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Chapter One
Gary didn’t like being at the center of anything. He was the bass player in whatever band someone else started, the designated driver on epic party nights of urban legend, the loudest voice in the chorus of onlookers when the random and spectacular occurred, the guy who kept tally on the bets placed by the actual players. He hovered at the fringe of the interesting, where he could see the action and feel the pull of that gravity but remain untouched. So he squirmed when he was hit with the spotlight. Still, the proposition laid out before him had every element he adored. A hint of insanity, but not a straightjacket full of it. It was whimsical, but it didn’t cross that invisible line into stupid. There was travel involved, but not to anywhere potentially scary, like Hong Kong or Florida. There was money involved, but not enough to get in trouble with women again. But the three pairs of eyes pointed at him were like the headlights of oncoming cars. For some reason, Gary’s three friends expected him to be on the fence about this enterprising new development. So he was.
“Interesting.” Gary inspected his beer can. He was conscious of his gut just then and slumped a little instead of straightening. The filthy orange carpet at his feet was barely visible through the litter of fast food wreckage and beer caps and old band fliers. All of it smelled like bong water. “Lemme get this straight. This is gonna take, like, weeks? And we’re actually in charge? I mean –”
“Correct,” Lewis interrupted. Lewis Fisher was younger than any of them and gifted with an inspired form instability, the natural spokesman in a situation like this. Lewis had flirted with the edge of Astronomy for a semester before he gave it up in favor of a succession of odd jobs, some of them illegal. He was their punk mascot in many ways. Lewis laid it all out again, this time with a different coercive spin.
“Gary, you need this and we need you.” Lewis pointed at Kevin Billings, who watched them with stoned indifference. His clothes were nicer than theirs, but they never seemed to fit right. He’d gotten into the mustard again, too. “When Billings here inherited his uncle whoever’s business–”
“Chester,” Kevin supplied, suddenly attentive. He finished his beer and scowled at the empty. “Chester Billings. My great uncle.”
“Right. Chester. See, Kev barely knew this Chester guy. The whole Billings Spray-N-Wax thing is his now because no one else wants it. Chester was the black sheep, why the hell would those rich bastards want his small time routine? But for us this is a ready-made business. It floated the weird old guy for years, but–”
Lewis shrugged. Billings Spray-N-Wax was an eccentric relic from a different era, from a time before the Era of Superstores. It had no place in the modern world, but he couldn’t point that out. “You with me Gary? Think no risk. No expectations.”
Gary said nothing, but the ‘no expectations’ clause did appeal to him.
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