“They’re not coming back, you know.”
“My dreams? Thanks.”
“No, I mean the god squad. From what I’ve heard, most of them will never walk again. A wheelchair might make it difficult to get down here.”
“True enough.”
“And hey, look on the bright side. If anyone else tries, Sven will probably kill them, if Derek and I don’t get them first. Car batteries and blowtorches, all the way.”
The warmth was as gentle as it was sudden. I felt the subtle black smudge on my cheek before I saw it. Ana had never kissed me before— nor anyone, as far as I knew. She was generally a reserved and cynical person.
“Thank you for reassuring me,” she said.
“Any time.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
“Nah. I just came to check up on you and see how you’re doing.”
“That’s sweet, if only I believed it.”
“I suppose I could do with a bit of a browse.”
“Browse away, my friend.”
After I’d flipped through record sleeves like broad dominos, I made my selection. Sticking to the 90s area, I discovered some true treasures among the chaff. Far from the worst decade in music, there was still an MC Hammer or C&C Music Factory for every Primus or Type O Negative, which were all lumped together in three consecutive bins, arranged alphabetically by artist, with little respect for genre distinctions, much like Ana herself, really.
For her, there were only two kinds of music: Good music and bad music, though her definition of the latter category was sometimes questionable.
Once my record stack was piled high, I approached the counter where the cash register was, steady as I went, trying to avoid an unfortunate incident. Such is what most of my life felt like sometimes— risk minimization.
The last album had been rung up in an old-fashioned register, Ana’s receipts still written out by hand, when a different sort of ding sounded. It was a twin tone drawing attention to our phones. The simultaneous arrival was somewhat suspicious.
“‘Have a nice day,’ my ass,” Ana snorted, after we’d both read the alert about mandatory quarantine.
Ana was never one to mince words. She was far too old for that kind of nonsense and tended to speak very bluntly, putting her in a similar situation to me socially. It was likely why we got along so well.
My friendship was difficult to come by but also nearly indestructible once gained. Sadly, the same went for my wrath.
“You have a room down here, right?” I asked, stowing my phone.
“Yeah, in the back of the store, to save on rent.”
“What are your food storage provisions like?”
“Strong. I’ve got a deep freeze and everything.”
“Good. Close up shop and lock the doors. Staying here should be as safe as staying in a house.”
“Or a bunker,” Ana observed.
“True, true. I’ll make sure Seth sends over a big load of new releases to make up for the shortfall you’ll likely experience due to lack of customers. Your sales will bring in the difference after things open back up again.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to.”
We hugged and then I prepared myself for the stairs, which were more merely challenging than genuinely treacherous.
Once I got outside and upstairs, I was enraged to see that some members of the God Squad were back— at least the two who were still able to lift their arms. They had taken to picketing rather than property damage and premeditated murder.
“Hey!” one of them protested— the one who didn’t have his jaw wired shut— as I grabbed their signs and broke them over my knee.
One turn was all it took. His eyes became as big as saucers as I gave him my special glare. It was the one reserved for those who abused their privileges to impede the right of others to exist.
“Boo!” I screamed at him.
Like a tough-talking 8-year-old who has been hit for the first time, he burst into tears and ran like a cockroach. Retrieving the pile of records that I’d set down on the sidewalk, I continued to my car.
After a click and a ding, I was belted in, my phone in my hand, wondering what the government wanted now. I didn’t mind the lockdown— not if it was going to keep people safe. Sending the messages by text was fast and efficient and they would have everyone’s phone number anyway, from the census.
It was the way they worded the notice that bothered me— like a machine only simulating something akin to human emotion, the actual experience being far beyond its ability to dredge up. It was as if it was just a moving part in a greater machine. Maybe Kafka was correct in his writings, after all.
A second text had made its way to my notifications, although it wasn’t from the same sender. Rather, it was from a much higher authority in my life, named Seth Black. He was requesting that all Suspicious Activity staff members come into the office for an emergency meeting, masks requested, his warmth and charisma radiating in the blue light of my phone screen.