"William Lynch" by Michael Dell --- CHAPTER TEN --- It was the third time that William woke up in Meghan's bed. He could get used to it. But he'd never take it for granted. The clock on the dresser read 3:13. He had once again spent the majority of the night lying awake beside her while waiting patiently for sleep to find him. All told, despite the afternoon nearly over, he had gotten about seven hours sleep. He'd prefer a solid nine. He wasn't about to complain. As he sat up and began to collect himself, William noticed something peculiar. It was silent. No music. No shower. No typing. He got dressed and began to stumble his way to the bedroom door. That's when he saw it. He must have overlooked it the night before, but his painting was now hanging proudly on the wall. He fought the urge to take it down and continued his journey into the hall. "Meghan?" There was no answer. He gave the rest of the apartment a quick survey and came to a conclusion: she wasn't there. He was quick like that. Maybe she had to go to the store for something? Or maybe she finally came to her senses and got out while she still could? He found himself wishing she just needed orange juice. Since she wasn't around, William decided to go back to his place to shower. He picked his coat off the couch and pulled her door shut behind him. One problem. He couldn't find his keys. He checked all his coat pockets twice before uttering the prerequisite "Damn." He decided to go ahead and try the knob anyway and it actually turned. He'd really have to start remembering to lock his door. He tossed his coat on the couch and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he opened the refrigerator he thought he heard a noise coming from the bedroom. He remained still for a moment. There it was again. He wasn't alone. After all those years of waiting, there was finally a burglar in his house! He was finally going to get to bust out some John Shaft on somebody's ass! He went over the quick checklist in his head. Lead with the left jab and follow with the right hook. If he throws first, slip it and roll left to right before snapping up into a right cross. And depending on his size, don't be scared to punch to the throat or, if he's really big, blow out the knee joint with a well placed kick. That Bruce Lee Biography on A&E comes in handy. William was ready. He could almost envision himself throwing some turkey in a funky plaid jacket out the window. He was taking his first few cautious steps from the kitchen when he spotted his keys on the counter. He never kept his keys on the kitchen counter. A rather disheartening thought crossed his mind. "Meghan?" called William. "Wait! Don't come in yet!" pleaded the familiar voice from behind the partially closed door. She poked her head out to finish the conversation. "Hi." "Hi. What are you doing?" "I hope you don't mind, but I just couldn't stand to think of this biological hazard being so close to me." "You cleaned my room?" asked William, trying to peek over her head. "I'm actually still in the process of cleaning your room. I've been at it since before noon. You don't mind, do you?" "No, not at all. You're a lot cheaper than a maid." "You haven't seen my bill yet." "So I can't come in?" "Not till I'm done." "When's that gonna be?" "With any luck," she glanced over her shoulder to refresh her memory, "about another twenty minutes." "Can I at least get a change of clothes so I can take a shower?" He stepped towards the door but she extended an arm to stop him. "I'll get them." She shut the door. She opened the door. "One question, how do you tell which clothes are clean?" "You know all the ones that were piled on the bed in a heap?" "Yeah." "Those are clean." She shut the door. He could hear her rummaging around searching for a serviceable wardrobe. She emerged a few seconds later shoving a pair of jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt through the sliver of open space. "Give me another T-shirt." "What's wrong with that one?" "Nothing, but I always wear two." "That's right. I forgot." The door shut. It opened. "Here." She provided a dark blue shirt featuring an iron-on decal of Huggy Bear. Her taste was impeccable. "Thanks." William took his time shaving. He still nicked himself repeatedly. He had the shakiest hand in the west. It was probably a lack of protein. Wanting to give his blood a chance to clot, and Meghan a chance to finish the room, he lingered in the shower for a good twenty minutes. Screw the water bill. He wasn't planning to be around to pay it anyway. By the time he dried off, got dressed, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth, it had been exactly thirty-two minutes. He had barely opened the bathroom door when Meghan bounced off the couch and down