Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

the little asshole home! Now get on away from me. I got nothin’ more… nothin’ to say to you! I don’t know where the little schmuck might be! Haven’t the foggiest damn idea! He’s probably sick and tired! Sick and tired… of you! Of you . . . running roughshod over him! Probably really pissed off . . . at the way you’ve been runnin’ his whole, entire, pissy-assed, damn life! He’s probably got hisself another job . . . and he ain’t gonna let you fleece him! Not no more! Not gonna let you keep screwin’ him! Screwin’ his miserable ass… out of all his goddam money! Not gonna let you keep doin’ that! Doin’ that to him! Not no more! Now, don’t you let the door hit you… hit you, in your sorry old ass… on the way the hell out!”

The woman was on the verge of tears! As the crude little man walked away from her, she looked—looked frantically—around the eatery! Standing behind the large glass display case—on top of which the computer-type cash register was housed—was Leonard Clarkson, the celebrated owner.

“Mister Clarkson,” she spouted—again, much louder, than intended, “PLEASE! Please don’t walk away from me! My son . . . my Jason! I haven’t… haven’t seen him! Not once! Not one single trace of him! Not in a… in a whole week! He’s been gone…”

“I know,” he snarled. “You woke my ass up! Just to tell me, of that. Remember?”

“Listen! Mister Clarkson! Mister Clarkson! I’m at the end of my rope!”

“Maybe you’d like to try the end of my rope,” he responded with a sinister laugh. The “joke” fell—well short!

“Listen!” lamented the distraught woman. “Look! I don’t know where to go with this! I’m just…”

“You might try the police,” he said, sardonically. “They specialize in shit, like that, don’tcha know.”

“Mister Clarkson?” she responded weakly. Her voice was still barely audible.

“Look,” he replied, in a less-confrontal tone, “I have no idea… none . . . as to where the hell your precious little boy might be! All I know is… that I’ve, also, not seen him in a week! And… believe me… he wasn’t any kind of bargain, not even then! All I know… is that he never showed up, the next day. Left us all . . . way up in the air! No courtesy! No notice! No nothing! So, I can’t say that I’m awfully sympathetic . . . over the situation! Did you ever stop to consider . . . that he might not want you, to find him? As I understand it…”

“OHHHH!” The woman threw both hands into the air—almost flinging her purse off her left arm. “You’re no help! No fucking help! No help… at all!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rutkowski,” said the owner—his manner softening, a little more. “But, there’s really nothing I can do. You should really go to the police. I’m genuinely sorry. Sorry… that you’ve not seen your son! But, there’s really nothing I can do about it! Really! I honestly have no idea . . . not an inkling . . . as to where he could be! My gut feeling, though… tells me that he’s all right! That he’s not met with any… ah… foul play! But, I simply have no clue . . . as to where he might be! It just may very well be, that he… well, that he doesn’t want to be… doesn’t want to be found! I’m truly sorry! But, now I really do have other things… that I really need to be doing.”

Sheila could almost feel the floor quake! Beneath her feet! It was as though the linoleum—had actually turned into the surface, of a raging river! Or white-water rapids, or something! She semi-staggered to the counter—and plopped herself down on one of the stools! In a near-miss fashion!

“Ya want a cup of coffee, Mrs. Rutkowski?” The older woman hadn’t noticed Lorna—one of the concerned, more-caring, waitresses—sidle up, on the other side of the counter. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Her voice was soft—and soothing. “It’ll on the house.”

“Yes.” Sheila could barely speak. “Yes… yes, thank you. Yes. Yes… that would be nice. Thank you.”

Lorna drew the cup, of freshly-made “joe”, from the huge urn on the platform gracing the wall to the kitchen—and set the steaming liquid down, in front of the highly-distraught woman.

“You haven’t heard . . . heard from Jason?” the waitress asked, softly. “Is that what I heard?”

“Yes! No! No, I’ve not seen . . . or heard . . . from him! Not ever since… well, since he left for work! That was last week! Last week! A whole week ago! When those freaking planes . . . flew into those goddam skyscrapers! In New York! I don’t know.” She sighed—heavily. “I just don’t know! He seemed… well, he seemed just a little different! Different… on that day! Well, maybe a whole lot different! I’ve never really seen him before! Not like that! Have never seen him… not acting that way! Nothing like that! Nothing even close!”

“How so? How was he any… well, any different?”

“Well… for one thing… he didn’t seem to want to go to work! Just wanted to, y’know… to just sit there! Sit there… and watch all that crap! All that crap… out of New York! You know… where they flew those goddam planes, into those goddam buildings! I had to insist . . . really insist, y’know… that he get off his ass! Excuse me… off his butt! Get up, y’know… and go on out! Go on out… to work! And now? Nothing! I haven’t seen him since! Not one sign of him! Nothing! It’s almost like he… well, like he… like he vanished, or something!”

“I don’t mean to be offensive, or anything. But, did it ever occur to you that maybe… just maybe . . . you’d pushed him, just a bit too far? Maybe it was just that one time! That one day! But, quite possibly, that might have been… been just the wrong thing, to have done! That maybe . . . again, just maybe… it was your insistence, on that one particular day, that was… well… that would, maybe, have been the straw? The one… that, you know, just simply broke the camel’s back?”

“What do you mean by that?” Sheila,