Episode 3- Risky Business

It was a slow day at Larkin's, Murphy could already tell. The July heat was doing something freaky on the produce section and making it smell like the bathroom after Taco Tuesday and in a rare twist of events, Bill was reasonable today. The two of them sat in the break room, boredly staring out across the empty store into the street. Jackson, the strange new guy, was working the register. In his own words, Bill was just here "supervising" for the day. Still, Murphy thought, I think Bill does a little more supervising than he should.
Between long swigs from a bottle of root beer, Bill said, "We haven't had any customers all day. Wonder what their deal is?"
Murphy rolled his eyes, "Their deal? Their deal is that it's Sunday. Not like it was my choice to work today, either." Bill just nodded.
"Sure, sure," Bill took another drink, "not my choice either." Murphy squinted his eyes and glanced out at the register. Jackson was using a thoroughly bent fork to try to unlodge something from beneath the register that turned out to be a piece of gum. He stuck it in his mouth and started chewing very loudly and Murphy couldn't help but wonder where Dick Larkin found half of his employees. Well, then there was Bill.
When Murphy looked back over to Bill, he found him wearing his usual sly but slightly disturbed grin. Something was turning over in that messed-up head of his. "Hey Murphy," he said, "Jackson's manning the register. No one said we had to supervise all day, right? Something tells me we may have some errends to run, you know what I'm saying?"
"No, what?"
"Some business duties?"
"Um... what?"
Bill smacked his forehead and hissed, "I mean skipping work, you dufus! What else?" Murphy wasn't overly surprised at this, but he'd always pictured Bill as the supermarket suck-up, especially when Mr. Larkin was around. Even more, he wondered who in their right mind would leave Jackson alone at the register.
Murphy started, "Are you kidding? I'm surprised we haven't been fired yet for all you've done, and you still want to skip work? Are you out of your mind? I mean, if I-"
"Look, Murphy," Bill said, talking in his persuasive tone he used for sales, "something tells me that the toilets may be clogged up again very soon if you catch my drift. Something also tells me that if a certain someone is off toilet-duty... they won't have to deal with toilet... duty."
"Whatever, I'm sold," Murphy gave in. It was easier than having to listen to Bill's half-baked monologues, that was for sure.
Bill peered out from the doorway of the breakroom, making sure Jackson had heard nothing. Murphy assumed he hadn't, since he was too busy putting produce stickers all over his face.
With a certain bizarre pride that came with being superior to someone, Bill strode out to the register and said importantly, "Jackson, Murphy and I are going to run some errands. You should be alright by yourself. Just handle the register and we'll be back soon enough." Before Jackson could even make out a response, they were out the door, leaving him to his under-the-register wad of gum and produce stickers. He scratched his head and went back to his work, one sticker at a time.

. . .

There was a certain rebellious edge about being free from work, a present air of confidence and a powerful something that just said-

"Hey, Bill, you spilled your friggin' root beer!" Murphy shouted as they went down the street in Bill's gray, dented pickup truck.

Bill didn't take his eyes off the road but flicked open the glove box held together by a rubber band and some masking tape, "There's some napkins in there. Clean it up." Bill telling me what to clean up, Murphy thought, this is familiar.

Bill pulled the battered truck around the corner of Fifth and Silvers Street, coming to a stop at a 7-11. "Hey, Murph, I'm going in to get a refill. You want something?"

Murphy relaxed, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back in the seat as he said, "Yeah, sure. Get me a-"

"Too bad," Bill said shortly with a grin, "I've only got enough money for a refill." That figures. Murphy waited in the truck while Bill slammed the door and went inside, past a couple of people who looked like they belonged in a freakshow and a guy carrying 2 huge bags of groceries that concealed his face they were so tall. Bill held the door open for the guy and he walked out. That was when the man put the bags in the back of a rusty cadillac the color of dog barf and Murphy could see his face. He knew he'd seen that shade of dog barf before... but where? And then it hit him- the man had a long, chubby face with a crooked hook nose, small eyes with wrinkles around the edges, scant gray hair and a tiny pair of custom-made glasses that made him look alot like-- "Mr. Larkin," Murphy breathed incredulously. He ducked down in his seat as his boss went by and got something from the passenger side of his car. Then he came back around to the driver's side. Oh, good, Murphy thought, he's just leaving.

