Chapter 9- Michael P.O.V

Michael Olson was doing inventory at the 7-Eleven when Nick Grutler walked in. Michael had seen Nick at school- it was hard not to see that tall, black body- and wonder if he played basketball. He had thought of asking him. It was not fear of Nick that had kept him quiet. Once Bubba had accused Michael of being especially kind to minorities because he felt guilty about not fully trusting them. It was Bubba’s contention everyone was prejudiced to a degree, and the best any one could do was try not to let it interfere with how they treated other races. But Michael was genuinely colour blind. People were people to him.

Michael had not approached Nick because Nick did not look like as if he wanted to be approached. It was simple as that. The Rock probably wished he’d had keen instincts. But unlike Russ Desmond, he did not take pleasure in The Rock’s downfall. He disliked violence in any form.

But now that Nick had come into this store, Michael felt no qualms about introducing himself. He nodded as Nick approached the counter. “Hi, how are you doing? Don’t we go to school together?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Nick’s eyes. “I go to Tabb,” he mumbled.

“So do I.” Michael offered his hand.  “I’m Michael Olson. Nick Grutler right?’

Nick shook his hand. He had a mean grip. “How did you know?”

“You can expect most people at school to know your name after you floored The Rock.”

A note of wariness entered his voice. “Was he a friend of yours?”

“The Rock doesn’t have many friends.” Michael had only brought up the weight room incident because he wanted to answer Nick’s question honestly. He wanted to get off the subject. “You look like oyu been out in the sun all afternoon. Can I get you something to drink? You know we sell soft drinks in glasses here as well as bottles and cans.” Michael picked up the king-size cup behind him. “These are only fifty-five cents.”

Nick looked vaguely uncomfortable. He pulled a couple of silver dollars out of his pocket and laid them on the counter. “These are good aren’t they?”

Michael picked one up. “Yeah sure. Though you don’t see many of them around. Did you get them at the bank?”

“No. At the Italian market.”

“In the mall? Man I love the smell in that place.”

“There warehouse in the back doesn’t smell so good.”

“What were you doing back there?”

“They needed some boxes moved.”

Michael knew the owner of the market. He had probably worked Nick to death for a couple of hours and then given him the two silver dollars, probably thinking Nick would imagine they were worth more or something.

Michael was looking for a new employee. The owners had told him to hire whomever he wanted. They trusted his judgement.

“Was it a temporary job?” he asked knowing it was. Who would hire a black with bloody hair?

“Yeah. I’ll have one of those big Cokes for fifty five cents.”

“Sure.” Michael reached over, scooped some ice in the paper cup. “Have you done enough work for the day?”

Nick seemed interested. “I could do more.”

“I’m rearranging  our storeroom. But because I have to keep coming  back up front to handle the register, it’s taking me forever. It’s backbreaking work- all you are doing is lifting- but someone like you could probably finish most of it in a few hours. I could give you thirty bucks under the table, no tax taken out.”

Nick accepted his Coke, took a deep swallow. “Show me where to start.”

Michael led Nick to the rear of the store giving an overview of how disorganised things were. He grasped immediately what had to be done. After a couple minutes of discussion, Michael left Nick alone. True he needed help with the storeroom vur Michael also used the chore as a test. If Nick did good work he would offer him a permanent part time job. It would be handy to have someone who could reach top shelves without a ladder.

Two hours later, as it began to get dark outside and the faint sounds of Tabb High’s band drifted in through the  open door from the direction of the school stadium. Nick reappeared and announced he had finished. One look in the back and Michael was astounded. Not only was everything neatly arranged, Nick had obviously used his own initiative- and used it wisely- in setting up certain sections. This meant a lot to Michael. He previously had a couple of employees who had been fine workers except they had required constant supervision. Obviously Nick had common sense as well as powerful biceps.

Getting three tens out of the cast register, Michael made his offer. He could guarantee him at least twenty hours a week, although some weeks he’d need Nick close to thirty. He gave him a brief summary of what his responsibilities would be, and what he would start at. Nick listened patiently, and from his stoic expression it was impossible to tell what was going through his head. He asked only two questions.

