Saving Savannah

My landlord’s face went stark white… and then bright red. His top lip curled back in a sneer of contempt, as his mouth opened to say something.

I stopped him immediately.

“Say one word Gus,” I snapped. “Just one more fucking word. That’s all I need. That’s all it would take for me to scream my lungs out, and when everyone comes flying in here, I’ll tell them all about the disgusting piece of shit you really, truly are.”

I spat the words with such vehemence and venom, the asshole actually took a step back. I had to admit, I’d be scared if I were him too. Hell, I was frightening myself.

“Now I’m not one-hundred percent sure if the cameras I had installed last week to deter shoplifters actually pick up sound,” I continued, “but I’m thinking they do. I remember paying extra for that. But it’s definitely worth checking, Gus.” I settled my hands on my hips. “Don’t you think?”

He stared back at me and gulped. Actually physically gulped. It was like something right out of a movie.

“I have a counteroffer if you’re still willing to make a deal,” I told him. “Wanna hear it?”

Gus stood stock still for a moment, then nodded silently.

“You get the fuck out of my shop,” I said coldly, “and you never come back. I mail you the rent, on time, every month. The real rent. Not the bullshit add-on rent you tried pulling just now.”

My landlord nodded again. His mouth seemed to form the words: “O—Okay.”

“In return, I don’t go around to the other properties you’re running here and tell everyone what a perverted shitstain you are. In short, I keep my mouth shut about that.”

Gus let out what could’ve been a relieved sigh. It also just could’ve been him starting to breathe again.

“Oh, and I will be visiting the other tenants, too,” I added. “Don’t think I won’t. I’m going to ask them if you’ve increased their rent last minute, like you just tried to do with me. And if you do…” I shrugged one shoulder. “Well, then we’re back to the original ‘no deal’ scenario. And that’s when things get really messy.”

“You… you don’t have to—”

“I’m talking police involvement, Gus,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Sexual harassment charges. Civil lawsuits. Maybe you’ve done this already with other people, and—”

“Okay, okay,” Gus said, putting his hands up. “No rent increase. I’ll take off. Everything’s cool.” He cocked his head. “Okay?”

“No asshole. Everything’s far from okay.” I pointed at the door. “But for now, we’re finished. Right?”

Gus walked backwards toward the entrance, never taking his eyes from me. He reached the door just about the same time my first group of customers filed through.

“Hello!” I smiled sweetly, as Gus worked his way past them. Through my peripheral vision, I watched as he disappeared into the crowded street. “Welcome to the All-Seeing Eye…”

Sixteen

SAVANNAH

My first day back at work was a fruitful one. I read at least two dozen palms. Pulled off thirteen individual tarot card readings. There was no time for lunch, no time for a break. It was just me, the shop, and the throngs of eager customers who spent their free time rummaging through my wares while their friends and family sat down at my reading table, in the back.

I hadn’t worried about shoplifters before, but after my bluff, I began wondering if I really did need cameras. Not that it would really matter. By the time I figured out someone actually clipped something, they’d already be hours gone.

Instead, I focused on my work. On the distinct lines and types of hands that made people different, and the questions they brought to the tarot deck, seeking answers. I gave people what they wanted of course, but I also gave them the truth. I didn’t distort the meanings or hide any unfavorably bad turns, but I could embellish the good and send them away feeling happy and satisfied.

I was nowhere near as talented as my grandmother, but I was adequate enough. If she were here though, she’d chastise me for not offering other services as well. For example, I could do Reiki healing. Crystal therapy. I could offer after-hours sound bath meditation classes, and make an absolute killing off of it.

In truth, I didn’t believe in any of those things. Maybe the meditation to some degree, but the rest, as far as I was concerned, was all hocus pocus. I wasn’t out to rip people off, or sell them something I didn’t believe in. I stocked crystals because they were pretty — not because of their purported properties — and tarot decks so people could do their own thing at home. The rest of my shop was mostly aesthetic: shelf after shelf of trinkets and statues and tchotchkes. All pretty little things that people could buy and take home as souvenirs, to remind themselves of their spooky visit to Salem, Massachusetts.

By the time I locked the door for good, it was well past dark. The crowds had significantly wound down. Everyone was off to eat dinner or get drinks. Or maybe even jump on one of the many haunted tours, like the one Zane was offering.

Zane…

I’d been thinking about him all day. About our time in the back room, and our missed opportunity there. I felt bad ushering him out after the broken window. And about not calling or texting him afterward, to at least thank him for trying to help.

Hell, I’d been thinking about all three of the guys, and in more ways than one. I’d been hooked on the recollection of Erik’s strong, tattooed arms. Roman’s gorgeous bronze skin. Zane’s beautiful sky-blue eyes, as well as his boyish, roguish grin…