But of course, that wasn't the case. Dick Larkin made his slow way back up to the store, carrying with him his wallet. If he found out that Bill and I are skipping... He chose not to wonder what would happen next. Murphy looked through the store window and saw that Bill was just getting his refill by the drink counter. There was still time to do something.

In a heroic (and more than a little bit idiot) surge of adrenaline, Murphy burst out of the car carrying with him the only projectile he could reach: Bill's lucky pair of fuzzy dice from above the mirror, and dove into the asphault of the parking lot like a drunken acrobat. Just as Mr. Larkin had his hand on the door of the 7-11, Murphy hurled the dice with incredible force. They smacked him just above the ear so hard that Murphy could have sworn he heard a loud thump. For fuzzy dice, Murphy thought, that's pretty hard. Then the horrible truth hit- he was still holding the dice. He'd thrown Bill's car mirror that far instead... Whoops...

Mr. Larkin hit the ground like a sack of hammers and Murphy hurried through the doors and jumped right over him. He yelled at Bill who had just reached the front of the store, "C'mon! We've got to go!!" Bill looked puzzled until he saw the unconscious body of their boss. He looked back up at Murphy with an expression that just said, did you really? and Murphy just said, "Yeah, I had to." Of course, Bill grinned. The moment after Bill had his soda, they sprinted out like two people who'd just robbed a bank and almost backed into Mr. Larkin's dog-barf colored car on the way out. The whole way back to Bill's house, Murphy couldn't help but think over and over, he is going to give me such a crappy reference, and afterwards on a lighter note, Even I didn't know I was that good of a shot...

. . .

After hiding out at Bill's place for a few hours, watching some pretty horrible TV and keeping their eyes open for signs of a dog-barf cadillac, they returned to Larkin's Supermarket a half-hour before closing time. At the front sliding doors, Bill seemed to regain his composure as the important authority figure and marched back in to find a very bored Jackson inspecting a half-eaten snack pack.

"So," Bill started, "how was business today?"

Jackson glanced up and gave Bill a weird chocolate pudding-smeared smile as he said, "Just great. Nobody came."

Bill scratched his head, "Er... well, that wasn't the answer I was expecting, but whatever. You're free to go home, Jackson."

"Hey, wait- isn't today supposed to be payday? Do I get my-"

Bill coughed loudly to change the subject, "Well, well, look at the time. I'm sure you have some... important matters to attend to. Better get along with that. Go- scoot!" Jackson left in a hurry, eating the rest of the snack pack on the way out.

With a certain hidden interest, Bill looked back over to Murphy and said, "And as for you," oh, here it comes, Murphy groaned inside his head, "If I'm right, today is payday." Murphy was in shock. It was a cold day in hell if he ever got his paycheck from Bill.

"Um... er..." he couldn't even say anything because it was so rare.

"Yes, yes, take this home with you and don't say I never did anything for you," he handed Murphy his check in an envelope. Murphy took it almost reverently because it happened almost once in a lifetime.

He beamed as he said, "Thanks, Bill," and started for the door.

As he was almost there, Bill called after him, "Hey, Murph!" Murphy turned around and nodded, "You did me a big favor today, you know that. You are a lifesaver, and I owe you." Murphy looked over at his check, wondering if maybe, just maybe, this could become a regular thing. But before he was even outside, Bill yelled one final thing, "Oh, and by the way, do you know what happened to my rearview mirror?" Well, Murphy thought as he left Larkin's, I think that one can wait.

