Free FALSE FRONT by Ry Eph

 

     
     
     

     
     
    Pointing
fingers, narrowing stares, leaning sneers, questioning whispers, and denouncing
chuckles trail behind a gaunt man disguised in skinny dark matte shades from
eye to foot. Black pomade-glazed hair and a smooth creamy forehead are his only
evident features. Many customers overlook the offbeat man as they carry about
their tasks at the Vivacity, Washington Costco. It’s an unusual town known for
its outlandish beatnik culture, so bypassing idiosyncratic characters becomes a
common habit.
    The
man turns the red wholesale handle as he shifts the cart down an aisle with
heaps of books.
    “Not
that one,” says the man with a clear brisk voice, strolling by a squinting
woman who’s scanning a back cover.
    “What?”
    “I’ll
take that,” he says, snatching the novel from her hands as the last word leaves
his mouth.
    “Hey.”
    He
peers over his page-thin shoulder through a pair of designer sunglasses at the
appalled woman. Her mouth a gaping, damp, somber cave and her eyes stark full
moons.
    “Hello.”
    “You
can’t do tha—”
    “But
I did.”
    A
black bandana masks the lower half of his acute face, deadening his voice. He
tosses the book he stole back onto a stack and stops the cart in front of a
high mound of new releases, plucking a copy from the heap. A golden sticker on
the cover reads, Local Author. He spins around on the heel of his black
wingtips and drifts back toward the stunned woman, forcing the book into her
hand.
    She
gazes at the novel and says, “What is thi—”  
    Her
words cut short as he presses his index finger over her lips.
    “You’re
welcome,” he says, reaching into her cart.
    She
goes cross-eyed, staring at the finger pressing against her mouth.
    “Trust
me. You won’t be able to put it down,” he says while plucking a banana from her
cart. Removing his hand from her mouth, he peels the banana, lifts his
disguise, and takes a few bites. He grins at her between nibbles and a flashy
silver cap shows to the right of his mouth.
    They
stare at one another in silence. Customers pass them by, going about their
business.
    “Not
bad,” he says, tossing what’s left of the banana over his shoulder. She watches
it slide away against the signature polished floor. “Still a little green for
me.”
    “You
je—”
    He
taps on her nose and seesaws his finger across her face. Her eyes follow the
hypnotic movement.  
    “Really?
Name calling?”
    She
collapses her cavernous mouth. Exhaling hard through her rumpled nose, she
glares at the man.
    “Name
calling leads to violence, in my opinion. The old story our elders taught us about
sticks and stones breaking bones, but words never hurting is only half true.
Words lead to the sticks and stones breaking someone’s bones.”
    She
stomps away.
    “Enjoy
the book.”
    “Fuck
off. I’m getting an employee,” she says.
    He
chuckles, dashing back toward his parked cart to find a wiry, grey-haired man
reaching out to grab a copy of a book. The troublemaker glides over to him and
whacks his age-spotted hand.
    “Son
of a bitch,” says the senior, drawing his hand back and clutching it.
    The
masked man feints at him, and the old timer flinches, shuffling back and
raising his hands in a classical Irish boxer stance. They size each other up.
The older man grumbles from his lined mouth.
    “If
I was thirty years younger, I’d knock you on your ass,” he says, rolling fists
out in front of him.
    The
younger man swipes at the air, knocking at the old timer’s reminiscent
statement.
    “You’ll
be sorry one day, son. I’m getting someone over here to deal with you.”
    The
young man laughs and turns his attention to the cart near the books, picking up
another copy. Two ladies stand on the other side of the pallet talking about
some tasty sample back by the refrigerators.
    “Think
that’s funny? Do you?”
    He
flips a copy of the book at the elder, and it slices through the air like a
ninja dart. The hard corner