Prospero's Half-Life (2 page)

“
I’m King Dick, motherfucker!” the voice on the other end
screamed. “I got balls the size of grapefruits!”

“
This is Richard Adams, from Store 47. Do you work
there?”

“
Nobody works here no more, dickhead!” the voice proclaimed,
sounding somehow even more unhinged than he had in the beginning.
“We tied the managers up in the warehouse and the associates are
running freeeee!”

That was a bit
much for Richard.

“
You…I’m sorry?”

“
Tied ‘em up”, the voice confirmed gleefully. “Knocked ‘em out
and now we’re torturing the dicknose motherfuckers ‘til they’re
dead. The rest of us are paaartying ‘til we drop!”

“
How many of you are still alive?” Richard asked, mystified.
The voice did not appear to be listening.

“
It’s one long orgy from dawn to dusk asshole!” Got one of the
sales girls on my dick right now! Listen!”

There was some
fumbling of the phone, and then some wet slurping and smacking
noises. This was followed shortly by a profuse amount of vomiting.
Richard pulled the phone away from his ear in disgust. The last
thing he heard as he hurriedly hung up was the voice screaming “aw,
you got blood on me!”

He looked over
at Samantha, feeling shaken.

“
Ah”, he hesitated. “Looks like we’re the only ones open for
business”. Samantha gave him a wan smile.

The morning
passed slowly. Richard kept Samantha busy with cleaning the service
area, and let her smoke inside. This was highly irregular procedure
but after the phone call to the other store he didn’t want to take
any chances. The company stressed employee safety over everything
else.

At
approximately half-past twelve a man in a greenish-brown Australian
overcoat came through the front doors. Richard, who was dusting the
laptops on the side wall of the store, turned quickly upon catching
the movement from the corner of his eye. He watched the man walk
into the store, stop in front of the hot-item sales displays, and
look around as if unsure of where he was. He looked over the
newcomer intently, scanning for a sign of a gun or some other
weapon. His call to Hamilton Mountain had him on edge. He concluded
that the man could have literally anything under his heavy coat and
strode over quickly before any sort of trouble could ensue.

“
Can I help you?” Richard asked the man, politely but firmly.
He glanced over at Samantha; she was staring at the newcomer with
interest. The stranger peered around mutely for a moment, his gaze
lingering on the laptop wall that Richard had just come
from.

“
Maybe you can”, he said, his voice deep and raspy, as though
he’d been inhaling gritty smoke for several days. He ran a thick,
dirty forefinger over a stubbled chin.

“
First of all”, he intoned, “does your internet connection
work?”

“
It does” Richard confirmed quickly.

“
Alright, I’ll need a laptop, every external hard drive you
have, and any cords that I may need”. He flashed a sudden wild
grin.

“
Money is no object” he chortled.

“
How will you be paying, sir?” Richard asked him with
automatic, bred-in suspicion. The stranger in the outback coat
laughed loudly.

“
What the hell does it matter how I’m paying?” he bellowed,
seemingly amused. Richard started feeling very small.

“
If this emergency passes”, he explained stiffly, “I don’t want
to get screwed by someone with fake credit cards taking advantage
of scared people”.

The big man
laughed again. “Are you for real, buddy?” he asked incredulously.
“This is a permanent condition we’re in here. Do you live in this
store or something?”

Richard
reddened. “I don’t appreciate the attitude, sir” he said between
clenched teeth. His heart was racing, his mind wondering with grim
curiosity whether there was a weapon of some kind stashed beneath
that heavy overcoat. His mouth was all of a sudden very dry.

He reached
into the low-slung pocket of his coat and Richard froze. A small
jet of urine squirted out, seemingly the only moisture in his body.
His mouth gaped open, empty of sentiment. He closed it swiftly when
the stranger pulled a random wad of paper money out. He walked
right by the petrified Richard and dropped the mess of currency in
front of Samantha.

“
Daarlin’”, he said to her in a folksy, country-boy affecation,
“why don’t you count that while we figure stuff out?” Samantha
giggled and began sorting through the sheaf.

“
Let’s go, buddy”, he called out to Richard as he strode
towards the laptop wall. “I haven’t got forever. Power’s gotta go
out sometime”. Startled, Richard followed the stranger.

They stopped
in front of the display of small netbooks. Richard waited for a
moment to see if the man would say anything.

“
What are you looking for in a computer?” he asked when the man
stayed silent.

“
Not important”, he replied gravely, still staring at the
netbooks. “It’s just a conduit. You got a conduit for sale?” he
asked loudly, and laughed as if that were the funniest thing in the
world. Richard blinked, wondering if he’d inadvertently let a
madman into the store.

“
Conduit, sir?” he asked, feeling dull.

“
For the hard drives. Gonna download the internet”. He was
casual about it. Richard sputtered, and a nervous laugh
escaped.

“
OK, sure”, he replied, sure now that the man was insane. “I
have a few mid-range models that should service you quite well. I
recommend that you start looking with the Toshibas…”

Richard
humoured him for quite some time. He seemed quite serious about it
and asked probing questions about various components and options.
He finally settled on a rugged, lightweight 14” model, ruminating
loudly on durability and portability. To go along with it he
selected a large hikers knapsack. As far as Richard could remember,
it was the only one that they had ever sold. Into this knapsack he
put the laptop and, as insisted upon, every external hard drive in
the store.

“
Now”, he said, after all of this had been brought up to the
service desk, “can I use your internet connection?”

“
No”, Richard replied firmly. The stranger looked
shocked.

“
We have blocks on anything that’s not business-related”, he
continued apologetically. The stranger nodded, a sour look creeping
over his face.

