My Favorite Suspects: Part 3
A.J. said it was nothing, but from the way he admired it, I could tell it was something.
In this cozy noir, amateur sleuth Terry Perez revisits his first case in which he investigates a series of crimes at his supermarket. Can he solve the mystery before he loses his job at the store? Who in his circle will turn out to be the criminal?
I have to take a moment to get my time straight. You see, working night crew, days and nights blend together. This plays with the sequence of my memories. For example, at some point in this story, I wind up standing in Luna's kitchen wearing only my underwear, and I can't quite remember if that falls before or after a big fight in the supermarket and the cops showing up. I also remember that for a good chunk of time, I was either sitting in Miller's office or at home, on my couch, falling asleep in front of the TV while streaming wildlife documentaries. But nobody wants to hear about that. Mostly, people want to hear about Luna. I get that. She has a certain quality. But Miller and A.J., you need to hear about them, too. They have important roles in this story.
OK. I've got it now, I think.
On Wednesday, Miller said I had three days left.
Now it was Thursday.
Up in the office and working on reports, I gazed out the windows of the manager's office, out through the main window of the store. We kept the office dark because of the one-way windows. We could see out but no one could see in. I'd watch the customers and think about my brother. We lost contact after my parents died. You'd think that with both our parents gone, we'd talk a lot, but not really. Not like I did with Miller.
If Luna and A.J. were my suspects, then Miller was my gruff-but-reasonable police captain, ready to advise or to admonish.
Miller reminded me of my dad in some ways. Like my dad, Miller was a fast-tracker. They'd been high school athletes. Both had perfect eyesight and perfectly coiffed hair. They'd completed bachelor's degrees. My dad had volunteered for tough deployments overseas and had been quickly promoted. Miller had volunteered to lead a dead-end assignment on night crew and now was on track to have his own store.
As for me, I'd dropped out of college. The only boxes I checked on the success list were "punctual" and "sober."
You might think that working loss prevention vs. being on the floor was a promotion. Not really. The loss prevention position offered no pay bonus. I kept all my old responsibilities on the front end: supporting the overnight cashier, cleaning, setting up displays. My sole perk was I didn't have to unload trucks. Miller handled that with other night crew guys.
During hockey season, which most people don't realize stretches into April, we streamed the games on a tablet set up on Miller's desk. The Stanley Cup finals happened in June and that Thursday night we had a game running on the tablet. The Sabers were out of the running that year but we kept up with it anyway, out of love for the game.
"You know why I like hockey?" Miller said, talking through a mouthful of potato chips. "Rules. Hockey is about how far you can bend the rules and what you can get away with."
I watched a replay of a hooking penalty. This time it was minor and the player had to spend two minutes in the penalty box. The player dropped onto the bench, swished Gatorade around his mouth, spat into a bucket. Without looking at Miller, I said, "I always thought hockey was about the struggle of man to find purpose in an absurd universe."
Miller mulled over what I said then waggled his finger at me. "Ah. Funny. You always do that thing where you slam two ideas together. It took me a while to figure out you were making jokes, kind of on the side, yeah?" He pointed to the hockey game on the tablet. "Did you ever think that what we do here, bro, at the store, is like hockey, yeah? We're a team. You're a player and I'm a manager. Get it? You play by rules. I make rules."
I set aside the fact that managers don't make rules and said, "If you're like this big manager dude who makes the rules, and I'm only a player, then why do you even talk to me?"
Miller wrinkled his eyebrows, suggesting confusion, and possibly that I'd hurt his feelings.
He pushed his bag of chips to me. "Because I like having you around, bro. You've got that weird sense of humor. And you're the only guy I know in Rochester who likes the Sabers."
"But you keep riding my ass about Ghost."
"Don't take it personally, bro. I gotta do my job." He crunched a chip and a look of regret flashed across his face. I had the sense that something weighed heavily on him. Then, he thought of something, and with a flick of his red tie over his shoulder, the expression brightened.
"Maybe," he said, "you and I can get to a game next season."
I laughed. "I can't afford tickets or the trip."
"Got you covered, bro. Season tickets."
"Seriously? How would you swing that?"
He seemed to consider answers before saying, "Perks of the job."
In those moments, I felt like he really thought of me as a friend.
"But you gotta find Ghost, bro, so I don't have to fire you."
The first interview of a suspect that I'd ever done started with A.J. After I left the manager's office, I trailed him to the end of the cookie aisle, near the cigarette case, and pretended to find him on accident.
We bumped fists as a greeting.
