Petrin, Jas R - [SS] The Golden Rule [v1.0]_files/image001.jpgPetrin, Jas R - [SS] The Golden Rule [v1.0].htm

THE GOLDEN RULE

by Jas. R.Petrin

* * * *

EdwardKinsella III

* * * *

See, heres what makes me mad, Bennysaid, dropping the fanned-out Chronicle Herald he was reading onto the bar andreaching for his Moosehead beer.

What is it thistime? Beemer said. He was leaning against the wall beside the till with hisarms crossed, one eye on two young kids who had just come into the Rob Roy,maybe for their first legal beer, taking a booth in the corner and acting as ifthey were in the school cafeteria, lots of whispering, smirking, and grinning.

What do you mean bythat?

I mean theresalways something making you mad. If it was me, I wouldnt even read thenewspaper, it gets you so worked up.

Well, theres lotsto get mad about.

Thats a fact.

Heres a guy lands atop job with the Lotteries, okay? Hes in it six months, he gets the sack.Reason? They claimthe other big shots dothat they cant get along with theguy. Now comes the kicker. Terms of his contract, he gets a severance packageworth more than what he wouldve got if hed stayed there another year and ahalf annoying people. Next day hes out golfing with the guys he couldnt getalong with. Jeez! Whats wrong with this picture!

Thats how they workthings, Beemer said. Those big shots. Help each other out. You didnt knowthat?

Beemer is stillwatching the two kids out of the side of his neck. One of them has his head andshoulders down low, up to something. The other one is so red in the face withsuppressed laughter, he looks like hes having a heart attack.

What I see, Bennysays, is a guy dipping nearly two hundred grand out of the trough and walkingaway with it. Perfectly legal. It was in his contract. Another guy, nocontract, jacks fifty bucks, hes a crook.

Its the goldenrule, Beemer said. When you got the gold, you make the rules, an the mostimportant one is this: whatever happens, you dont owe anybody; somebody alwaysowes you. He plucked something from his pocket. Im gonna get some of that.Look.

He set a Pinballticket on the bar.

Benny glanced at it.

Yeah, so?

Fifty thousanddollar winner.

Bennys eyesnarrowed. You havent even scratched it yet.

I know that.

But you said its awinner.

Thats right. I knowfor a fact it is.

Benny went back tohis newspaper. You been smoking something.

No. Listen. I heardabout it on TV, okay? This guy on Jay Leno. How you can make good things happenby believing you can. Im trying out his method. Thats how I know I got thegrand prize here. He slipped the ticket back in his pocket.

Youre nuts, Bennysaid.

Well see.

So when are you gonnascratch it?

When I feel reallystrong that the moment has come. Scuse me a minute.

Beemer disappearedinto the back and after some bumping around emerged with a plastic pail ofsudsy water and an industrial-sized scrub brush. He stepped around the end ofthe bar, crossed to the table where the two kids were sitting, and plunked thepail down in front of them. He slapped the brush on the table.

Okay, Picasso, hesaid to the kid whod had his head and shoulders down, now comes the fun part.You scrub that crap off the table you scribbled there, or you buy the table offme for six bills.

All the fun drainedout of the two kids. They looked as if theyd been slapped. The one whod hadhis head and shoulders down scowled, trying to save face. No way this tablesworth six hunnerd bucks.

Its worth whateverI can get for it, Beemer said. Market economy. Then louder, over hisshoulder, Hey, Benny, what can I get for this table?

Id give you sixbills, Benny said, not bothering to turn around. More if it was clean.

There, said Benny. See?Now you got to outbid him, go maybe six-fifty, seven. Or start scrubbing.

The other kid spokeup. You cant make him do that!

Beemer looked at him.I get it. Youre his lawyer. You want to help him out. But thats okay, I gotanother bucket back there for you. Buddy heres not going anywhere till thetables clean or I got the money, okay?

The second kid beganto say something, thought better of it, and went out the door.

