For Richard’s Birthday

(Richard Brautigan’s birthday is 30 Jan. This story was published in The 23, a newsletter of the Brautigan Library, Volume 4 Number 2 and in the BIRTHDAY BOOK COLLECTION of 30 Jan 94, a book of stories written for Richard Brautigan’s birthday. The Brautigan Library collection has since been transferred to a Burlington, Vermont public library. And so it goes.)

“Soulman, you eats that chicken like a rich boy. Look here, this was half a chicken, same as you eatin’. How many bones you see there? No more than a dozen. Now look at what you doin’ there, you throwin’ away half that chicken. Rich people throw away food like that because they can. Poor man eats all he can because he don’t know when he eat next. That’s how I know Soulman was raised a rich boy. Look at all that food you throwin’ in the garbage!”

Suileman Festoon looked at Junior. Suileman looked at the pile of skin, bones and gristle on his paper plate. Suileman looked at the smaller pile of clean-picked bones on Junior’s plate.

“You must have a steel asshole to eat that shit. I was taught not to give the dog chicken bones because they’d splinter and cut him up inside. How the hell can you eat that?”

“The big bones I don’t eat, those are the ones that can mess up your insides. Everything else chews right down,” Junior laughed. “Soulman, it just chews right down. The little chicken bones are good for you, make you strong.”

Junior coughed. Junior puffed on his pipe, lighting it. Suileman was seated next to him on the sidewalk in front of Twinny Pillows, Inc. They had eaten their lunches in the sun during the half hour lunch break from work in the pillow factory. Twinny Pillows, Inc. was owned by twins, Seymour and Sidney, and occupied two buildings.

Suileman Festoon worked in the Factory/Warehouse Building. He loaded rolls of fabric onto shelves, spread fabric on a long table for the Cutter, cleaned up, and brought bins of cut material to the fifty or so women who worked as Sewing Machine Operators. Suileman’s Factory/Warehouse Building chores were considered undesirable work by male Twinny workers. They said a man would go crazy from listening to the Sewing Machine Operators all day, that’s why the Cutter wouldn’t talk to anyone.

Junior worked in the Filling/Shipping Building, in the Filling Room. Junior pulled chunks of scrap cotton from bales and loaded the cotton into the Filling Machine. The Filling Machine chopped the cotton to bits, blew the chopped cotton through a pipe and into pillows held at the end of the pipe. The Filling Room looked like it was full of smoke but there was no smoking in there. The air was full of cotton dust. Junior wore a small surgical mask when he was in the Filling Room. Sidney had told Junior that the surgical mask was required by law.

A few minutes remained of the half hour lunch break. Junior smoked his pipe and paged through the Daily News. Suileman read a paperback.

Junior coughed, then coughed harder, Junior spat a bright red blob onto the sidewalk. Suileman stopped reading the paperback.

“Are you alright?” asked Suileman.

“I’m okay, got a little touch of ‘osis.” Junior wiped his eyes, looked at Suileman. “What you readin’?”

“‘In Watermelon Sugar’ by Richard Brautigan. Brautigan is amazing, he uses words like paint to create new worlds and he’s pretty funny.”

“Soulman, you eats like a rich boy and you reads like a rich boy. Poor man uses words for words and paint for paint.” Junior laughed. “Workin’ man reads the newspaper to stay up on things or studies the things he need to know to make a livin’. You paintin’ the world with words and that never gonna put a nickel in your pocket.”

The whistle on the roof of the Factory/Warehouse Building blew.

Suileman picked up his plate of chicken bones and scraps and walked to the garbage can. Suileman looked down at the bright red blob Junior had spat on the sidewalk. He wondered if it was lung blood and what “‘osis” was.

Suileman walked back to the Factory/Warehouse Building.

“Four more hours,” thought Suileman.

Suileman’s Christmas

“Suileman! Suileman Festoon!” yelled the fat ugly woman.

“I’ve never seen this fat ugly woman staring at me before in my life,” thought Suileman Festoon in a rush.

Suileman was crossing West Thirty Fourth Street on Seventh Avenue in New York City. The fat ugly woman stood dead ahead blocking his path.

“You got the drop on me,” confessed Suileman. “Who are you?”

“Janice Goodman.”

Suileman hadn’t seen Janice Goodman in seventeen years. She was a friend of Suileman’s ex-wife. The years had not been kind to Janice.

“Janice, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

“Do you remember Mike Kagan?”

Suileman had graduated from high school with Mike Kagan. They hadn’t been friends particularly, but there was no animosity.

