Two Thumbs-Up

Al Lonzo, Jr. used his key to open the bottom left side drawer of his dead father's old desk. He brought out a Navy Colt .45 wrapped in a very old, very oily smelling rag that he let drop to his feet without thinking.

He hefted the weight of the old gun in his hands and shook his head in amazement. Then he slid the ridiculously long barrel into his khaki pants. He could feel the cold steel half way down his inner thigh. He buttoned his blue blazer over it and walked stiff-legged out his dead father's old private office that was now his new private office and wondered if he should shut the door.

It was all his. Every last bill. Every problem. Every last decision. He wanted no more of it. He left his dead father's door half way open. All he ever wanted was to play the flute. Two days into his first semester, his father was dead and he was called back.

It wasn't fair.

“Good bye, Millie,” he said to his ancient secretary. Perhaps he said it with too much meaning. As always the memories of this same woman who years ago used to wink him to secrecy and with a dramatic look over both shoulders slide two, sometimes three, red liquorish-sticks into his hand. “This is for you, Junior,” she used to say.

“Good-bye, Millie. I'll be gone for the rest of the day,” his voice broke and he couldn't look at her any more. He limped hurriedly past her desk toward the door.

Millie looked up from the last remaining typewriter in the western world. She saw that he had no overcoat.

“It's pouring rain,” she said. “Junior! Hang on!”

Junior stopped.

“I think you should make me the manager,” she said.

“Okay,” said Al Junior.

“What?” asked Millie, she couldn't hear so well any more.

“I said, 'Okay,' you're the manager,” Al Junior said more loudly. He nodded his head up and down and gave her the thumbs-up sign as he continued on by.

“Salary of course will have to be discussed,” said Millie.

“Double it!” said Al Junior.

“Double it?” asked Millie. A slow smile spread across her face.

“You betcha!” said Al Junior and he gave another thumbs-up sign.

He couldn't think any more. He didn't want to think any more. He didn't know the answers to so many questions.

She meant to ask if she could leave for the day too, but the little shit was gone.

Without his overcoat.

She shook her head and smiled at her change of fortune.

Al Junior walked out the glass doors into the smell of rain on the cement lot. Al's Car Wash was without patron. The rain beat down and the afternoon traffic on the street had their headlights on even though it was not yet two in the afternoon.

Al Junior took two hesitant steps out from the overhang to look around the wall and saw the workers, twelve--maybe more, smoking cigarets under the eves of the cleansing huts.

One of them saw him and stood up.

It was Homer. “Little Al!” Homer called.

Al Junior turned left and went out into the rain feeling the gun inside his pants as he hurried to get away.

“Little Al, I wanted to talk to you!”

“Al Junior,” Al Junior corrected.

“Al, Junior!” Homer slapped his forehead. “Al, Junior! I swear ta God, I gonna get that!” said Homer. “Al, Junior! I swears to God...”

“What's up, Homer?” Al Junior said stepping back so he could look up into the huge man's face. The rain was coming down harder now and he had to look back down at his feet to clear his eyes. “I'm in a bit of a hurry,” he said, the rain now inside his clothes.

“How comes ya don't have a jacket?” Homer asked.

“I left it up--” Al Junior started to point, and stopped. “What can I do for you, Homer?” he asked in sopping wet defeat.

“Well, I think you should make me the manager, I been here near twenty years. Your father used to tell me--”

“Okay, you're the manager.”

“What?”

“I said, 'you're the manager'! Starting now!” Al Junior said. He began edging away.

“Well. That's great! Really?”

“Absolutely!”

“Well, I guess we should--”

“Let's double it!” said Al Junior. “What do you get paid now?”

Homer told him.

“Well, it's doubled starting today!” Al Junior said.

He saw the smile spread across Homer's face. He gave him a thumbs up. They shook hands. Homer looked like he wanted to hug Al Junior.

Al Junior saw the men under the eaves watching.

He came back to Homer and said, “As a matter of fact, give the boys a two dollar raise!”

The men in the hutch stood to their feet and came to stand along the eve, the rain pouring down on Al Junior and Homer.

“Two dollar raise an hour?”

“Make it three dollars an hour!” bellowed Al Junior into the gray sky.

A cheer went up and the men launched themselves forward into the rain and circled around Homer and the wide smiling Al Junior in a great show of support for the new management ideas that were beginning to flow.

Al Junior backed away showing two thumbs up until he disappeared around the side of the building. The cheering lasted for some time. as the men danced in the rain. It all ended with a bang.

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