Beemer stared into thefirst kids face, the kid staring back, taking in Beemers bent nose, owlyeyes, his big, veined, hairy arms. When he picked up the brush and startedscrubbing, Beemer moved back behind the bar. Looks like, he said to Benny, itsnot for sale after all.

Story of my life,Benny said. I never get any breaks. I shouldve probably listened to StevieSweet when he calls me up the other day.

Stevie Sweet? Whatdoes he want?

The street dooropened and a chubby little man put his head into the room.

Looks like weregoing to find out, Benny said.

* * * *

If Stevie Sweet wasntan albino, he was pretty much the next thing to it. Pale as a baby. He wasbald, his eyes a mystery behind horn-rimmed mafias. He had a cherubicchubbiness. He wore a gray, lightweight summer suit, a Windsor knot in his tie,and had a briefcase under his arm. He looked like a businessman. Which is whathe was.

He stopped justinside the door and took a good look around before toddling forward. He set hisbriefcase down beside Benny, then heaved himself up onto a bar stool.

Gimme an Ace-Highsoda, he told Beemer.

Beemer winked. Youknow where I can get any of that?

Oh yeah, Sweetsaid. I forgot. They dont make it anymore.

Not for, what isita hunnerd years?

Guess Ill have ascotch rocks, then.

Makes sense to me,Beemer said, reaching for the bar scotch.

An dont push thatcrap my way. Give me the Glen Breton, Sweet said. A double hit. He glancedsideways, up at Benny. I been tryin to get ahold of you.

I figured, Bennysaid. I see your name come up there on the calling line display.

You seen it? Thenwhy dont you call back?

Ive been busy,Benny said, staying out of trouble.

A quick two grand istrouble?

Beemer glanced upfrom the drink he was making. He put in the ice, poured, put a stick in theglass, and set the glass in front of Sweet, who took the stick out and droppedit on the bar.

First one today,Sweet said, raising the glass to his pouting lips and emptying it. Setting theglass back down, he said, Better fix me another one, unless you got some ofthat Ace-High kicking around.

Beemer put the bottleof Glen Breton on the bar.

What about the twogrand? he said, pouring. Maybe I can help you out, seeing Benny heres got somuch to do.

Sweet took a cautioussip this time from his glass.

Not much to it, hesaid. Just a courier job.

Oh yeah?

Thats right. Ashipment of cards coming up from Bar Harbor tomorrow. Comes up once a week,only my regular guys got the flu.

What kind of cards?

What do you care?Business cards.

Some business cards,Benny said. Must be gold leaf.

I got to call themsomething, dont I?

You can call themwhat you like, Beemer said. Whats the deal?

Sweet took anothercareful glance around. His gaze lingered a moment on the scowling kid scrubbingaway at the tabletop. Then he said, Printers in Bar Harbor. Customer here,out in Liverpool, puts in a regular order. Once every week he sells maybe five,six thousand units. Got a route, the whole south shore, then up, around intothe valley.

Must be a busy boy,Beemer said. He spoke out louder, harsher, at the kid in the corner: Okay,Picasso, you can go! My advice, next time youre in the dollar store, get themarkers that come off easier. Save yourself some trouble.

The kid went out, hisface purple, slamming the door behind him.

What was that about?Sweet asked.

Budding artist,Benny said.

Yeah? Maybe I coulduse him. Sweet resettled himself on the stool. What it is, theres a smallsports bag has to be taken off a boat out past the pilot station. I wont tellyou theres nothing to it. Sometimes the weathers not too good. Wasnt forthat, Id do it myself.

Well, lets see,Beemer said. A guyd need a boat, the fuel, another guy who knows the rocksout there

What is it? Sweetsaid. You want me to cover expenses? He shook his head sadly. Help is sohard to get these days.

Im in, Benny said.Cash up front? The two grand?

* * * *

It wasnt cash upfront, but they figured Sweet was good for it. And they got him up totwenty-five hundred, the extra five for the guy with the boat.

Youre sure he knowsthe water out there? Benny said, pushing his shoulders higher under hisjacket, trying to keep warm. They could see the Devils Island light as it cameand went, came and went, out there in the darkness.

