The two saw the older man’s mouth slightly twitch at the noise. Xole decided he needed to do something, fast.
“This place looks great!” he said forcing a smile as rats ran past their feet. “A little TLC and your business will be good as new!”
Shakar made a concerned face and went to the back. Mr. Holdover went to his old desk, pulling the chair only for the desk to come with it, falling to a heap at his feet. He looked up and took a breath.
“FUCK!”
He yanked the computer from the rubble and hurled it out the broken window. Xole could’ve sworn he heard someone yell ‘ouch’. Mr. Holdover continued to go through the rubble, cursing.
“Just wait ‘till I get my hands on the motherfuckers!” he spat. “Can’t find shit in the mess…wait a minute, I can’t find anything! The hell did all our shit go?!”
Shakar came from the back room with a cardboard box. “Looks like this place was robbed.” he took a cup of expired noodles from the box. “At least they missed these!”
‘That’s what he was worried about?’ Xole thought watching him. Suddenly the sound of whistling was heard from the backdoor, along with quick footsteps. The three stopped moving, carefully watching the approaching shadow make its way to them. A sandaled and socked foot stepped in followed by hairy pale legs, boxer shorts, and a long hanging yellow and green flannel bathrobe. A tired looking man entered, casually moving past the three to the broken desk, eyeing it, then, stopping the whistle. He glanced around the room before finally noticing them.
“What happened…to my desk?” he asked, sounding dazed, rubbing his short red hair.
“Y-your desk?!” Mr. Holdover snapped his head to his left then his right. “Does this place look like a homeless shelter to you?!”
The man just stared, mouth slightly open, eyes clearly bloodshot. “I dunno but… you all like, gotta leave. You can’t be here.”
Mr. Holdover dipped his head and chuckled. He quickly pivoted and walked to the very end of the massage parlor to the newly discovered back door. Xole saw he began to make his way back, fist clenched.
“Hey um uh…are you ok?” he said quickly, stepping in between the two. “I mean your eyes are red and everything…”
The man stared again, this time he looked down at Xole and quickly placed an arm around his shoulder. “Can you hear them?”
Xole gagged. “Hey man…your breath—”
“Listen!”
Reluctantly, Xole closed his eyes, playing along while trying to hold his breath. “Hear…what?”
“My friends. They’re waiting for me. I…Think they left me behind again.”
His eyes opened. “Wait so you didn’t rob the place?”
“Oh, no. That’s awful.”
“See,” Xole looked to Mr. Holdover. “No need to—“
“But my friends’ did.” the red eyed man continued.
“Not like there was much here anyways.” Shakar said.
Mr. Holdover grabbed the man by his robe. “Where are your friends now?” he tried to ask as calmly as possible.
The man looked at him then the ground. “Oh!” he went to the floor, scooping up an armful of rats and scrambled back up to Mr. Holdover, grinning. “Right here!”
‘CRACK!!!’
Rats flew into the air as the homeless man’s unconscious body fell to the floor. Mr. Holdover turned to Shakar and a stunned Xole. “Alright, first things first we’re getting this place up and running again. We’ve got plenty of food and cash.” He paused. “Still, feels like we’re missing something…”
“Well, we’ll need an official business license,” Shakar began, “meaning we’ll need business permits, birth records, social security, hospital records, crime records, phone number, cards, insurance for just about everything—“
“We need all that?” Xole asked bewildered.
“Oh no that’s just the start. Once we open it that’s when the tough part starts,” he glanced to Mr. Holdover, “Sir, have you even decided on a name yet?”
“Our name will be our reputation,” He answered setting his chair back up.
“So it doesn’t matter?”
“I’ll come up with something later!”
Xole raised his hand. “Uh, is this business like a humanitarian sort of effort? Like we do jobs for the less fortunate people?”
“Don’t know what a humanitarian…vegetarian…whatever’s supposed to mean, but yeah as long as we can expose some elite pricks.” He replied, trying to set the chair up again.
“…Wait you don’t know what that is?” Xole said, “It’s pretty much—“
“Let’s not worry about that for now, Xole,” Shakar said, “Let’s assume we know how this business will work—“
“Which we do,” Mr. Holdover interjected.
“—then,” Shakar continued, his voice a tad strained, “We’ll have to do one of two things; get rich or get partnered.”
“The fuck we don’t!” He gave up on the chair and gestured to the rest of the parlor. “We’ve got a roof and walls. The hell do we need to get partnered for?”
“You really don’t understand how this works do you?” Shakar said feeling a small bead of sweat roll down his face. “Small businesses don’t exist anymore. Instead they’re either absorbed by larger corporations, or have some sort of inherited wealth to become larger, though even with that most lose their original integrity in the process.”
“Oh yeah?” the older man said, “And what if I say no?”
“We’ll more than likely be reported and arrested.”