the hall towards him. "For someone so thin you sure do take long showers," said Meghan. "That was nothin'. Believe me, I used to take much longer ones before I met you." She stepped in front of him and put her back to the bedroom door. "Ready?" She backed into the room and unveiled her miraculous achievement. William was dumbfounded. The whole thing reminded him of the very first time he stepped foot in her apartment. Everything was spotless. There was nothing lying on the floor. The bed was actually made. He couldn't remember the last time the bed was made. He didn't even know he had sheets. All four drawers of the dresser were closed and the wood appeared polished. His paintings were stacked much more neatly along the walls and he also detected the faint scent of pine in the air. "Where are all my clothes?" asked William. "I did something kind of crazy and put them in the dresser drawers." William went over to see for himself. Sure enough, there they were, all folded and filed neatly into the top three drawers. Meghan joined him at the dresser with more information. "I put all the paints and brushes in the bottom drawer." She bent down and opened it to further illustrate the point. "They're organized left to right by the paint's color, from white to black, or by the brush's consistency, from fine to thick. I threw away all the empty tubes." She stood up and walked to the closet. "Any clothes that wouldn't fit in the first three drawers, I folded and put on the top shelf in here." William stood in stunned silence. "Well, say something," pleaded Meghan. "I don't know what to say. This is incredible." "So you like it?" "I love it." William hugged her. "Thank you very much." "I know it was rather presumptuous of me, but I didn't think you'd let me if I asked first." "You're probably right," confirmed William, still looking around the room in astonishment at what she accomplished. "It's going to be weird sleeping in my own bed again. Hey, I got an idea! Let's see if it still works." "I'd love to but I have to be at work by five." "Again?" "Yeah, they called this morning and asked if I could come in tonight." "Wow, I must have really been out. I didn't even hear the phone." "When you stay over I always take the precaution of turning the ringer off in the bedroom." "That is so considerate." "I do what I can." "I don't know about you stealing my line, but other than that I think you're like the nicest person I've ever met. And I went to Catholic school." "I should be home by midnight at the latest. The good news is that I'll have the next two days off." "That's cool." "I was thinking that since you went to the party with me, maybe we could do something that you want to do." "Okay, but I don't even know where you'd find a cheerleader's outfit." "I'm sure we'll think of something." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and started off. "I have to run. But I'll stop by when I get home." "I'll be up." "That's what I figured." He heard the front door shut. She was gone, but her spirit remained. William was still trying to come to grips with what she had done to the bedroom. It really was quite the remarkable transformation. He sat down on the neatly pressed bed and studied his new surroundings. After a lengthy period of evaluation, he voiced his findings to no one in particular. "I hate it." William gathered himself and made his way out to the easel in the living room. He felt like painting. He removed his most recent creation, which was still missing its gold dot, and replaced it with a fresh canvas. He had only three canvases left. And since he didn't have money to buy more, he had to make them count. The destiny of one had already been chosen. It was merely waiting for its chance. That left only two open for interpretation. He inspected his palette and the range of colors at his disposal. The black was nearly cashed. Who would have guessed? At least there was still an abundance of happy yellows, oranges, and reds. He returned to the bedroom to search the bottom drawer for other shades. There was another tube of black and a few similar dark hues, but he opted for a light green. It appeared the spirit of this particular piece was going to be upbeat. The animosity of his previous work was nowhere to be found. In its place were soft, gentle brush strokes of fine quality that seemed to acquaint themselves with the surface of the canvas. He started at the bottom and gradually worked his way to the top with delicate, short strokes of rich gold. When William chose to begin with the color he did, the first thing that came to his mind was Van Gogh's "Wheat Field with Crows." It was the great master's final painting. It depicts a flock of black birds descending on a golden field of wheat beneath a harsh, tormented