If he dont, nobodydoes, Beemer said. Hes been going out to meet boats his whole life, and hisold man was doing it before him. People call him the Lobsterman.

Oh, so he fishes,does he?

No.

They were waitingunder the bluffs below York Redoubt for the guy, every few minutes Benny movingdown right close to the edge of the water, trying to see around the curve ofthe shore, and then a cold wind rising off the ocean, sending him scurryingback up under the trees each time. A freighter plodded by, heading for theharbor, a splash of lights moving sedately along in the darkness, a low rumbleof diesels.

Maybe thats ourdelivery right there, Benny fretted. Maybe we missed it.

Will you stopworrying? Beemer flicked his cigarette end out over the water. Yourestarting to make me antsy.

The winds pickingup, thats all. It could get ugly out there.

Its always ugly outthere, you ask me, Beemer said. Thats why I run a bar and not a lobsterboat.

Then why are wehere?

A quick grand? Whynot? I couldve done it without youstill can, for that matterand took the twogrand for myself.

Why didnt you,then?

Thats what Imasking myself. Beemer straightened and began to move down the slope. Here hecomes. Right on time.

The boat was a CapeIslander, maybe thirty feet long, red and green running lights showing, andthat was all. It moved in cautiously until it stood its own length from theshore. They couldnt make out her name in the dark.

Now what? Bennysaid.

Beemer grunted. Youtell me.

An arm came out ofthe back of the cabin, beckoning to them.

Were sposed towade out there?

Looks like it. Iguess he cant come in any closer. I never thought of that. Jeez!

Benny was wearingankle-high hiking shoes, rugged grips on the bottoms; Beemer his usual blackloafers. They made it to the boat, water swirling around their knees, andclambered aboard, the Lobsterman in his ropy sweater helping them up over theside.

I was you, I wouldvewaited up there aways, he jerked his thumb. I couldve come right in, noproblem atall.

Nobody told us,Benny said, wringing water out of his socks.

I was you, I wouldvetook my shoes off.

Who asked you?Beemer said.

They got underway,moving across the outer harbor, the swells bigger here, lifting the boat,tilting her, then dropping her in the troughs. A fog was beginning to rise.

I think Im gonna besick, Benny said.

Oh good, Beemersaid and glared at him. Benny, a gentle green color, went to the other side ofthe boat.

How far is it out tothe pilot station? Beemer asked, addressing the back of the Lobstermans headthrough the open cabin door.

Not far. TheLobstermans voice trailed back at him over the engines continuouspoc-poc-poc. Not far atall.

I dont want to belate.

You wont be late.You wont be late atall.

If were late, I cantpay you.

Well, we could belate. An theres the fuel, y know.

Just dont be late,thats all, Beemer said.

And then suddenly,there she was, a big black mass pushing out of the fog. She had slowed rightdown. Benny squelched up to them in his wet shoes. He wasnt green anymore,just sort of gray. Ill go in red to red, the Lobsterman told them, noddingat his red running light. Count of the wind. Theyll drop her down to us.

Have you done thisbefore? Benny asked.

The Lobstermanglanced at him, a blank. Done what before?

* * * *

It wasnt a sportsbag but a small suitcase let down on a rope by an unseen hand, and theLobsterman grabbed it, untied it in seconds, and handed it over to Beemer. Aminute later they were moving away again, the big ship quickly falling astern.

Beemer led the waydown into the cuddy, a small table down there between two bunks. He switched ona lamp. See what we got, he said. There were two locks. Beemer got out hispenknife.

Careful you dontrag those, Benny said, or it wont shut right after.

I know what Imdoing.

In a moment thesuitcase was open, the lid thrown back. The contents were done up in bundlescarefully wrapped in thin paper, held together with rubber bands, another bunchor two shoved in loose to pack the top inch or two for a firm fit. They werePinball tickets. Beemer grunted. He scooped up one of the loose ones. He closedthe case and set it on the floor.

