She opened the door, crossed the deck, and peeked around the corner of the trailer toward the backyard.
Deserted.
She hopped down the steps and into the carport and opened the driver-side door. A note and her keys were lying in the seat.
Saved your ass from gettin’ towed. U can thank me with a 6 pack.
The note was signed “Niko.” It took her a long minute to remember who the heck Niko was. When she did, she let out a little laugh. He was a kid named Eric who worked the midnight shift in the Electronics Department of Walmart and truly believed he was Niko Bellic from ‘Grand Theft Auto.’
“Hey, Liv! How’s life treating you?”
Olivia turned toward the direction of the voice and saw her neighbor, Mr. Turner, in his open bathrobe and boxers, his black dress socks pulled up to his pasty-white knees, taking a stack of newspapers to the curb. Mr. Turner was always in a robe and boxers and never ventured further than the curb. His sister delivered him food and a stack of newspapers—one from every state in the union—each morning. He had them delivered to his sister’s house instead of his in case the FBI was still tracking him. Olivia had no idea if the FBI really was tracking Mr. Turner (if that was his real name) or if it was all in his head, but she hoped they were, because she was dying to see some SWAT action.
“Hey, Mr. Turner!” Olivia called back and waved.
“Tell Eugene, Chester molested my cat again.” Mr. Turner set down his papers, and then went back inside. Forty-seven seconds in the sun was all Mr. Turner’s skin could handle before he blistered. All of his conversations were short ones.
Olivia bounced the keys in her hand and looked at Mr. Turner’s trailer. It was a rusted and ramshackle mess of weeds and trash. The car sitting in the carport had four flat tires and garbage piled on it, and hadn’t moved an inch in close to fifteen years. He was the disgrace of Valley View, if there could be such a thing. Olivia was well on her way to becoming him if she didn’t get off her ass and back into the real world.
“ Humph ,” she grunted to herself. “We’ll see about that.”
She went inside, showered, brushed her teeth and brushed her wet hair into a clip, put on the freshest-smelling clothes she could find, got in her car and headed for the Get ‘n Go.
“Pack of Reds,” she said to Vicki, the cashier, as she slammed her gigantic cup of fountain Dr. Pepper onto the counter and slapped a ten beside it.
“Where the heck you been, girly?” Vicki asked. “I thought you was dead.”
Olivia smiled. “Nah. Still kickin’.”
She took her smokes and change and got back into her car, and drove straight to Garretson. She parked between Kenny’s beat-up LeBaron and Carla’s Caddie, and headed for the time clock with the smile still on her face.
She scanned the cards for hers and when she didn’t find it she hollered out, “Where the hell’s my timecard, Sam?”
“I fired your ass!” Sam hollered back. “Get outta here before I call security.”
Olivia stormed across the hall into his office. “Give me my card back.”
“Go home, Liv.”
“Give me my card back or I’ll sit in your office until midnight and sing to you.”
“Go home, Liv.”
“I’m warning you…”
“Security!”
“ Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton,” she sang as loud and as proud as she could. “ Old times there are not forgotten! ”
“Liv…”
She amped the volume. “ Look away! Look away! Look away, Dixieland! ”
“Liv,” Sam warned.
And added some dance moves. “ In Dixieland where I was born, early on one frosty morn! ”
“Liv!”
“ Look away! Look— ”
“ Liv! ”
“What?”
Sam’s face turned red and his chest puffed out as he stared her down. She opened her mouth to belt out the next line, but he cut her off with a grunt of profanity. He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out her timecard. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Thanks,
Deserted.
She hopped down the steps and into the carport and opened the driver-side door. A note and her keys were lying in the seat.
Saved your ass from gettin’ towed. U can thank me with a 6 pack.
The note was signed “Niko.” It took her a long minute to remember who the heck Niko was. When she did, she let out a little laugh. He was a kid named Eric who worked the midnight shift in the Electronics Department of Walmart and truly believed he was Niko Bellic from ‘Grand Theft Auto.’
“Hey, Liv! How’s life treating you?”
Olivia turned toward the direction of the voice and saw her neighbor, Mr. Turner, in his open bathrobe and boxers, his black dress socks pulled up to his pasty-white knees, taking a stack of newspapers to the curb. Mr. Turner was always in a robe and boxers and never ventured further than the curb. His sister delivered him food and a stack of newspapers—one from every state in the union—each morning. He had them delivered to his sister’s house instead of his in case the FBI was still tracking him. Olivia had no idea if the FBI really was tracking Mr. Turner (if that was his real name) or if it was all in his head, but she hoped they were, because she was dying to see some SWAT action.
“Hey, Mr. Turner!” Olivia called back and waved.
“Tell Eugene, Chester molested my cat again.” Mr. Turner set down his papers, and then went back inside. Forty-seven seconds in the sun was all Mr. Turner’s skin could handle before he blistered. All of his conversations were short ones.
Olivia bounced the keys in her hand and looked at Mr. Turner’s trailer. It was a rusted and ramshackle mess of weeds and trash. The car sitting in the carport had four flat tires and garbage piled on it, and hadn’t moved an inch in close to fifteen years. He was the disgrace of Valley View, if there could be such a thing. Olivia was well on her way to becoming him if she didn’t get off her ass and back into the real world.
“ Humph ,” she grunted to herself. “We’ll see about that.”
She went inside, showered, brushed her teeth and brushed her wet hair into a clip, put on the freshest-smelling clothes she could find, got in her car and headed for the Get ‘n Go.
“Pack of Reds,” she said to Vicki, the cashier, as she slammed her gigantic cup of fountain Dr. Pepper onto the counter and slapped a ten beside it.
“Where the heck you been, girly?” Vicki asked. “I thought you was dead.”
Olivia smiled. “Nah. Still kickin’.”
She took her smokes and change and got back into her car, and drove straight to Garretson. She parked between Kenny’s beat-up LeBaron and Carla’s Caddie, and headed for the time clock with the smile still on her face.
She scanned the cards for hers and when she didn’t find it she hollered out, “Where the hell’s my timecard, Sam?”
“I fired your ass!” Sam hollered back. “Get outta here before I call security.”
Olivia stormed across the hall into his office. “Give me my card back.”
“Go home, Liv.”
“Give me my card back or I’ll sit in your office until midnight and sing to you.”
“Go home, Liv.”
“I’m warning you…”
“Security!”
“ Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton,” she sang as loud and as proud as she could. “ Old times there are not forgotten! ”
“Liv…”
She amped the volume. “ Look away! Look away! Look away, Dixieland! ”
“Liv,” Sam warned.
And added some dance moves. “ In Dixieland where I was born, early on one frosty morn! ”
“Liv!”
“ Look away! Look— ”
“ Liv! ”
“What?”
Sam’s face turned red and his chest puffed out as he stared her down. She opened her mouth to belt out the next line, but he cut her off with a grunt of profanity. He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out her timecard. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Thanks,
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