“
Maybe that Starbucks down the street”, he mused aloud. Richard
nodded quickly, trying transparently to prod him down this new
path.

“
I’m sure their connection is still active”, he assured the man
brightly. “You may even be able to make coffee while you’re at it”.
The stranger laughed at this.

“
Now, let’s discuss extending the warranties on your equipment”
Richard continued smoothly. An ounce of amusement flickered across
the man’s rough, stubbly face.

“
Yeah, sure”, he rumbled amiably, “why not? Give me the longest
service contracts you’ve got on the laptop and whatever you
normally recommend for the hard drives”.

Richard nodded
to Samantha, who keyed the additions into her register. This took a
moment, as the antiquated system demanded that she input each
warranty separately for each hard drive. When she was done, she
pressed the total button and issued an involuntary “oh my god”.

“
What’s the damage?” the stranger asked, grinning
widely.

“
Nine thousand, three hundred and sixty-seven dollars and
forty-five cents” she replied incredulously. Richard coughed
politely. The man gestured impatiently for Samantha to count out
the money. She did so, with professional speed, and soon had it
divided into two very uneven piles.

“
This one’s yours” she remarked, pushing the smaller pile
towards the stranger. He picked it up and pocketed it without so
much as a second glance.

“
Can I help you with anything else?” Richard asked, adding a
hoped-for note of finality to his voice.

“
Bill”, the man grunted. Richard stuck out his hand.

“
Richard Adams” he replied. The man laughed uproariously and
Richard reddened.

“
No, the receipt”, he said, pointing to Samantha, who was
handing it over at that moment. Richard ground his
teeth.

Richard
escorted the man out, just as if her were the last customer before
closing time on any normal night.

“
Troy Larkson, by the way”, the man said, hoisting the knapsack
onto his shoulders.

“
Nice to meet you”, Richard replied, a trifle sullenly.
“Pleasure doing business”.

“
Likewise”, Troy Larkson said, giving a loose little salute
with his right hand.

Richard did
not watch Troy Larkson leave. He instead began very rapidly the
process of closing up.

“
What were we thinking?” he chastised to himself as he pulled
the heavy steel gates across the front display windows. “Any random
person could have walked through those doors. We’re asking to be
murdered”.

Samantha did
not reply. She was morosely re-counting Troy Larkson’s payment and
marking the figures down on a reconciliation form. Richard had
insisted on it, for completion’s sake.

“
I should have just closed up and moved on once I arrived. I
especially had no right to endanger you like that”.

Samantha
shrugged. “My boyfriend didn’t come home four nights ago. My
parents and my brother are dead. My only friends are the people who
work here, and they’re pretty much all dead too. I’ve had to hide
in the corner of my bedroom furthest from the window with the
lights off for the past week because I can hear crazy people in the
streets all night. This seemed a lot safer than that”.

Richard
blinked. It was such a matter-of-fact tone that she used, as if it
were a dry recitation of some mundane technical information.

“
I hate listening to the sick people”, she continued, motoring
along in that same too-level voice. “I hate that I have to listen
to some of them die outside my window. I hate listening to them
vomit, and groan, and I
hate
listening to the gunshots”.

“
Where do you live?” Richard asked.

“
Across from the hospital. There’s a bunch of people barricaded
inside and they’ve been shooting any sick person who gets too
close”.

Richard said
nothing. He wasn’t sure if there was anything to be said.

“
You can come see it if you want”, she offered. “If you don’t
have anywhere else to be, I mean. It’s safe enough in the day, the
sick people don’t like the light and the crazy people don’t seem to
come out much in the day either. The people in the hospital will
only shoot you if you’re on their side of the street”.

Richard didn’t
actually have anywhere else to go, and said as much.

“
My neighbours are all dead, and my family lives pretty far
away”. He paused for a moment. “I wasn’t entirely sure what I was
going to do after this” he said, as if realizing this fact for the
first time.

“
Well, this will give you something to do for a little bit,
anyway”.

“
I suppose it will”.

“
I’ll warn you, there’s a lot of bodies on my street. I think
that a lot of people thought that they could maybe get cured if
they made it to the hospital, or something”.

“
That makes sense” he replied non-comittally. “Are you just
about done?”

“
Sure” she replied pertly. “Want me to just leave it on the
back counter?”

“
Ah”, he hesitated, and then mentally shrugged. “Sounds
good”.

After making
sure that the front of the store was tightly locked, Richard walked
into the back to shut the music off and lock the electrical room.
He’d finished doing this and was halfway back through the back
warehouse when the PA came suddenly to life, scaring him close to
an early grave.

“
Richard, I need to see you in my office”. It was the voice of
Mohammed, rich, dark, and cultured. He knew that some of the
associates knew it colloquially as the Voice of Doom. For a brief,
wild moment he considered ignoring the command and walking out of
the store without a second glance. He knew, though, that he owed
Mohammed at least a little more than that. In fact, he owed
Mohammed a lot more than that.

He returned
briefly to the front of the store.

“
You heard that?” he said to Samantha. It was not a question.
She simply nodded.

“
Well, I guess I’ll be back, then”. A sudden wave of paranoia
washed over him. “You’ll wait ‘til I get back up here, eh?” he
asked her, trying to sound casual.

“
Of course”, she replied, awkwardly. She met his glance briefly
and dropped it just as suddenly. Richard nodded to himself and made
his hands into fists. This was not something that he wanted to
see.

THREE

Manager’s Row,
that area of the store where the offices and training room were
located, was chilly. At least, Richard suspected that this was the
reason that he was shaking.

Mohammed’s
door was, like he had last left it, securely closed. When he put
his palm to the doorknob this time, however, he felt it turn
easily, and the heavy door swung open.