“He died of cancer. Do you remember Lily Shoengold?”

Lily Shoengold was a friend of Janice’s that Suileman had met a few times. Lily was a wild kid, her parents sent her to a private reform school for crazed young ladies who can’t keep their pants on. Lily had run away from home thirty times by her sixteenth birthday.

Suileman nodded.

“She was found dead in a car in Astoria with her throat cut. She had a seven week old baby. She left the baby at her apartment.”

“That’s terrible,” Suileman sputtered.

“I ran into your ex-wife about four years ago.”

Suileman hadn’t seen his ex-wife in eighteen years. About sixteen years ago, Suileman heard from a mutual acquaintance that Suileman’s ex-wife was using IV drugs. Suileman had not thought of his ex-wife in years.

“I only spoke to her for a couple of minutes because her lover didn’t like me.”

“Why do you say ‘her lover’ and not ‘her boyfriend’ or ‘her husband?'”

“She’s gay. She’s been gay for years.”

Suileman stared at Janice.

The spell broke.

“I’ve got to run, I’m late. You look great,” lied Suileman. He leaned over her bulk and kissed Janice’s cheek.

“Happy holidays!” said Suileman as he found a way around Janice Goodman’s body and ran north on Seventh Avenue.

My Father’s Pants

When I was a child, I wore my father’s pants. Not the ones that my father wore, the pants he used to wear.

My grandmother could sew. She would sew new crotches into jeans, or patch shredded knees. Grandma sewed my father’s old pants down for me and I started wearing them at about age nine.

My father’s pants had large reservoirs of material, tucked inside the leg from the cuff to the hem at the knee, and folded up in pleats at both sides at the waist.

Grandma did my father’s old white shirts down for me. There was a flap of material between the elbow and the shoulder. It looked like there was a long sleeved white shirt under a short sleeve white shirt. I asked Grandma to put the extra material on the inside and she did on a few shirts but she sewed most of them the other way. She seemed to like her way better.

I was invited to Patty’s birthday party in the early sixties at age eleven or twelve. Patty was as old or a little older.

My parents were old friend’s of Patty’s parents, and I grew up calling Patty’s parents “Uncle” and “Aunt,” and she was my cousin Patty. At the time of that birthday party, I’d known she wasn’t a relative for a few years.

I wore my father’s white shirt, with a tie, and my father’s pants to Patty’s birthday party.

Patty’s party was a barbeque in the backyard at her house. 45 rpm singles and waltz records played on a portable monaural record player. I didn’t know any of her friends.

I looked like a dick and being dressed like a dick wasn’t helping. I was different. If I had been a smoker at that time, I would have been chain smoking. If I had been a drinker then, I would have been drinking shots. You get the idea.

My first realization that things at other peoples’ homes could be different from the way things were at my house was at age ten, when I met Joe Derslag.

Riding my bicycle around the neighborhood had been a daily activity for a couple of years, ranging further and further from home as I grew older.

This time I was riding my bike and a friend was riding his bike, and my friend knew Joe Derslag. Joe lived in Auburndale, near the LIRR train station, about a mile from my house. His mother worked, Joe was usually home by himself until seven o’clock. My friend said he hadn’t seen Joe in a while and Joe is funny, he wanted to go and we went.

I was wearing a colored t-shirt with a pocket, and my father’s pants. We got on our bikes and rode to Joe Derslag’s house.

Joe’s house was a two bedroom garden apartment. He was home.

Joe’s dog answered when my friend rang the bell. The dog was named Rover. Rover was barking.

“Cuth thit out Rovah chu thupid dog!” someone yelled inside. Rover yipped once and stopped barking.

Joe Derslag opened the door. “Hey how sha fuck are chu?” said Joe to my friend.

“This is Suiley,” said my friend.

“Hi Suiley,” said Joe. Joe turned and walked into the apartment, my friend and I followed.

The living room was a mess. Joe had been sitting in an armchair, drinking a soda and smoking a cigarette. Joe was about eleven.

“Chu want a thoda? Chu can have one,” said Joe to my friend. We walked into the kitchen.

“Chuth one,” said Joe, looking my way.

“We’ll split it,” said my friend to me. We walked back into the living room.

Joe sat in the armchair. My friend and I sat on the couch. The television was on with the sound turned low. We looked at television. Joe talked to my friend. I talked to my friend. I talked to Joe.

In a little while, Joe said to me “Hey my dog Rovah can thing. Give me a quartah, I’ll thow chu.”