evening sky. There's a path cut into the field that leads to nowhere, as if stopped before reaching its true destination. In the days following the completion of the picture, Van Gogh shot himself. The image of Van Gogh's masterpiece stood in stark contrast to William's current mood. That bothered him. Yet he forged ahead with his scheme and feathered his own grains of wheat. Once he felt he had enough of a foundation, he switched to a lighter yellow and added highlights. Back up the canvas, inching his way along ever so slowly, adding definition and depth as he progressed. As was usually the case when he painted, the hours passed without notice. By the time he was finished applying his third color variation to the theme, it was nearly eleven o'clock. The seven hours of intricate, precise movements left his hand a gnarled mess. He stopped briefly to rub some life into the taut, cramped muscles and took note of the time. Meghan would be home soon. He picked up a new brush and placed it carefully into the still frozen grip of his right hand. He added some orange. After about twenty more minutes he set the brush down and stepped back to analyze the piece. It was actually quite appealing. An almost impressionistic collage, it had a sense of warmth that was seldom found in his work. It was downright jubilant. This was his first clue that something was wrong. He knew it wasn't complete. Something was missing. It was too damn happy. William stretched his right hand a few final times and stepped forward to confront the piece. He carefully lifted it from the easel, wary of smudging any wet paint, and placed it on the floor, leaning its back against the arm of the couch. Burying his hands in his pockets, he contemplated the painting's meaning and the influences behind it. He didn't like what he found. No matter how hard he fought to convince himself it wasn't true, his soul spawned the work. And the work never lies. Thankfully, the work can be silenced. He lashed out, driving his right foot through the canvas and snapping the left side of the slender wood frame that held it tight. He proceeded to stomp the battered remains until a burning sensation raced up his shin. William buried the aborted creation in the corner of the room, hiding its remnants behind the two remaining canvases. It wasn't until he observed a broken trail of paint on the carpet that he realized the bottom of his bare right foot wore evidence of the attack. He hopped on one leg to the shower and washed away the stain. After stopping off to put on a pair of socks, he returned to the living room and attempted to scrub the rug clean with an old rag. But it's always a good idea to make sure the rag itself is clean before undertaking such a project. Otherwise, unseemly smudges of great complexity will result. Fuck it, he wasn't getting the cleaning deposit back anyway. Sitting on the couch and feeling somewhat drained from the evening's events, only the pain in his foot registered. His bones weren't meant for violence. He was wondering exactly what a broken foot felt like when he heard Meghan come home. She knocked on his door without even bothering to go to her place first. "C'mon in," called William without budging from his place on the couch. "Hey," greeted Meghan. Seeing him sitting peacefully in a quiet room with the TV off brought the obvious question. "What are you doing?" "Just waiting for you." She joined him on the couch. "That's sweet." "How was work?" "Fine." "A lot of people buyin' books?" "Yeah." William, still spent from painting, lazily nodded his head in response, looking every bit Barney Fife relaxing on Andy Taylor's front porch during a Mayberry summer evening. Meghan seemed to take this the wrong way. "You know, don't you?" she asked uneasily. "What?" "That I didn't work tonight." William just stared at her. Not because he was mad, but simply because he was still trying to process the information. "I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm sorry. I just didn't feel right about telling you where I was going." William remained silent. He was finally starting to catch up to the discussion. "See," explained Meghan, "today was Mark's mother's birthday. And the family was having a big party. And since Mark couldn't be there himself he called and asked me to go in his place and deliver her gift." "You could have told me, it's no big thing." "I know, I just wasn't sure how you'd react." "Do you get along with his mother?" asked William. "Yeah. We're not real, real close or anything, but we are kind of friends, I guess." She was a friend of his mother. William's stomach started to knot. "Are you feeling as guilty as I am right now?" "More." Lost in thought, neither one moved an inch or spoke a word in the moments that