Xole looked confused. “Then what’s the point in getting a license then?”
“That’s how we keep our identity,” Shakar said, “Without one we run the risk of getting arrested for making ‘under-handed’ money.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Mr. Holdover sat up. He walked back and forth along the room, grabbing the chair he was trying to fix and hurling that out the window too. ”Shit! Fuck! Fuc—”
“I think we get the message,” Shakar said placing his hand up. “Though if we do this for free we won’t have to worry about—”
“Hell no!” Mr. Holdover said. “If we wanna keep going, then we’re gonna need cash. Now preferably I’d like to pry it from the paws of some rich prick, but we won’t always have an Amesworth.”
Shakar looked at him. “Ah, so you do care about money then.”
“Motherfucker, how do you eat?!”
Xole groaned, leaning against the wall. “This whole business things gonna take forever at this rate. Finding an employer, getting rich, finding clients…”
Mr. Holdover clapped his hands together. “Fine new plan, we’ll just focus on the business license. We probably don’t need the other shit anyways, especially once we get more people recruited. We’re gonna teach those tax collectors a lesson.”
“In that case you’d need a currency card,” Shakar said. “We can’t do anything with that wretched cash until then.”
“It’s settled then,” The older man said heading to the door. “Boy, you’re with me. Kufi, unload the house and get this place up and running.”
Shakar furrowed his brow. “House?”
“The RV, remember?”
“I wouldn’t consider that abomination anything like a house.”
“Just shut up and do it!”
Xole quickly followed him out massage parlor for the bank a few blocks down. They started on their way, though Xole was surprised to see the man walk to along the line of a building across the street from them and stand next to the person who was also there. He looked puzzled, “Mr. Holdover, I thought we were going to the bank?”
“We are,” he said, “Once we get to the front of the line.”
The older boy’s mouth gaped to see much of the people occupying the sidewalk were indeed part of the line. He peered off and squinted, eyes a mass at the front in front of an expensive looking building. “T-this is like…two whole blocks!”
“Yeah I know,” he said, “You should see this place on a bad day.”
“This is torture,” Xole moaned. The two had been in line for three hours now and it had only gotten longer. It was blistering hot outside, people patrolled the line selling ice cream and cold water while the morning dragged into late afternoon. “It’s hot, my legs hurt, and this line hasn’t moved an inch. Can’t we just do this another day?”
“No ‘cause then they win,” Mr. Holdover said, “Their goal is to break you, make you feel weak, complacent, so much so that by the time you get up there you’re willing to accept anything these pricks toss at you!”
Xole sighed, he thought about getting an ice cream cone before seeing the twenty dollar price tag. His shoulders slumped even more. “Still though, aren’t there other ways to do this rather than stand in line all day? I mean what about online? Other banking options even?”
“Credit unions and other forms on non-bank alternatives are outlawed, son,” A voice said in front of them turning around. He looked to be about Mr. Holdover’s skin tone with neatly short-cut dark hair, wearing a dark blue suit and light blue tie with a briefcase. He smiled at them, pointing his finger up. “Though not that it would matter considering cards are linked to and only work with banks. And I wouldn’t think about online, unless you’ve got a subscription and the means to afford withdrawing and depositing money online monthly.”
“Wow,” Xole said to the man, “You know a lot.”
“A lot? Well, son, that’s just common knowledge.” He got a better look at him and Mr. Holdover. “I’m guessing this is your first time here?”
Mr. Holdover grimaced. “What gave you that impression?”
“Well you don’t have a ticket for one,” the man replied showing his with the number ‘310’ printed on. “So this line’s pretty much useless for you.”
“Tch!” Mr. Holdover quickly glanced around, noticing other people with the same tickets. He took Xole by the shoulders and shook him. “Damn it! Where the hell’s ours?!”
“I don’t know!” he cried. “Maybe we should find a different bank then?”
“They’re actually all under the same ownership,” The man cut in.
Mr. Holdover’s head jerked towards him. “WHAT?”
“Which brings me to my next point,” he continued, “You would have to make an account online to schedule appointments with the bank. They don’t usually do walk in’s.”
“Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!” He shook Xole even harder. Dropping him he pointed to the large structure before them. “Screw it, we’re going in anyways! I waited too damn long for this!”
The man now looked worried. “Is it that important you’d pick a fight with the bank?”
“We’re trying to start a business,” Xole said rubbing his arm. “One that helps people in unfair situations.”
“Wait, so like a debt relief group?”
“Well um—”
“Yeah, yeah pretty much.” Mr. Holdover said, not really paying attention.
The man beamed. “Really? That’s great! In that case, you may need this.” He held out a ticket in front of the two with the number ‘311’ printed on it.
Xole was in awe. “How’d you get two?”