“I don’t have a quarter,” I said. That was a lie. Why give Joe Derslag a quarter?

“Thumon, dont be a thcumbag, give me a quartah, ish threally cool.”

“I don’t have a quarter, c’mon, what’s so cool?”

“Shere’s got to be a quartah around shere shomewhere,” said Joe. He went into the bedroom. My friend and I stayed in the living room.

“What is he doing?” I said to my friend.

“Who knows, Joe is funny,” said my friend.

Joe came back holding a quarter.

“Shand now Rovah, sha thinging dog!” announced Joe, with a big smile. “Thumon Rovah, thome shere! Thumon Rovah!”

Rover came to Joe. Joe smiled and petted the dog’s head. Joe grabbed Rover at the base of the tail with his left hand and lifted the dog. Rover yipped. Joe looked at me and smiled. Joe held out the quarter.

“Sha thinging dog!” yelled Joe.

Joe inserted the quarter into Rover’s anus with his right hand and let go of the dog with his left hand.

Rover howled. Rover bent his back legs, sat on the floor, and moved forward on his front legs. Rover was howling and rubbing his asshole on the rug.

Joe Derslag was in a fit of laughter. I was in shock. After listening to Joe laugh by himself for a little while, my friend started to laugh, and then I started to laugh.

Rover howled and rubbed his asshole on the rug. Joe fell on the floor. Joe was laughing and holding his sides. I sat on the couch, wearing my father’s pants, laughing.

I thought Joe was different.

Time passed. I outgrew my father’s pants and had more interaction with people from other backgrounds. Different became usual.

One recent mid – September Sunday, end of the summer, sunny and beautiful day, driving west on the Long Island Expressway, I saw a love tap in traffic on the eastbound side. Two guys in a sedan were tapped on the rear by somebody in a compact. The guys got out of the sedan, checked the back of the car, no damage. Both cars were in the center lane so more and more vehicles were stuck behind them. The guys reached into the sedan and came out with handfuls of cupcakes and sandwiches. They pelted the compact with food, reached back into the sedan for more food and pelted the compact some more. Horns blew. After three or four volleys, the two guys jumped into the sedan and drove away.

I thought they were different.

The Big Bang, Life, Entropy and Suileman

“More and more, my life is as I decided it would be,” spoke Suileman Festoon. He was sitting alone at his kitchen table, talking to himself over breakfast. Most of Suileman’s kitchen table talking occurred in outward silence, somewhere between his ears or so he thought, but this pronouncement came right out loud. “Yesterday’s conclusions became today, and tommorrow is mine to do with as I will. I examine my life and see my past determinations carrying along to the present, shaping the present in the image of my past verdicts. Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Har!” Suileman noticed that he was sitting at his kitchen table, talking to himself and laughing aloud, again.

Suileman took the last sip of his coffee, got up and put his mug, bowl and spoon in the sink.

Suileman switched on the radio, walked to the window and looked out.

“If you are a male in good health, and between 40 and 50 years of age,” said the radio. “Call me, Norma, at Hoffman LaRoche Laboratories.” The radio gave the phone number but Suileman did not write it down or commit it to memory.

Suileman sighed. “Sorry Norma, I’m not your lab rat today. I could use some money, I’m running low on cheese.”

The radio played.

Suileman put his hand in his pocket and pulled out 3 crumpled one dollar bills and approximately another dollar in change. “I wonder how the lab rat business pays. Har! Sometimes I invent the future, and sometimes I discover the future as I go along, naming things after they hit me in the face. Perhaps things are now as I decided yesterday things were to be, but I’ve forgotten what I’d made up my mind about.”

Suileman walked out his front door.

“Alright Mr Festoon, your application and medical history seem to be in order. Next we’ll need a urine specimen. The nurse will give you a container for a stool sample, those are in the little bags over there, and you can bring that to the lab tommorrow. Here’s a urine cup, use the restroom over there.”

I guess I got the job, if they weren’t interested they wouldn’t want my piss, thought Suileman. He took the cup.

At home, Suileman focused on the stool specimen container with a near meditational intensity of purpose. The solution he implemented involved lifting the seat, then covering the toilet bowl with plastic wrap. In the end, he had what he hoped was an acceptable doody in captivity. Winning ugly was still winning.

He went to bed happy, and fell into the Water Dish Nightmare.

The Water Dish Nightmare began when Suileman was 9 years old. His mother had gone out to pick up Grandma at the store, and left Suileman home watching “Dr Jeykll and Mr Hyde” on TV.