followed. Finally, after feeling enough remorse for one day, William changed speeds. "I'm hungry. You hungry?" "Not really. I ate at the party." "Let's go to the store." "What store is open at midnight on a Sunday?" "Oh, there's one..." It was Meghan's first time inside William's car. She offered to clean it, but William refused, fearing that it might be beyond even her powers of purification. Before venturing to the grocery store, they stopped at the nearby National City branch so William could hit the MAC machine. After cramming the two new crisp twenty-dollar bills into his pocket, William walked back to the car while reading the transaction receipt. It said he had $13.46 left in the account. How'd that happen? By his calculations he should have had like sixty bucks. Oh well. Whatever. He crumpled up the receipt and tossed it on the floor behind the driver seat as he sat down. "I didn't think you'd be one to keep paperwork," said Meghan. "It's there if I need it." From there it was a quick jaunt out the highway to William's one-stop shopping center. "Welcome to Food 4 Less," he said as they pulled into a mammoth, yet empty, parking lot. "I've heard of this place, but I've never actually shopped here," admitted Meghan. "Then you, my friend, are in for a treat." There were only five other cars there, so William had his choice of spots. Yet he still elected to park further away than he had to, simply to keep distance between his car and those of the other shoppers. "I could use the exercise," he explained to Meghan. "See," said William, pointing to a sign as they crossed the parking lot to the door. "So that's why you shop here, it's open 24 hours." "Yeah, it's open 24 hours, but not in a row." She looked puzzled. "That's an old Steven Wright joke. I tell it every time I'm here. Even if I'm by myself, I still tell it. It's tradition." "And what a grand tradition it is." As they approached the gigantic glass payload style doors at the front of the store, William put an arm in front of Meghan to hold her back and warned, "Watch yourself." Just then the automatic doors slid open. "Them doors is haunted." Another set of haunted doors had to be passed before entering the actual store area. Meghan was somewhat amused to see the bargain basement conditions of the chain grocer. "It's nice to see a store not caught up in trying to win over the customer with needless frills like tile floors and actual shelves." "Hey, I'll admit they cut some corners. Sure, the floor might be concrete. And okay, not all the food is unpacked. But I don't care. You know why? Because they pass the savings along to who? To me, the consumer. Thank you, Food 4 Less." As they wove their way through the produce section, Meghan couldn't help but notice that everything in the store was yellow. All the walls were yellow. The shopping carts were yellow. Even some of the oranges looked a bit yellow. Or maybe those were the lemons. "If you hated the color yellow this store would really suck," she said, stating the obvious. "Yeah, I don't know what happened there. But you know who doesn't care?" He paused a moment and then pointed both of his thumbs at his chest before adding, "This guy! And you know why?" "Because they pass the savings along to you, the consumer." "Exactly. I need potatoes." Food 4 Less potatoes were just twenty-five cents a pound. That's a good twenty cents lower than the competition. That's called comparison shopping. Look into it. William carefully inspected each potato before allowing it into his plastic produce bag. In all, he found twelve that were suitable. "So what do you look for in a potato?" asked Meghan in mockery of the selection process. "Pretty much the same thing I look for in a woman. They have to be firm, ripe, and less than thirty cents a pound." After double bagging his potatoes and securing them with the provided green twist tie, William began to eye up the scale. He handed the bag to Meghan. "How much you think they weigh?" She hoisted them up and down once or twice and then ventured, "Seven pounds." William took the bag back. "No way. I say no more than five pounds, six ounces." He placed the potatoes on the scale. The thin red needle flashed to exactly five pounds, six ounces. Meghan looked at him in astonishment. "I used to work at a carnival," joked William as he lifted the potatoes free. "Don't kid yourself, carny folk are good people. Now I need some rice." William went on his way. Meghan hung back with a suspicious eye towards the scale. She selected a potato at random and plopped it on the tray. The needle spun to a stop at five pounds, six ounces. "Cheat!" William turned with a grin, "That's not cheating. That's called home field advantage." Meghan replaced the potato in the bin with a flip and