed. He looked at Harold. “Your boy here drives a hard bargain.”

Harold nodded. “You guys mind discussing your business somewhere else? I’ve got to clean up so I can go home.”

“Right.” Keasey looked at Donnie and signaled with his head for him to follow. “Come on, tough guy.”

Harold watched at they stepped away to the far side of Keasey’s truck. He pulled down the garage doors while they talked. They shook hands. Donnie sat behind the wheel of the Silverado and Keasey sat in the passenger seat. They talked for a few minutes more and then rolled away.

Harold was asleep in his bed in his house on his street when someone woke him banging on his door. His girlfrgend, Shannon, was beside him and made no sign of moving to get up. He looked out and saw Donnie on his kitchen stoop. Harold opened the door and looked at him, then at the sky just becoming light behind him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”