When the movie ended, Suileman got some medications from old prescription bottles in the medecine chest. He emptied capsules into a cereal bowl, and crushed pills with a spoon. He took a pinch of hamburger from the refrigerator and mixed the powders into it.

Suileman had a 10 gallon terrarium in his room. In the terrarium were wood chips, a food dish, a water dish, and a box turtle. Suileman had named the box turtle Elmer, for Elmer Fudd.

Now Suileman removed Elmer from the tank. “Stop I beg of you, no man can go against the laws of God and nature, you can not go on with these experiments!” Suileman offered the hamburger meat and Elmer took it. “It is unholy, you must cease my dear Jeykll!”

Suileman put Elmer back in the terrarium and got a favorite comic book out of his dresser drawer. His mother came home a little later.

The next morning, Suileman looked in on Elmer. Elmer was head down in the water dish. Suileman dropped to his knees and pulled the turtle out.

“Live live live live please live, God I’ll change, I’ll do anything you want, I’ll be better please please let Elmer live, let him be alive God and I’ll be different I’ll be good please let him live, let him live, let him live!” Suileman screamed in his mind. Suileman knelt and held the turtle in his hands, staring at it. After a long wait, Elmer poked his head out. Suileman nearly cried. He put Elmer back in the terrarium, stroked his shell and left for school.

Suileman returned home that day and went right to the turtle’s tank. Elmer was head down in the water dish. Suileman took it out, held it, prayed, and nothing happened. After a very long time, Suileman put the turtle back, as far from the water dish as possible.

A week later, Suileman’s mother told him Elmer was dead. She said she had noticed a smell, checked the terrarium and found Elmer dead. She asked if he’d remembered to feed it. She asked if he had noticed the smell. Suileman lied. He felt numb.

The Water Dish Nightmare began that night.

In the Water Dish Nightmare, Suileman and Elmer were both face down in the water dish. They were the same size. The turtle spoke in a horrible drowned gurgle: “Thanks for killing me, Suileman. You did it for nothing, you killed me for no reason. I loved you and you killed me. It was no accident or you would have told, but it’s a secret because it’s murder. You are a murderer. I loved you and I thought you loved me but you killed me and now I hate you. I hate you and I’m going to get even. I’ll come sometime, someplace, without warning, for no reason and I’ll get you. You can’t give me my life back, you murderer, but I’ll get even. I loved you and you killed me and I hate you and I’ll get you, you killer.” The turtle was much larger than Suileman. Elmer turned his head slowly and fixed Suileman with his gaze. A single underwater tear rolled down the turtle’s infinitely sad face.

Suileman opened his mouth to explain and choked. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning.

The turtle mouth opened terribly slowly and moved near. Suileman struggled for air, desperate now. The turtle mouth was huge and closer and closer.

Suileman woke up choking for air.

If you were there and you asked him “How old are you Suileman?” right at that moment, what do you think he’d say?

Suileman got out of bed feeling exhausted. He showered, made coffee, dressed and went to work.

There were 100 subjects for the study. Suileman was in group B-3. He asked what group B-3 was doing, and the answer was that there were 4 groups testing compound B, B-3 was the third and please sit down in a chair over there.

Joel Onderdonk introduced himself. He was wearing a white lab coat. He said it was a 30 day study, they were to come in from 10 til 4 every day, including weekends. The subjects were to fill out questionaires at 2 hour intervals.

“Sounds boring, I’ll bring my tax returns tommorrow,” thought Suileman.

Joel remained standing at the front of the room while a pretty girl in a lab coat came around with the medication cart. She checked Suileman’s name on a list, and gave him two capsules and a cup of water. The capsules were blue and green. Suileman swallowed them.

The girl in the lab coat went around the room. She pushed the cart out the door and left. She was back a moment later with another cart, empty except for 4 large stainless steel bowls.

“Here’s a treat for you,” said Joel. “During the course of this study you can have all the marshmallows you want, but you have to keep track of every marshmallow in these Marshmallow Diaries.” There was some laughter. Joel held up 4 composition books. “You write your name, the time and how many marshmallows in the section of the diary for that day.”

Suileman felt strange. His head expanded and contracted as he sat. Joel’s voice developed a wah wah sound. He felt warm. The room seemed to breathe.

Suileman stayed up late that night, and went to bed after the movie. He was asleep almost instantly, and he dreamed the Water Dish Nightmare. He awoke soaked with sweat and choking. The Water Dish Nightmare was vivid, more real than Festoon’s waking life, and the Water Dish Nightmare came every day now.