rejoined her guide. It was off in search of rice. When they swung on to the back aisle of the store, which included meat and dairy products, they noticed a fellow shopper lingering among the yellow. "It looks like you're not the only one who keeps odd hours," said Meghan. "There's usually at least one or two other people here. And I normally don't come until like two or three in the morning. Sometimes, though, it's just the stock boys and me. It would be easy as hell to steal stuff because half the time the lone cashier's off smoking a cigarette or something because they don't think anyone's in the place." "But you never do." "Of course not. I'm not a thief. I'm just an antisocial punk. Which, oddly enough, gets me a ten percent discount at all participating 7-11s. Hang a left." He directed her down the rice aisle. Food 4 Less had quite the assortment of rice. He stepped back to peruse the vast selection. "What kind do you usually get?" she asked. "Uncle Ben's. But every once in a while I like to switch up and go with Minute Rice. Gotta keep it fresh." "You can actually tell the difference?" "Oh yeah, definitely. They're both very distinctive. Minute Rice is more like Chinese restaurant rice. The grains are smaller and tend to stick together. Uncle Ben's is longer and a bit fluffier. Aw, c'mon, Uncle Ben, it's you and me buddy." He reached down and picked the largest box available. It cost $3.79. That's forty cents cheaper than the recommended retail price. Food 4 Less does it again. "How cool would it be to have Uncle Ben as your real uncle? Just riding around on that steamship all day eating rice. That's the life." "What's next?" asked Meghan in an attempt to bring the Uncle Ben discussion to a close. "Pretzels. And then we're out." The snack food section was clear on the opposite side of the store. They could really make things a whole lot easier on William if they grouped his foods together. Really, would it bust their ass to put potatoes, rice, and pretzels in the same aisle? "Here, hold these," requested William, handing Meghan the sack of potatoes. He had to reach to the very top of the display in order to claim two massive bags of pretzels, which, of course, were thirty cents cheaper at Food 4 Less. With all the staples of his diet accounted for, it was time to pay the piper. There was only one register open at this time of night. The cashier, the same woman who was always working whenever William made his customary Sunday night visits, saw him and Meghan at the pretzel display and knew their shopping trip was coming to a close. By the time they made it to register three she was waiting for them. "Hey," said William, as he loaded his groceries on to the conveyer belt. "Hi," answered the cashier mechanically, never once making eye contact. She hurriedly went about the business of ringing up his four purchases. William and Meghan shared a quick glance. "$11.46." William had one of the new twenties all ready to go. She handed him his $8.54 in change. "Hey, thanks," said William happily. "Have a good night," responded the woman. "You too." The cashier then quickly left the register and went about straightening items on the nearby bread aisle. "You have to bag yourself?" asked Meghan. "Yeah, but you know who doesn't care?" "Just shut up and bag the groceries." William smiled and stuffed the rice and both bags of pretzels into one plastic shopping bag. He picked it up, along with his potatoes, and looked back towards the cashier. "You know that lady?" he asked, nodding his head towards the woman that just waited on them. "She's here every Sunday night when I'm here." "And?" asked Meghan as they strolled from the store. "And that's all we every say to each other... hey, hi, hey thanks, have a good night, you too. Every week. I've probably seen her more than most of my friends the past few months but we never talk or anything. Each week it's like we're meeting for the first time." "Why don't you say something?" "Because I'm not sure she remembers me." "She has to remember you. You said you're here every Sunday." "Yeah, I remember her because I'm here every Sunday. But I never talk to anyone during the week. She probably comes in contact with like hundreds of different people each week. She's the Food 4 Less cashier to me, but who am I to her?" "You're the freak that only buys potatoes, rice, and pretzels." William opened Meghan's car door for her and stopped to think. "I could see that." After starting on their drive home, the discussion continued. "I think that's probably my greatest fear in life. That people don't remember me. Well, that and that they might take off 'Columbo'." "You're kind of a hard person to forget," assured Meghan. "You think so? Because I even have to introduce myself to my parents