The Deal

The place was tacky like only the seventies could do. A building set on a concrete slab that tried to make up for it with copious amounts of wrap-around neon. The sign was supposed to say Flamingo’s, but the O was missing, so now the diner seemed to either be an offensively named gay bar or a giant advertisement for arson.

Paul Jordeen stared at the scenery for a while. His fingers felt arthritic; he’d kept them wrapped around the handle of his briefcase so tightly that his knuckles ached. Looking down, he could see his hand was practically white beneath the sleeve of his pricey suede overcoat. Well, whiter than usual. He’d never been one for tanning in the first place.

“Relax,” he muttered to himself. His feet moved him forward even though the rest of him preferred to stay back. “Close the business deal and you’re a free man. A very RICH man, at that. You’re set for life.”

When he pushed the door open a bell rang. It wasn’t pleasant. It made him think about those obnoxious brass things people sat on top of counters to annoy workers at a grocery store. The sort that mothers let their toddlers beat at until a haggard delicatessen stepped forward before he completely lost his mind.

The waitress/hostess/probably tripling as the cook darted out of the kitchen. She matched her diner perfectly. In effort to draw attention away from her wrinkles, she’d piled her false blonde locks high on her head. Her lips were garishly red, her eyelashes fake, and her dress just short enough to boast her cellulite. A wave of revulsion swept through him as she said brightly,

“Hey there hot stuff! Don’t usually get people in this close to closin’ time around these parts, but I don’t mind! Betty’ll serve you right up, if you’ll just follow me!”

She sashayed away. She had the hip sway down but what once held up nicely had given way to sagging, and the outfit was just tight enough that he could tell. Grimacing, Paul was grateful when he was seated and had a menu that gave him an excuse to look elsewhere.

“You just call Betty over when you’re ready, will you? And take your time, honey. I don’t mind waiting!”

She winked. He smiled painfully and contemplated whether the chicken fried steak would kill him or not.

Minutes ticked by. She wandered by once or twice, took a drink order. He ignored the way she leaned suggestively over the table when she delivered the coke. He would have crossed himself if he’d lost his last sense of social decorum. When she disappeared into the back room, he looked longingly towards the door. If he didn’t show up within the next fifteen, he’d pay the tab and call it quits. Save his arteries the trouble.

Speak of the devil.

Thomas Grayson entered with more dignity than Paul had. When the bell jangled and Betty shouted from the kitchen that she’d be there in a minute, he only looked mildly annoyed. Thomas himself had chosen a classier era to mimic. A grey tailored suit, shining leather loafers, and a fedora. The fedora, Paul thought, was a bit much, but he had to admit the guy managed to pull it off.

Tom sat casually across from him in the booth. His eyes slid over the table, rested on the briefcase perched there, and hooked. His tongue flicked out and licked over his lips.

“I see you seem to be upholding your end of the bargain.”

Paul shrugged, nonchalant. “You granted what you promised. I admit I was skeptical at first. But all the cards fell into the right places, and there’s only one way it could have happened. I’m a man of my word.”

Thomas’s lips twitched. He had a 5 o’clock shadow going on, and this close up it made his whole ensemble look askew. It was haggard where everything else was pressed and ironed, complete with a set of bloodshot eyes that hovered shrew-like behind wiry spectacles. “And that’s very wise of you. But just to be clear, you’re satisfied with the…merchandise? You’re willing to fulfill our agreement?”

“What I’m trading for it has never been particularly useful to me anyway. I see no reason to back out now.”

He chuckled. The lips worked again, moving over his teeth as though struggling to hold something inside. “Wise of you. You’re absolutely right, though. You really don’t need it. To be frank, you’re getting the better end of this bargain.” The eyes, hungry eyes, drifted back over to the briefcase, and instinctively Paul placed his hand over it. He hadn’t quite signed the contract yet, and Tom looked like he was about to lung across the table. The tension was thick enough to slice.

“Coffee boys?” Betty came out of the blue, pronouncing it caaaaaw-fee. Paul jumped. Thomas didn’t.

“This late? No thank you, madam.” His fingers touched the brim of his hat as he looked up and smiled at her. “I’ll just be having a malt. Chocolate malt. Hold on the whipped cream, it’s a little too sweet for me.”

Betty batted her faux-lashes and turned them back over to Paul. “And you, sweetie? You look a bit on the thin side. How about a big juicy steak for you, eh?”

Barely managing to hold back a smart remark about the sirloin being the priciest thing on the menu, Paul plastered on a smile of his own. “Yes. Steak please. Thank you. And you can put Mr. Grayson’s bill in with mine, I’ll be paying for him tonight.”

