The Journey Prize Stories 28 by Kate Cayley Read Free Book Online Page B

possibility of an indelicately removed testicle.
    â€œSzandor?” Kyle says, feigning surprise, trying to channel his old performer’s instincts. “Surprised to see you on my porch on a Saturday morning. Can I do for you?”
    Zabados takes a drag of his cigarette and looks long ways down the street, in the direction of the ocean.
    â€œYou want to come in?” says Kyle, stepping slightly to the side, hoping to hell the answer is no.
    â€œI got a bit of a problem, Miller,” Zabados says. “Maybe you can help me.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œYou were on 17 yesterday, yeah?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    Zabados looks him in the eye, a barrel of smouldering ash clinging to the tip of his butt.
    â€œI know it is. I know you were on 17.”
    Kyle manages a curious frown. “What’s the problem?”
    â€œYou see anything unusual on your shift?”
    â€œNo…can’t say I did.”
    â€œCan’t say? Or…?”
    Kyle tries to summon saliva into his mouth, which suddenly feels coated with cement.
    â€œI honestly don’t know what you’re getting at. Sorry to disappoint. Yesterday was a pretty standard shift.”
    Zabados chucks his smoke onto the worn planks of Kyle’s porch, not far from the dark smears left from the raccoon’s marauding. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, looks back down the road, presenting Kyle with a gnarled cauliflower ear veined through with red blood vessels.
    â€œAll right, Miller,” he says. “Just remember. The union’s here to take care of you. I know you like your days off to spend with your daughter.”
    Kyle says nothing.
    â€œBe sure to let me know if you hear anything on the wharf, yeah?”
    â€œOkay, Szandor. Will do.”
    â€œMe, I’m gonna go get some lunch. Great little Korean place up near Fairmount,” he says. “You like Korean?”
    For a minute Kyle is confused, thinks his trollish foreman might actually be asking him out for a meal.
    â€œI love it,” Zabados says. “Even that kimchi. Smells like an old sock. You gotta watch the spice, though. You’re not careful, it can wreak havoc on your insides.”
    The implication jabs a stinger at Kyle’s brain, prodding for the name that’s suddenly shaking inside him like a trembling kitten:
Soo-bin
.
    Like, Korean, Kyle?
    Zabados turns to go but stops and twists his head around, demon-style, at the bottom of Kyle’s steps.
    â€œAnything pops into your head, anyone call you with something to talk about, you remember—the union takes care of you.” He fishes in his pocket, pulls out a flattened pack of Kools, draws one out, and starts tapping it on the inside of his wrist. “Remember that.”
    â€œWill do, Szandor.”
    â€œSee you at work.”
    Kyle watches Szandor Zabados get into his big black Escalade, shut the door, and drive off in the opposite direction of Fairmount, most likely back to the wharf, to retrieve his cold Pepsi from its voodooed shelf in the staff fridge. He thinks about what’s in his own closet, about Abby and her oatmeal, the other bowl cold and congealing beside her. He thinks about Andy Dufresne, keeping his eye on the warm place with no memory. And he thinks about Krista, because he’s always thinking about her.
    â€”
    â€œWhere are you going, Daddy?”
    The question scuttles back and forth across the dome of his skull, mewling. Abby had known something was weird, of course: Saturdays were their together day, the one put aside to forget bank accounts and old music and dead mothers and the clawing of steamer exhaust in the back of your throat. When he’d taken Abby next door to Mrs. Coover’s to plead the favour of watching her for a couple hours, his daughter had been smart or scared enough not to mention Soo-bin. He’d told Abby that he was going to help the girl get home, and she’d accepted that.