whenever I see 'em. It's like, Ma, remember me? Delivery room... twenty-three years ago... I was the one crying... anything? Anything at all?" "I don't think I could ever forget you." "Sure, that's what you say now, but give it time. I'm very forgettable. In fact, I try to forget I'm myself every day." "Why do you say stuff like that?" "It's just a joke." "I don't like to hear you talk about yourself like that." "I'm sorry." "Do you talk that way with everybody or just me?" "Well, you're pretty much the only person I talk to." "You don't talk to your friends?" "Yeah, but we just goof around. We never really talk." "What about your family?" "What about 'em?" "Are you close?" "Sort of. I mean, I don't fight with my parents or anything. I like them. And I'm reasonably sure they still like me. But it's not like I call them on the phone to chat or anything." "Do you have any brothers and sisters?" "I've got one sister." "Older or younger?" "Older." "How much older?" "She's thirty. I think. Yeah, thirty. Or twenty-nine. Somewhere in there." "Do you talk to her at all?" "If I see her at the house. We don't call each other or anything." "Why not?" "I've got a hotel phone. Calls can come in, but I can't dial out." "Seriously, why don't you call them more often?" "I don't know. I guess I'm just not the kind of guy that talks on the phone. I hate calling people. I don't call anyone. All my friends call me. I never call them. That's probably why we get along so well because I've never once called you on the phone. I just hate it." "Why?" "It's just really awkward for me. I think it's because I'm a counter puncher, ya know? I need someone else to provide the straight lines. That's why I don't mind if people call me because they've got the lead and I can just react off what they say. But when I try and call someone it's murder. And, really, what right do I have to bother someone else? They know that I'm always home. If they want me, they can call. If not, who cares? I'd rather be left alone, anyway." He thought about what he just said. "That doesn't mean you, though. I like having you around." "And exactly why is that?" "I'm not sure. I think maybe it's because when I'm alone with you I get the feeling that at least someone in the room likes me." "There you go again..." "I can't help it. I need my self-hate." Meghan condemned the notion with an icy stare. When he couldn't take the chill any longer, William offered a meek "sorry." She merely shook her head in frustration. But he was simply too pathetic to stay angry at long. By the time they returned to his apartment they were once again on friendly speaking terms. William tossed his groceries on the kitchen counter. There, they were put away. "You sure you don't want any rice?" he asked as he began to prepare the steamer. "No, that's okay." William's rice steamer was one of his prized possessions. His mother bought it for him a long time ago when he first started his regimented diet. It cost about twenty bucks, but its real value could not be measured in slips of green paper. It made cooking rice a snap. He just poured the desired amount of rice into its plastic dish, mixed in some water so everything got all wet like, added some more water in the base, and plugged it in. Within fifteen minutes the rice was cooked to perfection. Somewhere Uncle Ben was smiling. They spent the time waiting for the rice to cook flipping through the dial. Even after the rice was done he didn't eat it right away. William always let it sit for a while in order to let it cool. Room temperature rice was where it's at. It was time for "The Dick Van Dyke Show". William attempted to entertain Meghan by accurately predicting lines of dialogue. Her initial amazement was soon replaced with fear, then pity. William finished eating his rice just as the closing theme began to roll. It was also clear that Meghan was about done watching TV. She seemed to lack William's stamina in this area. "Next up is 'Cheers'," informed William, kicking back in the couch with his hands folded on his head. "And if the syndication cycle holds true it should be the first episode with John Allen Hill. Aw, it's so good." Meghan, who had charge of the remote, had other ideas. She silenced the talking box with a click. "No, see, the 'power' button turns it off," explained William sarcastically. "Let's see if that bed still works," suggested Meghan as she began walking back to the bedroom. William slowly turned his head to watch as she passed. "But I just ate all that rice." She continued down the hall without fail. William tilted his head back and yelled after her, "We're not going to be doing any swimming, are we?" The bed held up just fine. William was hoping that she'd be able to stay awake the whole night with him and