Excerpt: Retail Games

The Creepy, Sleepy Man coughed. He glared at Henry and then looked down at his feet. Henry hoped that would have been the end of the encounter, but the Creepy, Sleepy Man pushed the two people in front of him out of his way as he approached the buy counter. He pushed the woman with the watch aside and slammed his bag on the counter.
Really? REALLY?! How did I know that you were up to no good, he thought.
“You there, boy!” he shouted. “You will look at these and you will take them.”
Henry looked at the ratty grocery store paper bag and shook his head. “I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not a buyer.”
“You will look at them!” The man's eyes were intense and they looked like they were going to pop right out of his head he was so agitated. “You have to take them!”
It was then that Henry recognized the man's voice. It was the man who had called earlier about the sweaters. He was a lot crazier in person. “You're the sweater guy, aren't you?” The man glowered harder. “Look, I was told that we couldn't take them.”
“Maybe if you take a look at them...” Henry continued to shake his head. The Sweater Man did not like this and reached into his pants pocket. Henry knew what was going to happen but he prayed to whatever higher entity existed that it didn't happen. Unfortunately, the universe was not smiling upon him. The Sweater Man pulled out a gun and aimed it at Henry's forehead. The people nearby backed away and cowered.
The Sweater Man waved the gun at the surrounding people and shouted at them to stay calm in addition to getting on the ground. “Everyone stay where they are! Stay where you are or I'll shoot him!” He pointed the gun back at Henry.
Henry was pretty sure that he going to experience the imminent release of his bladder. He just prayed that he wouldn't evacuate his bowels as well. He kept his eye out for December or Hyphen to come and rescue him, but they were nowhere in sight. Why wasn’t someone calling nine one one? Was it Tuesday?
“YOU!” The Creepy Sweater Man waved the gun in Henry’s face. “You there. Look at my clothes! Look at them now!”
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m not a buyer,” Henry pleaded. “I can’t do anything for you!”
“You WILL look at my sweaters,” Creepy Sweater Man demanded. “Or would you rather get shot in the face?”
Henry considered it for a moment. If the condition of the grocery bag was any indication of what was inside, then maybe a shot in the face wouldn’t be so bad. He took a deep breath and reached inside the bag, trying his best not to touch it for fear it would disintegrate. He pulled his hand out and slowly backed away. The Creepy Sweater Man’s eyes grew wide and he stepped forward as if to remind him that he had a gun.
“I’m just going to get some gloves…” Henry said, putting his hands up. He hoped that maybe this would give Hyphen some time to sneak downstairs with December and then they could straighten out this mess. He took his time putting the gloves on, but as he snapped the second one on, he knew that they weren’t coming. Where was everyone else? Beatrix, Jazz, Roz, Brynn… Why weren’t they helping him? He guessed that they didn’t want to get shot in the face either. The least they could do was text message the police, or at the very least Facebook… but they weren’t allowed to have their cell phones out onto the floor.
Henry approached the filthy bag with caution. With his hands still in the air, he reminded himself of a surgeon on one of those awful hospital dramas. The Creepy Sweater Man was watching Henry carefully, finger poised on the trigger. Henry reached into the bag and gripped the first sweater. It felt dry and crunchy. He pulled out what he assumed used to be a white sweater, but was now a dirty yellow. Dust also accompanied the gross sweater. Henry smiled weakly as he tried not to inhale just in case there were dangerous spores in the air. He carefully unfolded the sweater and saw that the front of it was covered in knitted red and green snowflakes and in the center was a print of a reindeer pulling a fat man in a sleigh. It was pretty heinous, and so was the smell attached to it. It appeared that cats thought it necessary to show their appreciation for the sweater. Everyone’s a critic.
“How much?”
Henry shook his head. “I can’t in good conscience…”
“HOW MUCH?!” The crazed look that never really left intensified and his trigger finger twitched.
Henry ran numbers that might sound monetarily pleasing. Were the situation perfect, someone would politely decline the sweater, tell them to go home and wash it, and then suggest a time when the sweater might be more desirable… if ever. But in this case, the creepy man was not going to take no for an answer.
Where the hell is everyone?
“Well, considering the… condition of the garment, I can’t offer you much,” Henry said, pretending he knew what he was doing. “But I’m going to say that will retail for five dollars.” He placed it on the counter.
“How much of that do I get?” The Creepy Sweater Man asked.
“Well, we offer fifty percent in store credit and thirty percent in cash.” Henry quickly did the math in his head using a formula he had learned in seventh grade. “So, that would come out to be a dollar fifty.” He flinched and prepared to either be shot in the face or pistol whipped.
“Okay,” the Creepy Sweater Man said. He pointed his gun at the bag and indicated that he would like Henry to continue.
As Henry reached into the bag to pull out another sweater, the XM Radio started to play M.I.A.'s “Paper Planes”. Henry liked the song, but he just wished that he could have enjoyed it on a better circumstance.
The next sweater was completely knitted and red. There was a picture of a snowman with a giant carrot nose on the front of it. It too looked like the cats had left their mark on it. He tried his best to hide the disgust on his face as he folded it up.
“How much?” The Creepy Sweater Man asked.
“All I wanna do is *bang bang bang bang* and a *click ka ching* and take your moneh!” played in the background.
“Yes, thank you,” Henry mumbled under his breath. He suddenly remembered that there was a gun in his face and returned his attention to it. “Umm, we'll give you a dollar fifty for this.”
“Fantastic.”