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.