adjust to his schedule for once, but it just wasn't meant to be. She started to fall asleep somewhere around three. It was tough to say for sure because there wasn't a clock in the room. Although, a sudden knock at the front door seemed to tell William that it was about 3:30. "Aw, fuck..." muttered William. "What's wrong?" asked Meghan, still under the influence of sleep. William slipped from the bed and started to get dressed. There was another knock, this time slightly louder. "Remember that whole stealing-the-Big-Boy thing I told you about? Well, we're supposed to have a practice run tonight." "You're still actually going to go through with that?" "Listen, if I'd have met you sooner I never would have gotten involved, I probably wouldn't do a lot of things I have planned. But I promised. So I have to. If a man doesn't have his word, he doesn't have anything." "What is that?" asked Meghan drowsily. "Clint Eastwood?" "No, actually it's from the 'Charles and Charge' when Charles had to pass up a date with Gwendylon so he could help one of those weasel kids with a science project." He slammed his feet into his shoes. "Just go back to sleep. I won't be gone long." "Be careful." "I will." "Because if I even have to bail you out of jail..." She rolled over and went back to sleep. William quietly closed the bedroom door and motored down the hall to try and beat a third knock. He didn't quite make it. "What the hell? Were you sleepin'?" asked Wilson upon William opening the door. "No, no, I was just painting," answered William nervously. "I would have called first to make sure you were around but then I figured you ain't goin' anywhere." Lou tried to enter the apartment but William blocked his way. "Let's go wait outside for everybody," said William, pulling on a thick flannel jacket. "They're all coming, right?" "Yeah, but why do we have to wait downstairs? It's kind of cold out there." "I could use the fresh air." "Do you have someone in there?" asked Wilson with a smile. "You dog you!" He gave it his all to try and look over William's shoulder to see what he could as he was being pushed back into the hall. "Who've you got back there?" "No one. Let's go wait outside." William pulled the door shut behind him and took special care to make sure it locked. He finished adjusting the collar of his jacket as he approached the steps; Wilson remained staring at the apartment door. "You sensitive artist types get all the chicks," cracked Wilson. He then began to follow William's trail down the stairs. "What time is it?" asked William without even turning around. "It's like twenty till four." "You sure they're all comin'?" "Yeah, they'll be here." Of course they'd be there. What else did they have to do? Stealing the Big Boy was the biggest thing in their lives. They'd show. Sure enough, the wait outside was only a few minutes before Dom's car pulled up. Norm and Matt were along for the ride. Car-pooling was fun. "What up, boys?" greeted Dom loudly. "Shhhh. Remember, it's four in the morning," cautioned William. "No need to wake the neighbors." "Sorry." "Are we ready to go?" asked William of his troops. "Yeah," answered Norm on behalf of the crew. "You guys got the phones?" "Check," said Dom, proudly holding his for all to see. Norm signaled confirmation with a tap of his coat pocket. "And we all know our roles?" Everyone seemed confident. "No questions?" No one spoke up. "What time is it?" "Ten till four," replied Matthew after consulting his watch. "Then I guess it's time to get rollin'. And remember, this is just a practice run. If something doesn't feel right, or if the cops are around, there's no need to tip our hand. All right? No unnecessary risks. Save bein' a hero for the real show. Got it?" Understanding was voiced with silence. Dom and Matt both gave lazy salutes and were off on their way. The remaining three got into Lou's car and waited for the call. William took the passenger side and Norm sat in the back, just as they would in exactly one week's time. "We wait for them to call and then we move out, right?" asked Wilson for clarification. "Yeah," replied William. He checked the dashboard clock. It was 3:54. He had been away from Meghan approximately fourteen minutes. It was too long. Why was he even doing this? "I'd get my IQ tattooed on my ass," said Norm completely out of the blue. That's why William was doing this. "What?" erupted Wilson. "Some guy at work was saying that in the future they should make everyone get their IQs tattooed on their foreheads so you'd know how smart someone is when you meet them." As Norm continued to stare out the windshield and ponder the proposal, Wilson and William just looked at each other with stunned smiles of disbelief. "I'd get mine on my ass," finished Norm. The next