“It was for my wife in case I couldn’t make it,” The man responded. “Now it can be yours…”
Mr. Holdover smirked, rubbing his hands together. “Well don’t mind of I do—“
“…if!” He pulled his hand away. “You promise to help me.”
He scowled, “Knew it was a trick.”
“Please!” he begged, “I may…” he glanced over his shoulder nervously, “be in some trouble with some powerful people.”
Xole folded his arms. “What’s your name?”
“Malcom. Malcom Weathers.”
He nodded. “It’s settled then Malcom, we’ll get you right.”
“Wait WHAT?” Mr. Holdover snapped his head at Xole.
“Thank you, thank you so much!” Malcom shook both their hands vigorously. He picked up his phone and grinned at them. “Oh, also looks like we’re next. I’ll tell them you’re with me.”
As he went ahead, the older man yanked Xole by the shoulder to him. “Boy, you wanna warn me next time you put us out there? Remember, this Amesworth shit has yet to blow over!”
“I thought it wasn’t a big deal?” Xole shrugged. “Besides he needs our help and…I just couldn’t live with myself if I let it happen to someone else.”
Mr. Holdover seemed stunned, then, released him. He straightened up and adjusted his tie. “Well in that case, let’s get this over with.”
The bank had a large marbled interior; through twin metal detectors laid a parallel row of pillars at the front and the back. Cream colored floors led them to rows of tellers on their left and right sides with a fountain in the middle, stairs at the center-end of the building displayed and ‘off limits’ sign posted before the first step. Malcom led Mr. Holdover and Xole past the entrance, pointing at the first teller booth.
“Go over to that one, I’ll be right on the other side,” He said and jogged to the opposite teller to their left. The two went to the one on their right where a wide eyed woman smiled with neat blonde hair. Mr. Holdover slammed the ticket on the disk.
“Gimme a currency card and a business license, then I’m out.”
The woman stared for a few seconds and then blinked for the very first time.
“Good afternoon and thank you for waiting! What can I do for you?”
Mr. Holdover looked to his left, then back. “I just told you…”
“I didn’t quite catch that, sir. What can I do for you today?”
He took a long breath. “Fucking hate desk ladies—look I just said we need a currency card and a business license. That’s all.”
The woman stared, eventually blinking again. “I’m sorry sir but we do not hand out business licenses, you would have to seek that elsewhere.”
“And where could we do that?”
“I’m sorry, that is beyond my knowledge.”
“…”
Xole looked between the two.
- Holdover felt his fingers digging into the desk. “Just…give us the damn card then.”
The woman blinked. “I’m sorry sir but I do not understand what you are trying to say.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Holy shit. Bitc—lady, for the third time, we need a CURRENCY card!”
“Forgive me sir, but I thought you needed a business license?”
“You just said you couldn’t give one!”
“True, but I must have on record that all issues are resolved before we can proceed.”
“I don’t give a fuck! Just gimme the damn card!”
“But I do sir. Now, is your business license issue resolved or not? We cannot proceed until then.”
“Fuck you lady!”
“Sir, is it resolved or not? We cannot proceed until—”
“QUIT REPEATNG YOURSELF!”
“Fine, fine I’ll resolve it ok?” Xole said, quickly eyeing the looming eyes around them. Eeriness ran up his spine. “Now can we move on to the card?”
“Thank you!” the woman smiled, slowing lowering her head to type on her keyboard. She slowly raised her face back to the two. “Thank you! Please have a great day—”
Now Mr. Holdover was blinking rapidly. “You better hold the FUCK up we weren’t finished yet!”
“I’m sorry sir—”
“Would you quit apologizing?! It’s damn annoying!”
The woman blinked. Xole saw for a split second her eyes shoot to the top of her booth then back to them. “I’m sorry sir, but I can only resolve one issue at a time. You will have to schedule an appointment for next time.”
Xole saw the older man was rolling up his sleeves. This was getting bad he knew he had to do something.
“But miss our issue wasn’t resolved yet!” he said.
The woman ever so slightly titled her head in Xole’s direction. “Yes it was, young man.”
“No it wasn’t, you said you could only resolve one issue at a time, correct?”
“That is correct, young man.”
“But I said I’d resolve it. So technically you haven’t done anything for us yet.”
This time, only one of the woman’s eyes blinked. “Sir—young man, your issue was already resolved—“
“Because I resolved it, not you.”
The woman stared into space, still smiling, eyes seeming almost plastic-like while her body was as still as a statue.
“Damn,” Mr. Holdover said, “‘think you fried this bitch’s batteries.”
The woman continued to stare, her body slowly beginning to shake. A low humming could be heard from her lips. Then it all stopped. A single strand of hair fell to her face and her eyes met the two again. Xole could see a very small line of blood fall from her nose. Finally she brought her trembling hand forward revealing a copper colored card.
“I-is this…what y-you want?”