The blue and green capsules did not make Suileman feel strange anymore. He looked forward to taking compound B each day. By the end of the third week, Suileman noticed he was irritable at the end of each day, and got up feeling anxious in the morning. He ate marshmallows, and logged the marshmallows in the B-3 Marshmallow Diary.

Day 30 went by fast. Suileman handed his last questionaire to Joel Onderdonk.

“So that’s all?” said Suileman.

“There’ll be a follow up questionaire in two weeks and Personnel will call you sometime after that. Personnel can tell you about plans for future studies.” Joel smiled. “See you around Suileman.”

“That can’t be all, it can’t! How can you stop the study just like that?”

Suileman held Joel’s left arm. Joel looked at the security guards standing just inside the door. The security guards moved toward Joel. Joel turned to Suileman.

“Come on now Suileman, it’s time to be going. Are you going to cash your check now?” Joel looked at the clock. “It’s time to go.”

“It’s not time to go, I need to see someone, please. Listen to me.”

“Problem, Joel?” asked a security guard.

“No no, Suileman is just leaving.” Joel looked at Suileman with glittering ice chip eyes. “Goodbye.”

Suileman sagged. He looked at the security guards. He walked out the door.

Suileman arrived at his front door. From inside he heard a familiar gurgling underwater voice.

“Welcome home Suileman Festoon.”

Mungo Jumbo or Nothing Exceeds Like Excess

Mike from the deli phoned first thing Wednesday morning. His name isn’t really Mike, he has an Egyptian name, but I don’t know what it is, and he answers to Mike.

“Hi Suileman. One of the guys from your company cashed his check here and you stopped payment on it.”

“Hi Mike. There were two checks stolen Friday afternoon, Mike. I stopped payment on them Monday morning.”

“You protect yourself when you stop payment on the checks but I cash checks for everybody at your company all the time. I already cashed the checks for this guy, he got five hundred dollars from me for the checks.”

“Mike, one of the checks was made out to Gilda Gold and the other was made out to Mohammed Abdullah. How did the same guy cash both checks with you?”

“Suileman, you know perfectly well that everybody at your company works with another name so they don’t pay the tax. Nobody’s name matches his check.”

“I don’t know anything like that because it’s not true. We’re an honest company, for the most part, and everybody has to pay tax. That’s America. What I’m saying is that Gilda is a jewish girl’s name and Mohammed is an moslem man’s name.”

“Gilda is a man’s name.”

“Not in this country, no. Gilda is a woman’s name.”

“Maybe he’s a faggot. Everybody at your company works with another name. I cash this guy’s check like I do for everybody and I’m out five hundred dollars.”

“Mike, I can’t see how you thought both checks could belong to the same guy and the checks are for two different people. Who did you think this guy was?”

“He’s a short black guy, I’ve seen him around for a week or two, I know he works for you. I have him on the videotape, I’m rewinding it now, that takes a while.”

“Who did he say he was, that he could cash two different checks?”

“Lets not play games, Suileman.” Mike sounded testy. “I’m out five hundred dollars because I cash this guy’s check just like I cash everybody’s check at your company. I have a fair way out of this, listen to me for a minute.”

I was getting testy.

“Mike, I won’t cover the checks. They were stolen, that’s why I stopped payment. My bank charges me fifteen dollars to stop payment on one check so it cost me thirty dollars. The checks were stolen from me.”

“Suileman, I’m out five hundred dollars but I’m not asking you to give me five hundred dollars. The fair way is we each pay half. That’s only good business.”

“I’m not going to do that. Call the police on this guy. I’ll help you catch him.”

“The police don’t do nothing about five hundred dollars. This guy is a crackhead, you’re never going to see him again. So what happens? I’m out five hundred dollars because I cash a check for a guy from your company? Nobody at your company has his right name on his check. You think I don’t know that? No hard feelings, but if you won’t pay half, which is the fair way, then I have to report you to the I.R.S. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings? I’m not hiding from the I.R.S., they know all about me. You run an unlicensed check cashing service out of your deli. You charge more to cash a check than you are legally allowed. I could report you to the New York Department of Finance but I want to help you catch the guy instead. Do you report the money you make cashing checks? You should take the money you lost out of the profits from cashing checks. That’s the fair way. How do you run a check cashing business where you don’t check IDs without taking a risk? Lets catch this guy. Did you report this to the police?”