sound heard was the ringing of the cell phone. Norm didn't react. William turned to look at Norm. "Dude, I think the phone's ringing." Watching him slowly draw the phone from his coat and clumsily figure out how to operate it made William and Wilson wonder if this plan was indeed foolproof. "Yello... okay..." Norm kept the receiver by his ear but rotated the mouthpiece out of the way in order to give the word. "It's all good." Lou backed out and they were on their way. When the car turned on to Covington Street it was 4:06. Everything was right on target. William surveyed the surrounding area for any cops and couldn't see a one. Norm kept watch out the back window. The Man must have been sleeping. They cruised down the auxiliary road behind Elby's without incident. It was 4:07. Norm gave one final update from Matthew. "It's still all good." Wilson swung the car into the Elby's parking lot and lined up the back end with the Big Boy just as planned. Norm skillfully handed off the phone and then he and William poured from the car. They marched towards the Big Boy like mission men. Their movements were concise and confident. They picked up their burger-toting buddy, held him for a few seconds, and then lowered him back into place. William pretended to slap a note on the front window before ambling his way to the car. Doors shut, Wilson handed the phone back to Norm, and they casually pulled out of the parking lot. "Your baby's hungry, mama, make him some cornbread," was Norm's way of telling Matthew that they were leaving the scene of the crime. And that's what they did. They left. They didn't flee. There was no panic or excitement involved. Everything was calculated and controlled. It was flawless. About a hundred feet down I-79 they could see Dom's car pulled over on the side of the road. His flashers were on and he was kneeling down by the back right tire. Wilson slowed ever so slightly as they passed and William gave Dom the old six-gun point to let him know everything was cool. As they drove into town, the Canadian Wonder Boy dashed back around to the driver's seat and continued his half of the plan, which included going back to pick up Matthew. And surprisingly enough, he did so without making an ass of himself. Everything was beautiful, straight down the line. Part two: the dropoff. Once Dom picked him up, Matthew got on the horn and alerted the lead car of their progress. Wilson, displaying mad driving skills, paced things perfectly and was climbing Otterman Street at the exact moment that Dom and Matthew arrived into position at the far end of Main. "All clear, all clear," reported Matt. Wilson crossed Main and coolly pulled alongside the curb of the Court House. William and Norm vaulted from the car and went through the motions of unloading the imaginary Big Boy. They walked up to the corner, waited a few seconds, and then dashed back to their waiting chariot. The doors shut. Wilson pulled away. And that was that. "Baby likes the cornbread, mama," confirmed Norm, informing Matt and Dom that things went smoothly and that it was time to return to William's apartment. They pretty much arrived there together, each car emptying into the gravel parking lot for an informal bull session. "That was too easy," claimed Dom. "Yeah, that was nice," agreed Norm. "Did you guys see any cops at all?" asked Wilson of Dom and Matt. "There were two of them parked at Sunoco," answered Matt. "But they were just sittin' there talking to each other." "Protect and serve," mocked Wilson. Everyone was so happy about the plan proving to be a winner that they really didn't notice William edging his way to the building door. He had already turned the knob and had one foot inside before he spoke up. "All right then, fellas. Next Sunday night we make it happen." "Where are you goin'?" questioned Wilson. "It's past my bed time," smiled William. "Whatever," replied Wilson sharply. "You've got at least another two hours before you have to be back in your coffin." "I gotta go," assured William, gesturing to the stairs. "But you guys were great tonight." He pointed at them with his right index finger for effect. "And I'm proud of each and every one of you. Seriously." He placed his right hand on his heart. "I mean that." He closed the door, pointed at them one more time through the glass, and took off up the stairs. Lou, Dom, Matt, and Norm just looked at each other. "It's gotta be a broad," theorized Wilson. William crept quietly into the bedroom, having already discarded his coat and shoes by the door. Not wanting to disturb Meghan, who was sleeping on her right side with her back towards him, he didn't even attempt to get undressed or climb under the covers. He merely lied down on his back beside her and took comfort in her warmth.