Low Life by Ryan David Jahn Read Free Book Online

his desk and dialed the number.
    Ashley picked up on the other end. ‘Dr Zurasky’s office.’
    ‘Hello. This is Simon Johnson. Dr Zurasky was expecting me to make an appointment for today, and—’
    ‘He said you’d be calling. Have you seen Dr Zurasky before? He wasn’t—’
    ‘I’m actually feeling much better today, so I’m just gonna hold off.’
    A pause, and then: ‘Okay. I’ll let him know.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    He hung up the telephone.
    Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He glanced left and there was his boss, Bernard Thames, a pear-shaped man in his fifties with narrow shoulders and a wide middle. Big forehead
a beach over which the wave of his bangs splashed, eyebrows like question marks, long and narrow fingers with knuckles like knots, fingernails trimmed so short a couple of them were bloody. He wore
gray suits and spoke in an inflectionless monotone. But Simon thought there might have been more to him than was immediately obvious – Mr Thames often wore red socks.
    He had no idea how long his boss had been standing there.
    ‘Yes, sir?’
    ‘About the Samonek account.’
    ‘If you mean the discrepancy between the check and the time card for Fran Lewis, it’s the time card that’s in error. I got a last-minute phone call from Sheryl on Wednesday. I
must have forgotten to update and initial the time card.’
    Mr Thames nodded a quick affirmation, tipping his chin briefly.
    ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That answers that.’
    He turned to walk away, managed three steps, and then turned back.
    ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ he said, ‘did you call the office a couple nights ago?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Yes, sir. I don’t recall ever having called the office after business hours.’
    ‘That’s what I thought. Strange.’
    ‘Someone called?’
    ‘Someone claiming to be you called and left a message. Apologized for missing so much work, and then asked for his job back. It didn’t make sense.’
    ‘No, sir. I haven’t missed a day yet.’
    ‘I know. I checked your file.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘You have no idea what it might be about?’
    ‘Not the foggiest.’
    Mr Thames nodded and frowned, as if that was what he had expected to hear but had been hoping for more. Then he simply stood and stared for a moment.
    ‘Is that all?’ Simon asked.
    Mr Thames blinked and looked around like he didn’t know how he’d gotten there, smiled a smile that could have meant anything, and said, ‘Yes, indeed.’
    ‘Okay, sir.’
    Mr Thames turned and walked away, each step he took momentarily revealing a thin slice of red sock before the gray pants fell down to cover it again.
    When Simon stepped out of the office building and into the noontime sun, Robert and Chris were nowhere to be seen. He figured they’d gotten tired of waiting for him
– it had taken longer than usual for the twentieth floor to clear out – and headed to Wally’s without him. They had been doing that more and more frequently.
    He lighted a cigarette and started his walk toward Broadway.
    When he arrived at the diner, he found both of his friends at a booth against the back wall. They were sitting next to one another.
    The diner walls were thin wood paneling and the tables which littered the room were white with specks of blue and scratched and stained as well. The chairs were a mishmash, some metal, some
wood, some plastic, no two alike. The diner had a ‘B’ rating – maybe cockroaches had been found in the kitchen, or the refrigeration system wasn’t quite up to code –
and in a fit of humor someone had spray-painted a graffito on the glass window in which the ‘B’ was posted to make it the beginning of a claim of quality.

    it said. Simon could neither confirm nor deny the claim, since he’d never ordered a meal here.
    He walked across the scarred vinyl floor to the booth where Robert and Chris were sitting.
    ‘Hey, Simon,’ Chris said.
    ‘Hey.’
    ‘How you doing?’ Robert