Mr. Quick, Part 2
The streets of Percy, population 12,463, were dark. Too dark. It seemed winter could even suck the life out of the street lights. Covered with the petrified snow of late February, they were struggling to cast their beams of direction towards the proper path, and looked wearied by the task. Richard sympathized with their struggle to keep their light lit. Once called “ReBar” or Ricky by his high school friends, he officially went by “Rick” somewhere in his senior year of college, when life seemed like it was dull for quite some time now. He supposed he should commemorate the change of life with something that was adult, but not the image of someone who was uptight or homosexual. Even now, he still wasn’t quite comfortable with it and life keeps losing its luster to Rick ever since his name went from two syllables to one. It doesn't even sound right when he says it out loud. But then again, his voice out loud always creeped him a little.
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Rte 18 was the main drag through Percy and had a number of shops, restaurants, a couple of fast food joints, and a K-Mart. The last gas station/convenience store before the 15 mile stretch to neighboring Tankersville had been out of business for a year or so, but there was a light on in the back tonight. Rick had driven by the old Hess station at night countless times, but he had never seen a light on since it went chapter 11. A small light from perhaps a storage closet in the back, which Rick could not see the source of from the road. Its back-lit candescent glow put the store’s interior in a unique display; like a motionless shadow puppet show. Rick coasted the Chevy and pulled into the parking lot.
“Perhaps there’s an empty shelf burgler in there,” Rick laughed to himself. “Wanted in 4 states in conjunction with empty desk assault and battery.” he continued on in his head. He didn’t get out of the truck, but pulled it up as close to the windows as he could, turned the high beams on, and ruined the macabre atmosphere in a purifying bath of General Motors electricity.
.
Rick probably wouldn’t have thought of buying the place if he didn’t happen to park in front of the neon yellow realtors sign. “FOR SALE! Nicholas M. Knackers Realty 824-867-5309” it screamed behind the dusty glass. Like his own nickname, Rick wondered if his high school friends ever called him Nick Knack. He was sure they had to, unless they were the most oblivious people on the planet. Maybe Rick would call up and ask for Nick Knack tomorrow morning? Say he was an old chum from back in high school and how the hell are ya doin Nicky? Pick up any new little porcelain elephants lately? He he ha ha ho ho! When Rick started to think about how much a gas station would cost on this end of town and how it would probably do better if it was open 24 hours and had more selections to choose from, he decided that he should definitely give Mr. Knackers a call. Maybe sneak that elephant joke in after they get some of the business talk out of the way.
.
Rte 18 was the main drag through Percy and had a number of shops, restaurants, a couple of fast food joints, and a K-Mart. The last gas station/convenience store before the 15 mile stretch to neighboring Tankersville had been out of business for a year or so, but there was a light on in the back tonight. Rick had driven by the old Hess station at night countless times, but he had never seen a light on since it went chapter 11. A small light from perhaps a storage closet in the back, which Rick could not see the source of from the road. Its back-lit candescent glow put the store’s interior in a unique display; like a motionless shadow puppet show. Rick coasted the Chevy and pulled into the parking lot.
“Perhaps there’s an empty shelf burgler in there,” Rick laughed to himself. “Wanted in 4 states in conjunction with empty desk assault and battery.” he continued on in his head. He didn’t get out of the truck, but pulled it up as close to the windows as he could, turned the high beams on, and ruined the macabre atmosphere in a purifying bath of General Motors electricity.
.
Rick probably wouldn’t have thought of buying the place if he didn’t happen to park in front of the neon yellow realtors sign. “FOR SALE! Nicholas M. Knackers Realty 824-867-5309” it screamed behind the dusty glass. Like his own nickname, Rick wondered if his high school friends ever called him Nick Knack. He was sure they had to, unless they were the most oblivious people on the planet. Maybe Rick would call up and ask for Nick Knack tomorrow morning? Say he was an old chum from back in high school and how the hell are ya doin Nicky? Pick up any new little porcelain elephants lately? He he ha ha ho ho! When Rick started to think about how much a gas station would cost on this end of town and how it would probably do better if it was open 24 hours and had more selections to choose from, he decided that he should definitely give Mr. Knackers a call. Maybe sneak that elephant joke in after they get some of the business talk out of the way.
.
more later........
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