Free Triptych by Karin Slaughter

shifted in his chair, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his back. John didn’t wear a watch, but there was a big clock on the wall. This represented poor judgment on the store planner’s part, considering the fact that all it served to do was remind people they were stuck here waiting for some kid fresh out of high school to tell the lucky customer that they had qualified for the extreme honor of paying five hundred bucks for a Simzitzu DVD player.
    “Just a TV,” John whispered to himself. “Just a small TV.” His leg was bobbing up and down again and he didn’t bother to stop it. His hands were clenching and unclenching, and that was bad. He had to stop doing that. People were staring. Parents were keeping their kids close.
    “Sir?” Randall, John’s own personal sales assistant, stood in front of him. He had a smile plastered onto his face that would have given a Labrador pause. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Randall reached out his hand as if John might need help up.
    “It’s okay,” John said, trying not to mumble as he stood. He started looking around, wondering what was going on. The kid was being too nice to him. Had something happened? Did someone call the police?
    “We can show you these sets here,” Randall offered, leading him to the back of the store where the big screens were displayed.
    John stood in front of a television that looked as huge as a movie screen. The set was almost as tall as him and twice as wide.
    Randall picked up a remote control the size of a book. “The Panasonic has advanced real black technology that gives you-”
    “Wait a minute.” John was walking around the television. It was only a few inches thick. He saw the price tag and laughed. “I told you what I make, man.”
    Randall flashed him a smile, took a step forward that made John want to take a step back. He kept his ground, though, and the kid lowered his voice, saying, “We understand when some of our customers have outside income sources they can’t list on their credit applications.”
    “That right?” John asked, recognizing something illicit was happening but not quite sure what.
    “Your credit report…” Randall seemed almost embarrassed. “The credit cards came up.”
    “What credit cards?” John asked. He didn’t even have a damn checking account.
    “Don’t worry about it.” Randall patted John on the shoulder like they were old buddies.
    “What credit cards?” John repeated, the muscles in his arm aching to slap the kid’s hand away. He hated admitting he didn’t know something. Being in the dark made you vulnerable.
    Randall finally dropped his hand. “Listen, guy,” he began. “No big deal, right? Just make the payments and we don’t care. We don’t report to anybody unless you stop paying.”
    John crossed his arms over his chest, even though he knew it made him look bigger, more threatening, to other people. “Lookit,” he said. “I want that crappy TV up front, the twenty-two inch with the remote control. That’s all I want.”
    “Dude,” Randall said, holding up his hands. “Sure. No problem. I just figured with your credit score-”
    John had to ask again. “What score?”
    “Your credit score,” the kid said, the tone of his voice passing incredulous and settling on plain dumbfounded. “Your credit score’s the best I’ve ever seen here. We get some people in, they’re not even breaking three hundred.”
    “What was mine?”
    Randall seemed startled by the question. “We’re not allowed to tell you.
    John made his voice firm, let some of the gravel come out. “What was mine?”
    Randall’s pimples turned white, his skin a bright red. He whispered, “Seven-ten,” glancing over his shoulder to see if his boss was watching him. “You could go to a real store, Mr. Shelley. You could walk into a Circuit City or a Best Buy-”
    “Let me see it.”
    “Your report?”
    John closed some of the space between them. “You said there were credit cards on there. I