Excerpt: The Liar

Isaiah had to find a store. Immediately. Or otherwise many dire things would happen, such as that he would be forever remembered as that scruffy guy in the old suit, and would make no impressions on anyone at all. Other than as a scruffy guy. In an old suit.
Suddenly, Isaiah spotted what appeared to be a store. He approached it, thinking all the time, but not about anything in particular. It was a store. He stepped up onto the porch because it had one, and went to the door, which was open. Isaiah peered inside, trying to look as though he had every right to be there. And also had cash, which he really didn't. Not much, anyway.
There was a cat. It was a lazy cat who seemed to be too large to move under its own power, and was sprawled in the sunlight in the doorway of the store. Isaiah took care to step over it, and it paid him no mind. Neither did the bored young man standing behind the counter, staring at the ceiling as if it might provide him with more entertainment than the rest of the store, if only he implored it long enough. There was a nubbin' of a cigarette dangling from his mouth, in apparent danger of dropping.
“Good day,” Isaiah said, drawing the young man's attention away from the ceiling.
“Uh huh,” the young man said, without opening his mouth far enough to let his cigarette escape.
“My name is Isaiah Henks,” Isaiah said. “And I was wondering if you could show me your selection of shaving equipment.”
“Razors are over there,” the young clerk said, pointing to a shelf nearby, which was indeed stocked with any number of razors and other effects of masculine hygiene. Isaiah walked over to peruse the shaving accoutrements. The shop boy or whatever he was called, was silent, although out of the corner of his eye, Isaiah saw him replace his burnt-out cigarette with a new one.
“That reminds me,” Isaiah said, bringing his selections over and laying them on the counter. “Where might I purchase a case of cigarettes?”
“Not here,” the boy said. “They've got some over at the tobaconist, down the street. We ain't got anything like that in here. Mister Wallis don't believe in it.”
“Interesting,” Isaiah said. “Would that be the same Mister Wallis that owns the store down the road?”
The boy shook his head, and removed his cigarette from his mouth. “No, Sir, that's his brother. They hate each other like something awful. You can get cigarettes down at the other Mister Wallis' store, but it's a bit out of the way.”
Isaiah nodded, as the boy returned the cigarette to his mouth.
“You goin' to be wanting all this, or'm I just supposed to stare at it?” the boy asked, indicating the shaving things Isaiah had placed on the counter.
“I'll be wanting them, Son,” Isaiah said. The boy nodded, and began to add up the amount by which it would lessen Isaiah's already thin reserves of cash. “I don't suppose I could get these on credit?”
“I don't suppose so,” the boy said. “No, Sir, I'm afraid I can't help you. I don't know how that sort of thing works at all. Might get in trouble. You wouldn't want me to get in trouble, would you, Mister?”
“Isaiah Henks,” Isaiah said, though he was certain he had already introduced himself. “By way of introduction.”
“That so?” the boy said. “And where is it you're from, Mister Isaiah Henks? By way of making conversation.”
“Most recently, from Florence's Boarding House,” Isaiah said. “But I am a man of many origins.”
“That don't mean anything at all, 's'far as I can tell,” the young man said. “Now, are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to pay for these things here?”
“I really would appreciate it if you would allow me to buy these items on credit,” Isaiah said. “You have my word I'm good for it.”
“Your word might be good where it is you're from, Mister Isaiah Henks,” the boy said, drawling through his cigarette in a tone which strongly indicated his complete lack of faith in Isaiah's good word. “But it don't mean nothing at all here.”
“I see,” Isaiah said, feeling altogether finished with this portion of his morning. “In that case, how much will it be?”
“An appropriate amount,” said the youth, telling him the aforementioned appropriate amount, instead of saying the thing . . . anyway, Isaiah handed the money to the boy and scooped up his purchases.
“Thank you for all your help, Son,” Isaiah said, as pleasantly as he could with a swiftly depleting amount of cash. He started out of the store.
“Oh Mister,” the boy said, and Isaiah turned around in the door. “Th'name's Lavern Sheets, by way of introduction.” He winked, and smirked around his cigarette, and Isaiah nodded his head and nearly tripped on the motionless cat on his way out of the store.