“Will I be working with you all the time?”

“Most of the time,” Michael said.

Nick thought for a moment. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“I’m offering you the job because you’ve proven to me you know how to work. I’m not doing anything for you.”

Nick nodded. “I appreciate it anyway. The only one who would even talk to me at the mall was that Italian guy, and I know he just ripped me off.” He put his thirty dollars in his pocket. “Can I just keep working now?”

Michael smiled. “You’ll take it then?”

Nick smiled too, finally letting his pleasures show. “Yeah. But I’ll have to call my dad to tell him I’ve got a job.”

Michael pulled the phone from beneath the counter. “Sure, then take a break. There’s a lot to do here, but you don’t have to kill yourself.”

A half hour later Michael had wondered if he’d lied to Nick about not killing himself. They got held up by a guy with a gun.

Nick was in the cooler, putting the beverages in from behind, and Michael had returned to the inventory report and the register when the masked man entered. He wore a dark nylon sock over his head on top of a blue knitted cap and a pair of silver sunglasses. He had the gun drawn when he entered.

“Get your hands up!” he snapped, waving his revolver nervously. Michael carefully set down his note board and pen. His first reaction was not of fear, but of pure amazement. It was only eight thirty. Who would be stupid enough to try to pull off a holdup now, when anybody could walk in any second? The 7-Eleven was open twenty-four hours a day, for God’s sake. But Michael didn’t consider suggesting to the guy he come back later.

“What can I do for you?” he asked calmly, slowly raising his hands. There was a button located beneath the counter that would send an alarm to the local police station. Unfortunately, it was so situated that Michael would have to ask permission of any thief to use it. The clink of bottles continued to sound from behind the cooler. Nick must not know they had uninvited company.

“What’s that?” the fellow demanded. He wasn’t really good at this. Outside of his obvious anxiety, he had a rather squeaky voice. Shifting the gun from one hand to the other, he scratched under his nylon stocking.

“What was what?” Michael asked.

“Do you have someone back there?” He peered towards the cooler. It must have been hard to see through his disguise. “Hey you back there! Get out here before I blow your buddy away!”

“Yeah come out here, Nick. We’ve got  a guest.”

Nick appeared a moment later, his arms hanging by his sides. “Mike?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Michael said, trying to relax everybody concerned. “We’re all cool here, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” the guy spat out cocking his revolver. “Give me your goddamn money. No funny business.” He gestured towards Nick. “And you, get your hands up and come over here.”

Michael did not want to give him the money. In no way did he plan on risking his or Nick’s life to save it, but he did feel a responsibility to the owners of the store to get to the alarm button if at all possible. Opening the register, he rapidly began to toss all the change on the counter, like he was scared and din’t know what he was doing. The masked man shook his gun angrily.

“Just the bills man! Just the bills!”

“Yes sir, the bills,” Michael answered breathlessly pulling the drawer out still farther past the point of no return. The drawer slipped from the register the money pouring loudly on the floor. Michael feigned shock. “Wow, I’m sorry.” He bent over. “Here I’ll pick it up.”

“Man you’re a peach.” The masked man chuckled falling for Michael’s chicken act, leaning forward to watch him better. But it was already too late. Micahel had hit the button the instant he had crouched down. At this very second, several patrol cars would be changing direction and moving towards them.

Michael didn’t know hwen he had hired Nick that Nick had never depended on a cop for anything in his life. He didn’t know about Nick’s incredible reflexes.

As Michael began to collect the money behind the counter, Nick lashed out with his foot at the gu, sending it ricocheting off the ceiling and into the cereal row. Startled, the masked man twisted around to retrieve it. Beofre he could get halfway there, Nick grabbed hold of him and whipped into a stack of beer bottles. The guy slid towards the freezer in a wave of broken glass, foam and noise.

“Oh, god,” Michael whispered. Moving quickly, Nick collected the gun and turned on the fallen thief. Seeing him coming, the guy frantically began to rip at the nylon over his face.

“Mike dn’t let him kill me!” he cried. “It’s me! It’s Kats!”