Episode 2- The Deal

Murphy was sitting at the back room counter eating some peaches a few months past their expiration date when he heard Bill yell something unintelligeable from the next room.
"What?!" he shouted back. No answer. Crap. Stupid Bill. What does he want now?
He threw the can of moldy peaches in a nearby trash can and stepped out into the main area of the shop, prepared for the worst. Surprisingly, the store was empty. Not a soul today. It was just Bill... yelling... as always.
"I'm here, I'm here. Now what do you need?" Murphy said.
"I need," Bill said intensely, "for you to look over there."
"Wha-" before Murphy could say anything more, Bill grabbed him by the shirt collar and twisted him around. He pointed one long, dirty finger out past the sliding doors of the store, out to the street where a confused-looking squinty-eyed homeless guy was milling around with a shopping cart full of cans . Murphy shrugged.
"What about it?"
Bill said, "You and I both know that Mr. Larkin doesn't like people scaring away our business. Do you think that people are going to want to shop at a- well, at a hobo mart! Do you?"
"Bill..." Murphy sighed.
"What I want is for you to go and scare him off or something, okay? And while you're out there, go get me a soda."
"Don't push it." Murphy went out past the first few aisles, through the sliding doors, and ended up face-to-face with possibly one of the smelliest people he'd ever met. Somewhere in between the scent of melted cheese and bat poo was his impression. The homeless man seemed totally unaware, one lazy eye just a little off and a blank expression on his face. Murphy decided to get his attention.
"Um... excuse me sir? Excuse me- could I have a word with you?"
The man shook his head quickly for a moment, as if coming out of a daydream, and said, "Eh? Whad'you want, man? Have you come to buy some o' my fine goods?" Now this was just confusing.
"Fine goods?"
"Oh yes, all sorts of them," the man stuck a greasy hand down into the shopping cart, drawing out a handful of thoroughly bent and stained cans with it, "All flavors too! As a one-day special, they're only runnin' for forty-six and half cents off!"
"Um... no thanks," by now, Murphy was more or less convinced that this guy was totally nuts.
"Hey, you work here, right?" the man pointed a thumb towards Larkin's. Murphy nodded. "Well then, maybe you'd be interested in doing a little somethin' for me, eh?"

. . .

Murphy waddled back in through the sliding doors, a less than satisfactory look on his face. Bill was the first to notice.

"Hey! Didn't I tell you to get that bum out of here? We're trying to run a business."

Murphy replied, "We aren't the only ones," Bill looked confused, so he went on, "His name is Rudy. And he's in the er... can-selling business. He'd like us to sponsor his wares."

"What? Are you joking me? That guy-"

"Rudy."

"Yeah, Rudy- wants us to sponsor him selling cans? Unbelievable, some people. Well, tell ya what. Because you're such a great part of all this, I'll let you handle this little business deal, sound good?"

Murphy couldn't believe it, "B-but-"

"Now what would Mr. Larkin say, hmmm? It's a business deal after all. I guess you should... well, go invest. Now, you better get to that." Oh this is great, just perfect.

"Oh, and one more thing before you go," Bill smiled evilly, handing Murphy a trash can that smelled unmistakeably like rotten peaches, "You'd better take some goods of your own."

As fate would have it, Murphy the mopper and toilet-cleaner now had another job to add to his repertoire: business dealings. As nice as that sounded, he couldn't help but feel cheated as he sat on the curb with the melted cheese and bat poo smell sticking to him, appraising cans like they were artifacts from a freakin' lost temple.

"Ya see, this one," Rudy introduced with an all-important sweep of his arm, "it has a story behind it, lemme tell ya."

Murphy sat next to the bum, staring down into the gutter and not looking up as he said, "Go on."

Rudy brimmed with pride, holding up a severely dented and muddied coffee can, "This one I got after a run-in with the police chief. It was amazing... I can't remember half of it, but I remember it was amazing. It had something to do with ear wax and a tub filled with tuna- betcha never seen nothin' like that before, eh? Kinda like the summer of '78. I was a young man in my- well, I can't remember how old I was, but I was young. Or old. However you look at it- I was drilling for oil out on the rigs at Saint Martin's when there was a flash of lightning and something exploded. And then someone yelled. And I woke up later in the hospital bed. That's how I found out about the wonders of modern science. So I-" Murphy had the distinct impression that Ol' Rudy was just rambling. While he kept talking in the background, Murphy's gaze shifted to across the street, where a lone signpost in Harper's Lot shone like a gift from God. It read: Now accepting all reuseable goods- 185 East Side Recycling Center. That was convenient, Murphy thought.

About an hour later, as it was getting close to closing time and Bill was stuck at the register reading a copy of Workplace Journal (the special issue on how to cheat your way to the top in 10 days or less!), Murphy returned triumphant from the streets.

Bill glanced up, "So, how did our little business venture turn out?"

