Rooster by Don Trembath Read Free Book Online Page B

so.”
    â€œYou bet your life I say so. There’s ten million people out there who’d drop everything in a second to experience for one month what I had for nearly two decades. You — you won’t have that. You keep jacking around now, settling for doing ‘well enough to pass,’ you’ll be sitting here looking out the window just like I am, but you won’t have twenty years’ worth of memories to carry you through. You won’t have anything.”
    Rooster hesitated before leaving.
    â€œYou think about that as you carry out this plan of yours. Maybe that woman from your school is onto something with this group of people who want to go bowling. I don’t know what it is, but maybe she knows something.”
    â€œI doubt that very much.”
    Irving shrugged and returned to his paper. “It’s something to think about,” he said. “Just know that if your plan doesn’t work, you won’t be the only person in this kitchen right now to fail.”
    Rooster did not respond. He let the screen door slam on his way out.

5
    C ommon House was a good twenty-minute walk, most of it uphill, from Rooster’s home. He was tired and out of breath by the time he arrived. Mrs. Nixon was waiting for him.
    â€œYou’re late,” she said, holding the door open. “You look pale,” she added as he stepped inside.
    â€œI am pale. All the blood ran to my feet walking up that stupid hill.”
    She immediately led him into an office where five people were seated around a circular table. One of them, a tall, middle-aged woman with dark, neatly combed hair and a pleasant smile, rose to meet him. “Rooster, I’m Mrs. Yuler. Pleased to meet you. These are the Strikers.” She waved her hand toward the others at the table. “Have a seat, please. We can get started.”
    Rooster remained standing. “Actually, I was kinda hoping I could go for a quick smoke before meeting with everyone. I’m pretty nervous. I’ve never been in an interview like this before. I’ve never had a job, so … this is all pretty new to me. I wouldn’t mind a minute to settle down.”
    Mrs. Yuler looked at him in surprise. Behind him, sitting in a chair in the corner of the office so she was not a part of the interview but was still close enough to observe it, Mrs. Nixon shook her head.
    â€œWell,” said Mrs. Yuler, looking at her watch, “we did say four fifteen, and it’s actually four thirty already. Four thirty-three to be exact.”
    â€œI know,” said Rooster, with a shrug but no apology. “I got hung up at home. The old man ate all my supper, so I had to scramble for something to eat. Drank all my beer too.”
    â€œDidn’t the walk here give you time to calm down and … have a smoke?”
    He shook his head. “Way too strenuous. That goddamn hill out there almost killed me. I don’t know how these guys get up and down that stupid thing all the time.” He motioned toward the Strikers. “I’m glad I’m not fat, that’s all I can say.”
    â€œWe live here,” said one of the members of the team, a woman with a pile of brown hair and very thick glasses. “We don’t have to go up and down it unless we’re in the van.”
    â€œThe goddamn hill,” said the woman next to her. She was short and squat with greasy black hair. She also wore glasses, but they were so filthy that Rooster could barely see her eyes through them. “That’s a good one. Heh, heh. I’m gonna remember that one. Heh, heh. Goddamn hill.”
    â€œRoseann,” said Mrs. Yuler sternly.
    â€œSorry,” said the woman with the greasy hair. She immediately sank down in her chair and began licking her fingers. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
    â€œJust watch your language.”
    â€œI’m sorry. He started it. He said goddamn hill before I