Business cards, hesaid. Sure.

He has to call themsomething.

Right.

Benny took theticket, held it to the light. You know what, though? It looks pretty good.That printer in Bar Harbor must know what hes doing. He glanced at Beemer. Gotthat ticket you had this morning?

The fifty thousandwinner? Absolutely.

Beemer reached insidehis jacket to his shirt pocket and brought out the pristine ticket he hadshowed Benny earlier. Benny took it from him, laid it on the table, and placedSweets ticket alongside it.

Beauty. Cant tellthe difference. He glanced up. But whats the spin? You cant make much. Itwould be like running off five dollar bills.

Sure, but he doesthis once a week, dont forget, Beemer said. How it works, his customersalready sell these things. Grocery stores, bars, filling stations. Approvedvendors, right? They keep these special jobs under the counter, mix them in asthey go. Difference is, when they sell these ones they get to keep the wholefive bucks.

Theyre perfect,Benny said, moving the two tickets around on the table, comparing them. Absolutelyperfect.

Easier to make thanmoney. You dont need the special paper, an they dont have all thoseanticounterfeiting gimmicks. One problem, they got a shelf life. Only good fora week. Which explains why he needed us out here, he couldnt hang loose untilhis guy got better.

They heard the enginethrottling down.

Almost there,Beemer said. He reached down for the suitcase, brought it up to the tabletop,the lid dropped open and the loose-packed tickets fell out.

Scheisse! Beemersaid. Benny helping, they got the tickets back in the case and snapped it shut.

Then he put out hishand. Give me my own ticket back.

Benny hesitated.There were still two tickets on the table, side by side.

Im just wondering,are these the two we were looking at?

You mean you dontknow?

Im not certain.

You lost my ticket?

I didnt loseanything. Its right here. Benny pushed the tickets across the table.

But which onesmine?

I dont know. Youdidnt mark it?

No, I didnt markit! Why would I mark it? I only had the onethe fifty thousand dollar winner!

Well, if youdmarked it, then wed know, wouldnt we?

Beemer scooped bothtickets up and held them close to his eyes. I cant tell them apart! Hisvoice tightening now.

Why are you gettingso excited?

Im not gettingexcited!

Youre yelling.

WHY SHOULDNT IYELL!

They stared at eachother. Benny took a deep, steadying breath.

I told you, it isntlost. Its right here in front of us. Alls you do, you take and scratch themboth. Youre so sure you had the winner, the one with the fifty grand payouthas to be yours.

The engines grumbleddown to an idle.

Beemer put bothtickets on the table in front of him. He took his penknife out, held it overthem. Then he lowered it again.

I cant do it.

Why not?

What if one of themis the winner?

What if? Youre notso sure now?

Listen to me!Beemer looked at the tickets again. If one of them is the winner, Id have tokill myself. First you, an then me.

Why?

Because I wont beable to claim it! It could be Sweets ticket. If it is, theyre sure as hellnot gonna honor it. Theyll call in the ticket inspectors. The mounted police.An if I cant claim it, then I dont wanna know.

He closed his eyes,clenched his teeth, and with an expression of exquisite agony, tore bothtickets into shreds.

Brutal, Benny said.

That wasnt the halfof it. As they climbed awkwardly out of the boat and onto a rock, right upclose to shore this time, the case fell open again and dumped its entirecontents in the water. And it got better. Back at the Rob Roy, they found thefront door slathered with an especially large unintelligible graffito, thewhite paint running down onto the street.

Picasso, Beemersaid. He made it sound like a swear word.

Take the door offand save it till hes famous, cover expenses, Benny advised.

* * * *

Stevie Sweet put hishead in the door, looked carefully around, then stepped inside the Rob Roy. Somebodytagged your door, he told Beemer.

No kidding. Howcould I have missed that?

Sweet was staring atthe bloated suitcase before he even climbed up on the stool.

Okay, what happened?he asked.

You sure you want toknow? Beemer asked him.

Some kinda screw-up,or what?

You could call itthat, Benny said. It fell in the water.

