Lazy afternoons breed lazy minds. That’s what the sign said, the sign right behind the meat cutter. The meat cutter that hadn’t sliced anything in three days, the meat cutter in the deli that had been empty for three days at the back of a store that hadn’t seen a customer in three days. And it wouldn’t see a customer for the foreseeable future. Norman and Cindy, man and wife and the owners, were not at home, had not been at home, and were not coming into work. None of their employees had keys to the store, and none of the employees knew the current whereabouts of Norman and Cindy.
Glasses with alcohol and ice cubes make a distinctive sound, so distinctive that a caller can tell, even at the other end of a cell phone call, what’s going on. This didn’t stop Norman from enjoying his sloe gin fizz, a drink from his youth, as he talked to Herb, his butcher.
“Herb! How’s the weather treating you!”
There was a long pause.
“Norman? Where the hell are you?”
“I’m fine, and Cindy is fine, thank you very much for asking. And how are you?”
Herb blinked furiously, a gesture completely lost on Norman who — being at the other end of a cell phone call — had no way of seeing what Herb was doing.
“I’m fine, dammit, fine for a guy who can’t get in to work. What the hell is going on!”
Herb wouldn’t normally talk to Norman this way. They had a respectful relationship, friendly even, but always professional. This was different, though. The store had been locked for three days. Three days of confusing the customers, three days of confounding the employees. Three long days for almost everyone involved, everyone except Norman and Cindy.
“Tell Herb to say hello to that lovely wife of his for me,” said Cindy, leaning close enough to the phone that Herb could hear her just fine.
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