The n-Body Problem

Y orders himself breakfast. Three eggs. Sausage. Bacon. Home fries. Rye toast. Large orange juice. I remember that. The pills give you a new appetite. For a while. I order coffee and a single scrambled egg. Line up the oils. My side is sore where I hit the ground. My belly has swollen a bit more in the last fifteen minutes or so. Y has frown lines. He’s ageing. Something’s up there.

“You get hurt at all?”

Kid’s light. Probably hit the ground like a snowflake. He dismisses the question. My eggs come first. The waitress has a pine look to her. Knotty and yellow. Cigarettes. Why not?

“We need a base.”

Thought he’d like that.

“Fuckin’ right we do.”

I knock some ketchup on the plate.

“Don’t swear all the time. I don’t.”

I give and I can take away. He accepts.

“There any other B and Bs in town?” I ask.

“Nope. Only one.”

“And now that’s up in smoke.”

“I forgot to check,” Y says. “Could you see the ladies in there?”

Y leans back as his plate lands.

“That is one horrific thing to see,” I say.

“What?”

“When they get scrambled up in a fire like that. They get mixed into everything. Everything moves. You gotta look closely to see it. Give you nightmares.”

He’s eating fast. I push the oils closer to him. I’m worried about withdrawal.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“Two days.”

That’s not bad. He’ll feel it but it won’t kill him. I gotta figure out why my stomach is getting larger.

“Did fire trucks come?”

“Nope. I think the guy next door was hosing down his roof in case it spread.”

One of the old guys is staring at us. He’s wondering what the fuck. I glance at Y. He’s downing the oils now.

“People know you’re not my son.”

Y is having trouble with the omega. He’ll get used to it.

“I’m your uncle.”

Y accepts, swallowing. “This about the Seller in town?”

“What about the Seller in town?”

“I don’t know much. Mom took me to the car a couple days after he showed.”

“Yeah. It’s about the Seller.”

“Okay. Well. His name is Art something.”

“No, it ain’t, but whatever.”

“He was at the soccer field a lot. That’s all I know. People seemed to know he was a Seller and some liked it.”

“Yeah. That’s where he started. By now he’s established a place. He’s holding meetings.”

Teenage mom with a rape baby sits in the booth behind us. You can bet she’s onside with the Seller by now. You can tell cause she likes her baby. Talks to it. She wouldn’t do that if she thought they had long to live.

“Time to go,” I say. We grab our shit and head out.

It’s raining again. I prefer that. Hide the damn sky so I can think.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I’m torn about my decision to cut the kid off. There is an upside to having him focused like this. Who knows what he’ll be like? I decide to ditch him if he reverts too much.

“This is a job, right?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Who hired you?”

Is there harm in answering that?

“School board.”

Y laughs. He can laugh at that. It’s pretty funny. Bunch of administrative educators hiring a hit man. Truth is, they are legally obliged to get a Hunter if they think a Seller has been in contact with anyone on school property.

“This Seller’s a sick one. He’ll start hitting people who don’t climb on.”

“Hitting?”

“Torture relatives. Drug people. Kill some. School board’s probably bought already.”

Another teenage mom with a rape baby. Man, you can see what this place was like a year ago. She’s happy, too. Dixon.

“He’s done thousands at a time. All singing the same song. He doesn’t really like to hurt them when they live.”

I salute the young mom. Who the fuck knows why.

“Anyway. He’s not somebody you wanna die around.”

We’re coming to the end of Main Street. Man, these towns are small. Hard to hide.

“Look, I got a feeling he’s closed on a lot of people. We gotta be careful. Can’t buy much. Can’t talk too much. Can’t stay anywhere anyone knows. Is there a park?”

“Down the alley between Ole Pizza and the chocolate store.”

“Ok. Let’s go live in the trees.”

I pull out a pad.

“Here’s what you need to steal. Meet me in the park.”

I write: Razor. Soap. Shampoo. Large tub of vaseline.

“Don’t buy it. Steal it.”

Probably be better if I had one of those rape-baby moms. Bet they shoplift all day.

the trees by the stream in the park behind the chocolate store.