“You got it, gentlemen. I’ll have those orders out in a jiffy!” She vanished again in a cloud of cheap perfume. That was new. She was getting bolder.

“So,” Tom said. His voice commanded attention and Paul’s veered back to him. “Tell me about your satisfaction with the deal. I want to have your verbal review for future customers.”

“Well, you can tell them I give you ten stars. Or whatever the highest ranking is.” Fingers still hovering over the briefcase, Paul leaned back in the booth seat and smirked. “The very first day I signed our contract, well, the strings I never imagined would be pulled got tugged. I was promoted. The next day, I was promoted again. I can’t say I have many friends who get a twenty dollar raise in one week.”

Thomas waved his hand. “Go on.”

“Girls, man.” Just thinking about it made him giddy. “I mean, look at me. Usually all I get is stock like Betty.” He looked up briefly to make sure she was out of earshot, and then looked back, continuing. “But now, oh, geeze. They just love me. Love me in all the right ways, man. Know what I mean? Money, girls…”

“Anything else?” Beneath the shadow of his hat, Tom’s eyes twinkled gleefully.

“Now I don’t know how you arranged this one. But, man. People respect me. And that, that feels good.” Instinctively, Paul straightened his spine, his chest sticking out just the slightest bit. “They treat me like I always knew I should be treated, and I don’t have to run around groveling and kissing ass to get what’s mine. That’s the best part, you tell them. Whoever your next buyer is.”

Thomas reached casually into his own jacket. He pulled out a sheet of paper and smoothed it over the table, nails ghosting lovingly over the words. “As you recall, our week-long trial run was just a basis for your understanding of what we could do. Nothing on your part has been paid, yet. That changes now, Mr. Jordeen, if you want to keep what you’ve been given. And what you trade in return…that can never be given back. One time guarantee. No returns. Is that clear?”

Paul cleared his throat nervously. He looked at where his name was signed, and then lower, on a bolder and somehow more severe line where it soon would be again. “Very. But everything you’ve agreed to is true? I’ve read all the fine print. I keep living even without it. My life doesn’t change.”

“You keep living. You keep what you’ve been given.” The motion again of his mouth, the working like something was straining behind his lips. “We’re an organization that keeps our word, Mr. Jordeen. It’s how we’ve lasted all these generations. We go way back, you might say.”

“I don’t have to prick my finger or anything do I?” He half-joked. He felt suddenly cold inside, realizing that Tom had managed to reach over and push his hand just a little ways off the briefcase. Now the other man’s palm took up most of the top of it, caressing the leather. His other hand dipped back into his jacket and he offered a pen with a click.

“Don’t be absurd. This is nothing more than a business transaction. Like any. Sign your name and you will be satisfied in full, I can promise you.”

Bemusedly, he realized he was sweating. A trickle tickled its way behind his collar as he stared down at the paper. His hesitation felt like hours, but it was only a few minutes. Money can’t buy happiness? That was a load of bull. He had all he could ever need, and he was offering mere pennies by comparison. Truth was, it’d never done him any good even when he’d had it, anyway. So why not?

Paul signed. Thomas grabbed the briefcase with barely concealed greed and pulled it towards him. The clasps clicked open. For a brief moment, a glow reflected off the lower half of his face as he peered inside, making his eye sockets look so devoid that it was terrifying. Then he snapped it closed and touched the brim of his hat again.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Jordeen.”

He stood, folded the contract, and with Paul’s payment swinging merrily at his side, he was gone.

“Your buddy leave, honey?”

The voice grated. More than it had before. Now it was accompanied by a giant wad of gum. She merrily smacked it around like the cow she was, going to town on cud laden with filthy bacteria. Paul’s breath quickened for a moment before he relaxed, feeling strangely calm as she set the steak down in front of him.

“Afraid so. We finished our business.”

“Oh, men and their work. They just never stop doing it, do they?”

She leaned over again. As if those sagging breasts were something to boast about. The disgust radiated through Paul, and he was puzzled by it yet oddly unafraid. A distant observer recording but not taking any of it in. Fascinated, even.

Betty set the steak knife beside his plate. “So. Who got the better end of the deal this time? You or him?” Her breath was moist against his ear. Unpleasantly hot, like some mutt panting after eating its own shit. This time the wave of unbridled revulsion became anger, was stronger, and he just accepted it, like breathing. There was nothing standing in its way anymore, nothing to stem it. He couldn’t even remember why there should have been, and that was when he understood.

He picked the knife up and twirled it in his fingers. “You know, Betty. I think he did.”

He reached over and slit her throat.