MODERN TIMES - PART V

         The floor was so cold on his feet. He must have left his slippers in the living room, he thought. He did not want to get out of bed, but his bladder called. It was something he was getting used to with age. ‘Five in the morning, I can rest another hour before I getting up. Might have to clean the car after the ice of last night.’ He lifted his leg and torso and plunged back into bed.

         “Hey, laddie. Have a little patience and let me clear out of the area first.” There was a slight brogue in the timbre of the voice. He turned on his bedside light and saw a man with dark hair and a red face wearing coveralls lying in his bed. On the coveralls was stitched the words ‘Apex Electricians’ and underneath the name ‘Brendan Malloy.’

         “Now what are you doing here? You are a funny choice to show me the future. I really don’t want to go tromping around cemeteries or see crutches in the corner at this time of morning. I suppose no amount of protesting will stop this charade.”

         “Nope, but you’re right. We don’t have to go out. I’ve hotwired that ancient TV you have in the other room to bring the show here. It’s hard to believe anyone in this day and age is watching a fifteen-inch Black and White. I was surprised it did not have tubes.”

         “That one went maybe eight years ago. This one used to belong to my late partner."

         Sprague said hopefully, “Now look, let’s skip the scene where I look at my grave. I won’t believe it anyway, and your wife could tell you that I’m being cremated and there will be no stone. She typed my will. You are Trish’s late husband, aren’t you?”

         “Right you are, laddie, the best ff, er, damn electrician in the five counties. You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

         “I don’t see how I can stop you.”

         “Well, Elaine said you’d probably not go for the tombstone scene, so I am allowed to skip it.”

         Sprague thought a minute. He had handled his estate. He remembered stories of the money Malloy made on the side, money which Trish had never seen according to her. He recalled that three months after Trish started, Elaine had him wire her apartment, and if he remembered correctly, ‘Christianed him down’ as she so elegantly put it, on the bill. A sly smile came over Sprague’s face. “I’d like to get a little more sleep. I’ll make it worth your while if we can skip the whole thing.”

         “As much as I’d like to, I’m afraid your money is not much good where I am. Elaine and her boss, that Angel Claire, would know and I would probably lose my vacation and have to wire the men’s latrines in Hell.”

         “So there is a Hell?”

         “Damn straight! You have to really be bad to go there.”

         “Wonder what kept Elaine out?”

         “That’s good. Have to tell her you said that.”

         “Oh, please don’t. She’ll be back at my table every night if you do. I can’t take that.”

         “Come on, put on your robe. Your slippers are in the living room. I’ll fix some coffee while you start. Use this thing here, we call it a ‘remote’.”

         Sprague was once again on his couch, in his heavy terry-cloth robe. He put the afghan over his knees. Brendan clicked the remote, the television came to life, and Brendan walked off to the kitchen.

         “Hey, it’s in color. What did you do?”

         “Didn’t expect to see it in Black and White, did you?”

         The image on the screen was the front of his house. A sign was affixed to the door.

AUCTION TODAY – NO RESERVE

         A man about the size and shape of Randy Pitts was helping a woman in the door. From the back the woman looked like Jill. The camera followed them inside. A man in a suit was seated at a table that appeared to be where the couch was now. Pitts escorted the woman to the table. She held a white cane in her right hand and tapped it against the table leg. Pitts spoke to the man. “This is Jill Sprague, the sole beneficiary. Any monies received will go to her. How is it going?” Sprague thought he saw Pitts wink at the man at the table.

         “As you know, Mr. Pitts, bids are sealed in envelopes. The bidding closes in ten minutes. So far we have only received two bids, but I should expect the sale to clear one-hundred thousand after our commission.”

         Brendan brought in a tray with a cup of coffee on it and set it down in front of Sprague. Sprague nodded thanks. “I thought you weren’t going to show cemetery scenes and the like.”

         “This isn’t cemetery. This is about your sister. See they are opening the envelopes now.”

         The man at the table looked at the two pieces of paper. "The bidder on this one, who shall be nameless since it is not highest, bid $14,000. The winner and high bid is from Frank Nicola for $20,000. A certified check is attached to the bid, so I can disburse the check to Ms. Sprague. I must deduct our twelve percent commission, and then there is the matter of a recording by Cox & Dubinsky for unspecified damages of $10,000 plus interest to collect. After interest is calculated, and a transfer tax of two percent deducted, you are entitled to $3,900, Ms. Sprague. Here is your check."

         “WHAT BASTARDS! THIS CUNEO BUSINESS IS THE LAST PIECE OF WORK I’LL DO FOR THEM.”

         “Now, now, Mr. Sprague,” Brendan said in an oily voice. “Remember this is what might happen, not what will happen. You can change it.”

         “I sure can, I’ll go over his house and stuff that righteous Scotch down that cretin’s throat.” Sprague’s face was animated; he was pounding one hand into the other.

         “It’s Christmas, Mr. Sprague, and this only shows what Mr. Nicola might become. Your deeds could help him stay on the course of the good and true.”

         Sprague was seething. He could fix them anyway, he would put a minimum bid into his will. The video was starting up again. His eyes were drawn to it. It looked like Stacey on the screen. Her one eye was black and a bruise marked that side of her face. She was on the phone.

         “Brendan, Brendan, listen to me, Brendan. It’s your month to take Mom. She’s been here a month.

         “No she hasn’t been bad; No, Diane isn’t going to have to mop up after her. With Medicare I’ve gotten her to Dr. Falk and he is treating her incontinence. I had to do something; Eddie was getting mad at her and threatening to hit her. She did not know what he was talking about.
         “Now come on, it’s your turn, you promised. She’ll drive me nuts soon. Keeps jumping in the dumpster.”

         The video went blank.

         “Well, now that wasn’t bad, was it Mr. Sprague?” He glanced over in time to see Sprague rubbing a hand across his eyes. When he removed the hand, some moisture still showed under the eyelid. Brendan clicked his tongue, but went on in a normal voice, “Tired now, are we? Why don’t I let you be? Still a couple more hours to sleep before Christmas morning dawns.”

         Brendan left, leaving the coffeepot and television on. An early morning show was starting on one of the networks. Being Christmas Day the hosts were strictly second string. The man had emceed three failed game shows while his female partner bore a remarkable resemblance to Charo. Sprague slept on through it. The coffee would be too bitter to drink when he woke up, and wake up he would. After all, he had to open the office.

******

TO: "MODERN TIMES - PART VI"