“You’re never going to see him again. How do you know he gave you his right address and Social Security number and everything? You are being foolish, the I.R.S. is going to cost you a lot more than two hundred and fifty dollars. You could have each of your guys with the phoney names give thirty dollars, it’s worth it to avoid the I.R.S. Why do you want to do this the hard way?”

“Mike, I can catch this guy. I’ll go to the police with you or help you any other way I can. I won’t pay for stolen checks that I stopped payment on.”

“Suileman, you can’t catch people like this. You’re never going to see him again. If you won’t pay, I have to call the I.R.S. on you. No hard feelings, I’ll wait until tommorrow at two o’clock. You get him into my store by two o’clock and you don’t have to pay, I’ll take care of him.”

“I can give you any pay that this guy has coming to him, that’s fair.”

“How much is that?”

“I don’t know. Let me check it out, I’ll call you back.”

There were three new faces at work Klaus, James and Gerald Mungo. Klaus was white, James and Gerald Mungo were black. James was over six feet tall. Gerald Mungo was five foot five. Gerald Mungo had been out Monday, came in Tuesday, and called in sick today. I found Gerald Mungo’s application and called the phone number.

“Hi, this is Suileman, I work with Gerald Mungo. Is he in?”

“Gerald Mungo is not here. I’m his aunt. Do you want to leave a message?”

“Please tell Gerald Mungo that Bob from work called, we’re short of people tommorrow so I want to make sure that he is in at nine o’clock. He can call me tonight or I’ll see him first thing tommorrow.”

I talked for a little while longer on the phone with Gerald Mungo’s aunt and confirmed the address on his application.

Gilda Gold walked into the office. She looked around, leaned toward me and whispered “Gerald Mungo stole the checks. Chauncey saw him cash them at the deli.”

I gave Gilda a xerox of Gerald Mungo’s application and told her to bring it to Mike at the deli.

Thursday morning, Gerald Mungo called in sick.

Jon took the call. Gerald Mungo said he was sick to his stomach and throwing up. Jon told Gerald Mungo that we were very short – handed so he should go home, lay down, feel better and try to come in at noon.

One o’clock and Gerald Mungo called. I took the call.

“Hi Gerald Mungo, how are you feeling?”

“Listen Suiley, the office called my house about the stolen checks. Mike at the deli is coming here with a couple of guys or the police are coming here. You have to have picture ID to cash a check so I couldn’t..”

I cut him off.

“I didn’t make that call. That was probably Mike at the deli. Mike says he has you on videotape cashing the two stolen checks. He probably called you to talk about that. I’m real short – handed at the office, I called and spoke to your aunt to make sure you were scheduled to work. How’s your stomach?”

“Do you have Mike’s number?”

“He doesn’t have a phone, it’s a deli.”

Gerald Mungo sounded upset now.

“What should I do?”

“If I was Gerald Mungo, I’d go talk to Mike at the deli right now, before he shows up at your house with the cops. He just wants his money, work it out with him.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that now.”

Gerald Mungo hung up.

I pictured Mike at the deli calling Gerald Mungo as soon as Gilda gave Mike the xerox of Gerald Mungo’s application: “He’s not there? OK, let me leave a message for him: You stole my money. No hard feelings, but I’m going to come there and kill you. I’ll call the cops and have you arrested if you don’t pay me right now.”

Gerald Mungo made it to Mike’s deli in twenty minutes. He gave Mike fifty dollars, promised to bring more the next day. Gerald Mungo cried and carried on.

Mike wanted Gerald Mungo in his store by two o’clock, Gerald Mungo arrived at twenty past one. I wondered what Mike did to make Gerald Mungo cry: “OK, I won’t call the cops. We’ll do this the fair way. No hard feelings. You steal from me so I cut off your hand. You treat me like I’m an asshole so I chop out your asshole. You fuck with me so…”

Gerald Mungo had Fifty four dollars and thirty cents pay coming to him. I deducted thirty dollars for the stop payment fees on the two checks and sent Gerald Mungo’s last paycheck to Mike at the deli.

Gilda told me that Mike at the deli was feeling sorry for Gerald Mungo.

Gerald Mungo was last seen in the office on Tuesday, the day before this began for me, sometime mid – morning, talking to Gilda Gold. They were dicussing the two checks stolen from the office Friday afternoon. Gilda said that everyone else got their checks but hers and Mohammed Abdullah’s were missing.

“Somebody would have to be pretty stupid to steal paychecks,” said Gerald Mungo. “You have to have ID or a bank account to cash paychecks.”

No hard feelings.