Seeing Off the Johns by Rene S Perez II Read Free Book Online Page B

had more money than it needed and hadn’t regarded with wonder and awe the Johns the way the Johns had regarded UT. Then there was the Bee County hospital that had treated the boys. But it was agreed by all four parents, without being said by any of them, that the hospital that couldn’t save their boys could burn to the ground for all they cared—and this was also their sentiment regarding the rural ambulance company that responded to the accident. Angie Robison suggested Greenton High and they all agreed. The dirty business of wiping their hands clean of the profits made by the memory of their dead sons was complete. The money would buy new uniforms for the baseball team.
    Fake stars were popping up in the surrounding counties, one or two actually surfacing in Greenton. They were shoddy replications. Ms. Salinas’ cousin in Laredo had made a simple but distinguishing augmentation to the shade of Greenton’s spearmint green, which lightened it a bit. The counterfeiters couldn’t seem to duplicate this. Some people were even coming into The Pachanga and purchasing scores of stars to sell at a marked-up price in counties farther away to people who were sympathetic to Greenton’s loss. The Mejias and Robisons, it would seem, were alone in their compunction regarding profiting from the deaths of two teenagers.

Chon was helping a customer, a man in a black Mercedes that had overheated, when Henry walked in.
    â€œWell, sir, we have a water hose at the side of the building that you can use to cool your car down before you put the coolant in,” Chon said, giving Henry a nod. Henry gave him a nod back and walked to the soda fountain in the back of the store.
    â€œBut you’re not supposed to take off the radiator cap when the car is hot,” the tall man in khaki shorts and polo T-shirt said. Chon could tell the guy was a Mexican national from his accent and his clothes.
    â€œWell, not really, but you’ve been parked for a while. We can be careful when we open it.” Chon tried to speak slowly, breathing out through his nose—the way the training video Art had all of his employees watch instructed in dealing with elderly and mentally challenged customers and armed robbers. “Listen, sir, I’m just trying to get you out of here as soon as possible. You keep saying you’re in a hurry.”
    â€œFine, fine,” the man said. “So we cool it with the water and fill it with coolant, but won’t some water stay in the radiator?”
    â€œWell, yeah, but that’s fine. It’ll just dilute the coolant a little bit, but it’s totally fine,” Chon said, looking back at Henry who was calling the guy a jerk off with his hand.
    â€œNo. The manual says to only put 50/50 coolant in the radiator, no water,” the man said, putting his car’s manual on the counter and giving a chortle as if to tell this kid that there are complexities of German engineering that he would never comprehend.
    Chon let the sarcasm roll off his back. He had become near immune to assholes of all nationalities.
    â€œAlright then, you’ll want four gallons of coolant. They’re across from the Pepsi cooler in the back,” he said.
    The man made his way to the automotive section. As he walked up the last aisle, Henry walked down the first—smiling and shaking his head the whole way. He leaned against the ice cream cooler and crossed his arms. Chon showed Henry the palm of his hand and gave him a nod. Just wait.
    â€œ$13.99?” the man yelled from the back of the store.
    Chon smiled at Henry, who tried to hold back a laugh.
    â€œYou people charge $13.99 for a gallon of coolant?” The man came back to the counter with two gallon jugs of the stuff.
    â€œYes sir, it comes out to $15 a pop after taxes,” Chon said, giving the man his back to Windex and squeegee the window behind the register.
    â€œThat’s bullshit,” the man said.
    Chon