"Easier than I thought," Murphy said, "Took all of the cans up to the recycling center. Rudy's happy, so I guess mission accomplished."

"Right, right," Bill said, turning his attention back to his reading.

"So, are we all good now? No more business deals for awhile? If so, then I guess I'll just be heading home-"

Bill interrupted, not looking up from his magazine, "Ah- I almost forgot," he handed Murphy a plunger, "there's one more deal we need to seal before today's done."

"And what would that be?"

"Toilet's clogged again," Bill grinned.

Episode 1- Welcome to Larkin's

Something just wasn't right. Murphy couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about the smell of it was... abnormal, to say the least. With plunger in hand, he slowly pushed the bathroom door open. The smell hit him full on like a punch in the face so hard he almost staggered. Yeah, he thought as he pinched his nose, that's definitely abnormal. He stepped into the pale, greenish light of the men's room, fearing the worst, when his eye caught something unusually, well, shoved into the toilet. It was large, round and oddly enough, fruity.

"Oh, are you kidding me?!" Murphy fumed, "Hey Bill, someone clogged the toilet with a fruitcake!"

Bill, the cashier on duty at Larkin's Supermarket, craned his neck interestedly and said, "Really? No way. Lemme see!" Murphy shook his head. Note to self-don't mention anything to Bill.

"Well aren't you going to help me unclog it?" he said, ignored totally by a bizarrely fascinated Bill.

"Look at the size of that? Where'd they get one this time of year?"

"Bill, I don't know and I don't really care. Now would you-"

"No, wait- I need to take a picture of this!" Bill scrambled back to the cash register, swiping his digital camera from beneath the counter and stumbling back to the bathroom.

Murphy sighed and put his face in his hands, "Why do I have to deal with people like this?"

Bill perked up, "Do you mean me or the people with the fruitcake?"

Without looking up, Murphy said, "Both." There was an indiscriminate 'ding' sound up by the front door. Customers.

A fat, old and pompous woman wearing a hat that looked like it belonged in the '40's strode in, bringing with her a skinny, equally old but submissive man with a wide, ugly mustache. Bill, being the terrible salesman that he was, seized the opportunity to go... well, do his thing.

He put on a too-broad annoying smile and cleared his throat loudly, "Good day, ma'am. Welcome to Larkin's. Might I interest you in some of our finest canned peaches? They're fresh from the er... can!"

The woman grunted, "I don't like peaches! Where are your frozen desserts?" Just then, Murphy returned from the bathroom, toting a sizeable and sopping wet fruitcake. Bill's eyes widened. He grabbed the fruitcake, wrapping it expertly and unnoticeably with a roll of plastic and setting it on the counter.

"Ma'am, today's your lucky day. We just happen to have a special on our select desserts here at Larkin's Supermarket. This fine delicacy can be yours for a mere cost of eight-"

"We'll take it," the woman said.
"Alright then, let me just ring that up for you," Bill got a goofy grin on his face and Murphy swore for a moment, he lost his mind. Another note to self: Bill should not handle the register.

"Whoah- what the hell are you doing, Bill? You can't sell th-" He was cut off by Bill, who coughed loudly as a distraction.

"Excuse my partner there, miss. He just cleans the toilets," The woman nodded dismissively as the skinny man with the mustache handed Bill exact change. Unbelievable, Murphy thought. He'd always wondered and thought that Bill's, well, adverse talents could even get someone to buy something fished out of the toilet... but now, he didn't have to wonder. But still, what did his opinion matter? He just cleaned the toilets.

As soon as the old couple left with their prize catch of the day, Murphy turned on Bill, "What was that?! Are you nuts? I mean, this is even worse than that time when you sold the boss's hairpiece as a drain unclogger! It's just plain disgusting, too!" Bill listened calmly through all this with an uninterested look on his face.

"Yeah, yeah," he said boredly, "it is really my fault, Murph? Or is it the customer's? Mr. Larkin always says that the customer's always right. Hey, they know what they like! And what they don't know won't hurt them. Right? Right." Oh sure, Murphy thought, that made a load of sense.

"Whatever. Next time, don't sell them anything from the toilet at least."

Then there was that goofy grin again, "I can't make any promises." Oh great, Murphy groaned inside his head, this is going to be one long summer job.