It fell in thewater, Sweet said, repeating the statement as though he couldnt quite get hismind around it. His eyes were inscrutable behind the dark glasses. And how didthat happen?

A little accident,Benny explained, when we were climbing out of the boat down there.

Sweet glanced around.The place was empty. You about ready to close?

Another ten minutes,Beemer said. But yeah, I guess I could. He went to the door, locked it, cameback to the bar, and shut the outside lights off.

Just see what we gothere, Sweet said. He brought out a key and reached for the swollen case.Beemer stopped him. The money first, he said.

Sweet hesitated. Theycould see him struggling with it. He let out a rasping sound and then broughtout the money. Peeled it off in hundreds, two piles of ten on the bar, anotherpile of five. Beemer passed Benny his share, pocketed his own, then pushed thecase at Sweet.

Sweet fitted the keyin one of the locks, felt around with it, and his lips tightened. Somebodyjimmied this.

Somebody in BarHarbor, maybe, Beemer said.

Youd lie to yourmother, too, wouldnt you?

He turned the key inthe second lock, and the lid bulged upward pretty much by itself. Sweet threwit all the way back. Jesus, he said.

Each bundle oftickets had swelled to the size of a paperback novel. The thin paper had split.The ink had run. The elastic bands had pulled through the soggy cards, nearlycutting each of the bundles in two.

What am I supposedto do with this? Sweet demanded.

If it was me,Beemer said, I know what Id do. Id toss the whole damn mess in the dumpsterout back.

Thirty grand, Sweetsaid, youd toss it in the trash?

What else you gonnado with it?

Well, Sweet said, youcan do that yourself, I guess, soon as you write me a check for what you ruinedhere.

Dont hold yourbreath, Beemer said, on that one.

Sweets voicetightened up. You expect me to eat it? Thirty large?

Business loss,Beemer said. Like when I drop a case of champagne out back.

Whatre you talkingabout! Dont give me that! Sweet was losing control now, his voice gettingshrill. The champagne you sell here, I can buy Windex for what it costs. Anyou dont pay nothing for breakage, the tops of the bottles still sealed, youget straight replacement. Who do you think youre talking to?

If I was you,Beemer said, Id calm down a little.

Dont tell me tocalm down! Write me a check and Ill calm down!

Actually, Beemersaid, you owe me.

What? Sweet lookedapoplectic. His face turned as dark as his sunglasses. I owe you?

Thats right. See,you used an inferior product here. This suitcase. It fell open because its socheap. My own legit Pinball ticket, fifty-thousand-dollar prize, got mixed upwith your crap. Now I cant redeem it.

Why not?

Because on theoff-chance its one of yours, I had to throw it away. I couldnt risk it. I dontneed no cops here poking round.

You threw it away.

Thats right.

You dummy. I donthave no winning tickets. Same reason. If one got brought in for a prize, theydknow right away, the Lotteries, an Id have walls around me the next six years.

Beemer stood there aminute behind the bar, jaw muscles working, eyes slowly narrowing. He looked atBenny. Benny shrugged.

Now cut me a check,Sweet said. Im out thirty grand!

Beemer reached underthe bar, brought out his Al Capone bat with the big purple stains on it, andwhacked it on the bar.

Im the one thatsout. The fifty. Youre only out printing costs for this pile of crap. I beenaround the block myself, you know!

He glared at Sweet.Sweet glared at the bat.

I think, Bennysaid, if we look at it, what we got here is a draw.

Sweet continued toglare a moment longer, then slid off the barstool. He reached for the suitcase,struggled to close it but couldnt, swept the bulging thing under his arm, andstormed to the door. He fumbled with the lock there a minute, then slammed outinto the street.

A draw? Beemersaid, putting the bat away. How do you figure that?

You both took a hit.Call it even.

Beemer said, Evennothing. He owes me twenny grand, that skug.

Now whos making therules? Benny said.

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From AHMM Vol. 52, No. 10, October, 2007.txtA N.E.R.D's Release

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