He held up a box. "Stopped in for coconut macaroons. Had a craving."
"For cookies?"
"For cigs, truthfully. It's a bad habit I picked up from the Army."
"How long were you in?"
"Four-year hitch."
"My dad was in the Army," I said. "He signed up to get a degree and wound up staying for a couple of years extra."
"Sure," A.J. said, showing a far-off look before replacing it with a smile. "I knew guys that did that. Me…. I was looking for a family and a career. My mom died when I was a kid. Grandma raised me. Being in the Army was good at the beginning. But I don't know. Something didn't click after a while."
"Sorry about your mom." I thought about my mom. At least I'd hit my twenties before she died. I couldn't imagine being a kid, like A.J., and trying to deal with the loss of a parent.
"Is what it is, playa." He set his backpack down on the cash register belt. I wondered how many cartons of cigarettes it would carry. After he paid for them, he took a macaroon out of the box and nibbled at it. He offered me one. I declined. "My grandma used to make these," he said as an aside. "Anyway, I got a job at the distribution center and here I am. I joined the church, as you know. I help tend the Lord's flock."
"Is it better or worse than the Army?"
"Better in some ways. I did a mission trip to Guatemala last year. We rebuilt part of a school and taught kids how to read. Never did that in the Army. I'm a deacon, now."
"What's a deacon?"
"I help the pastor with business stuff. Bookkeeping. Running the web site. He's not big on organizing things and if there's one thing I learned from the Army, it's how to organize things."
We continued talking about his Army experiences. A.J. had never talked about them in any detail before. He usually turned any situation into a sales job for his church. That Thursday night, though, he played a different hand of cards. I got the feeling that he needed to talk to someone.
I followed him through checkout and walked with him to the parking lot. Stepping onto the asphalt that June night was like stepping onto the bottom of a frying pan greased with motor oil and birdshit. It was crazy to have summer start so early, though now it's something we've all been forced to accept. I remember my mom talking about the long winters in Rochester, and about the cool, wet summers, too, and she may as well have been describing a different planet.
A woman called out, cheerily, "Price Check!" and interrupted A.J.
Luna appeared out of the shadows between the streetlights, walking toward the store from the direction of the bus stop. She paused to light up a cigarette and waved to me or possibly to A.J.
I hoped it was to me.
Luna gave us high-fives with all the emotional investment of someone tapping a "like" button. Her hands were small and unexpectedly warm.
"Don't give that girl none of your attention," A.J. said after she passed us on her way to the store entrance. "I see how you look at her. She's a distraction, Terry. Nothing more." He paused to appreciate the way the thin fabric of her sweatpants clung to her backside. He shook his head as if to clear it. "Good Lord says to run from temptations of the flesh." He tapped his cross on the chain around his neck. "The Lord told me to pray when I get a craving. Jesus gonna raise me up from those burdens."
When A.J. wanted to, he could lay it on thick.
"Does prayer work for that kind of craving?" I said, nodding toward Luna.
A.J. smiled. "She does have a way, doesn't she? A man kinda loses track of stuff when that woman's around." He let out a slow breath and touched the cross reflexively.
"Which brand?" I said.
"What?"
"Brand."
"Of macaroons?"
"No. Cigarettes."
"Why's that matter?"
"I figure you for a Luxury Kings guy," I said, steering the conversation with the finesse of a one-armed bus driver overdue for a bathroom break.
He made an equivocal gesture with his hand. "I like Tenets, but they're expensive. I'll do Luxury Kings if I can find them. They've got good flavor and a good hit." He licked his lips. "I mean, when I was into them, I would do them."
We bumped fists and I noticed something I hadn't seen before: A watch. It glittered impressively under the parking lot lights. I'd known A.J. for almost a year at that point, gone to his church, been to a picnic or two, and had never seen that watch. I thought it was interesting that a guy who stocks shelves for Amazon could afford it.
"It's nothing," A.J. said, holding it up to the light.
From the way he admired it, however, I could tell it was something.
His bus approached. The motor's whine cut through the suffocating heat. A.J., like me, didn't own a car.
I wondered if A.J. really had stopped in for macaroons. Or if, possibly, I'd interrupted him in the middle of stealing cigarettes, and he'd bought the macaroons to mislead me.
He paused on the second step of the bus, touched the gold cross at his neck, and said to me, "Bless." The doors hissed shut.
That was the first time I realized that I'd begun to think of everyone as a suspect and didn't know if I liked this new aspect of my personality.
I went back into the store to track down Luna, and whatever answers, or temptations, she might provide.
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