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(Photo: John W. Tomac for Rochester Review)A hollow boom outside鈥擧uddy jumps, the shop rattles鈥攖hen screeching metal. The two sounds, explosion and collision, confuse, and Huddy waits for more noises to point it somewhere, screams or curses, horns or sirens, and when he hears nothing he rushes out to see what accident or mess. He looks to his left past the grocery that鈥檚 gone, and instead of chaos and flames there鈥檚 a semi in the driveway, hydraulics raised, the offloaded Dumpster behind it.
Three Mexican laborers sitting on a truck bed, a contractor at the storefront. About time, Huddy thinks. The building鈥檚 been abandoned for over a year, so at least it鈥檚 activity. Maybe they鈥檙e putting in something helpful, like an auto-parts store, which always works perfect with a pawnshop, brings in the working man. Or maybe some neutral business, insurance, whatever, neither help nor hurt. But don鈥檛 let it be public assistance鈥攐r some nightmare like a methadone clinic, addicts hanging around pissing and crapping over everything. Once that scenario pops up, Huddy finds himself walking over there just to confirm what鈥檚 not going in. He goes straight to the contractor, who鈥檚 posting a permit on the wall, and then he sees another worker appear in the middle doorway, a set of plans tucked under his arm, looking like the superintendent, so he slides over. 鈥淲hat you putting in here?鈥 Huddy asks.
The man untucks the plans, squeezes his hands over them. 鈥淴GC Services.鈥
鈥淲hat鈥檚 that?鈥
The man squints. 鈥淏lood bank.鈥
Huddy鈥檚 face smacked with the news. 鈥淏lood bank?鈥 he says, just sick to repeat it. This building, long and low, same size as his own, but now it鈥檚 a tower, grown colossal.
鈥淢anny!鈥 the man shouts, decisive. 鈥淲reck out the front room!鈥 He jerks his thumb behind him and Huddy watches the lead guy turn and translate instructions to the other two, who climb back to the toolbox. 鈥淲ho you?鈥 the man says, chin up-twitched, eyes fixed and narrowed.
鈥淚 run a shop next door.鈥
The man glances to his right, eyes passing around, then back at Huddy, annoyed to have searched. 鈥淲ell, I guess you鈥檙e getting a neighbor.鈥
Huddy鈥檚 lips pinch together. He scans the building鈥檚 three doorways, the work crew going in to start the demo. 鈥淲here鈥檚 it going?鈥
鈥淓verywhere,鈥 Huddy hears back. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the whole place.鈥 And when he looks over, the man鈥檚 eyes are wide.
鈥淲e already got a blood bank downtown.鈥
The man shrugs. 鈥淕ot another one now.鈥
Huddy thinks, Blood bank. A bunch of people with nothing. They鈥檒l hang around and harass鈥攏eed a drink of water, need the bathroom, need the phone. 鈥淲hen鈥檚 it going in?鈥
鈥淭hree months,鈥 the man says casually, but to Huddy it comes out like a warning. 鈥淕ut it out, frame it. Could be six.鈥
Huddy winces, like he鈥檚 a donor getting his arm pricked without payment.
He hears the sledgehammer knocking down a partition wall.
The man鈥檚 teeth flash as he watches Huddy leave. 鈥淕uess you ain鈥檛 giving any blood.鈥
Half of his meal uneaten, but Huddy can鈥檛 touch it. It鈥檒l take less than a week after the bank鈥檚 opened before it鈥檚 wall to wall in there. And then they鈥檒l be here. On a rainy day, a crowd鈥檚 gonna be all up under his canopy. Two hookers stroll by, one in red spandex, bright and tight; the other in jeans, whale-tail underwear peeking out the back. A car honks, hips sway and turn, but the driver doesn鈥檛 stop, was only teasing.
He calls home again.
鈥淗uddy, what you doing? It鈥檚 naptime.鈥 Christie whispering mad.
But the clock says earlier. 鈥淚 thought I was calling before that.鈥
鈥淚 put him down an hour ago. The time change.鈥
He shakes his head, forgot. 鈥淲hy didn鈥檛 you turn the ringer off ?鈥
鈥淚 left it on, in case Harlan called. Was he in Florida last night or did he call you from the road?鈥
鈥淭hey鈥檙e putting a blood bank in the next building.鈥
鈥淒amn, he鈥檚 getting up. He鈥檚 always up.鈥
Customer comes in. 鈥淚 gotta go,鈥 Huddy says.
The man dragging his way over to the counter. He holds out a necklace that鈥檚 all kinked and damaged.
Huddy gets the scale, weighs it. Six pennyweights. 鈥淚 can give you forty bucks.鈥
鈥淔辞谤迟测?鈥
鈥淭his has no value as a necklace. I can only sell its weight. It鈥檚 not a necklace anymore.鈥
鈥淐ome on now.鈥 The man flings out a hand and glares. Points at the necklace like it was fine jewelry until Huddy smashed it and cheated with the scale. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 more than forty.鈥
鈥淣ot from this side of the counter,鈥 Huddy says and he pushes the scrap back. 鈥淭hanks for stopping in.鈥 The man鈥檚 anger spreads to confusion, then grief. 鈥淢aybe you got something else you can bring me,鈥 Huddy says, and the man nods, slips inside himself, 鈥淵eah, okay, might.鈥
Huddy wants to shut the door and unplug the phone and think about his worries鈥擝arnes plus blood bank鈥攆igure out how to tell them both to Joe. He calls Joe, gets the voice mail, hangs up, tries the office, gets the secretary: 鈥淒o you want his voice mail?鈥
鈥淛ust tell him . . . not to forget about my lights.鈥 But that鈥檚 not enough of his worry anymore. Tell him I鈥檓 tired of him getting his rent but me not getting my living. Joe with his monthly rent and his weekly cash. And his shopping sprees, cherry-picking the best jewelry from the showcases, only paying cost so Huddy can鈥檛 make a profit. Just saying, 鈥淏ook it,鈥 then stepping to the back to tape his name on sale items that haven鈥檛 cleared thirty days.
Huddy frowns at the bulky analog TVs on the shelf. He鈥檚 in no man鈥檚 land with televisions; the flats ain鈥檛 coming in yet, and he鈥檚 stuck with those.
Then a lever-action collector comes in, mentioning the L. C. Smith double-barrel he鈥檚 just seen at Liberty Pawn, over on Summer, a gun he knows Huddy would want for himself. 鈥淵our eyeballs gonna jump when you see it. Man named Keller鈥攈e鈥檚 got it locked away 鈥檆ause he ain鈥檛 letting the yahoos play with it. It鈥檚 so clean and smooth, you gonna think it鈥檚 a reproduction.鈥 Huddy decides to close up and chase down a special gun.
Excerpt from Bluff City Pawn (Bloomsbury, 2014). All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.
Rochester Review
September鈥揙ctober 2014
Vol. 77, No. 1
Story as a PDF