excerpted from

Alan's Progress

a novel

by

Stillson Graham

He found a small, basement level apartment that was filthy and had leaky plumbing, but it was the best he could do with the money that he had, which was exactly $437.41, including the two-hundred that his lawyer had given him. He did his best to clean up, sponging the floor and the meager counter space in the kitchen, and soaking the bed sheets in the sink with bleach.

He found work as a dishwasher in a hotel restaurant about three streets over. The interviewer asked him if he was an ex-con.

“I was in prison for a while, but they let me go because they found out I didn’t do it,” he said.

“Uh huh,” she said. “You know we can’t cover you if you get into trouble.”

“I don’t plan on getting in any trouble,” he said.

He started work the next morning. It was sweaty work, made all the more sweaty by being in a hot corner of the kitchen, with steam in his face half the time. Everyone there minded their own business and didn’t talk to him unless they needed something from him. He did the same. He worked for ten hours in two shifts and then went home to sleep. He repeated this for about a week until one of the waitresses stopped him in the street after his shift.

“You’re the new suds guy, right?” she said. She had springy black spiral hair with red splotches here and there. Her orange waitress uniform was tied at the waist with a white strap, unlike all the other waitresses, who wore theirs loose with the apron hanging down. Her skin was like the cappuccinos he used to drink before he was arrested. She was voluptuous enough to make him feel sorry for himself.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Dawn,” she said. “I thought you might want to go somewhere sometime, you know, after work.”

“Sure.”

“I get off at 10:30 tonight,” she said with a twinkle. “You want to go somewhere?”

“Sure. Sounds like fun,” he said suspiciously. “Can we get drunk?”

Her smile got bigger. “I think you’ll be a fun date, Sudsy.”

“We’ll see,” he said. He watched her walk away in a kind of haze, watching her backside dance as it got smaller, across the street, then back into the side door to the kitchen.

He realized he hadn’t been smiling. He felt like smiling, but it didn’t happen. What was she after? He hadn’t been that close to a woman in a long time, since his girlfriend visited him in prison the last time, shortly after his sentence, to tell him she was leaving him and moving to Seattle with some guy.

At first, he was angry at her for leaving him, but eventually he chose not to think about her anymore. He decided she wasn’t worth his time. But that took a while. He was pissed off at her and the world for a long time. But his anger left him. It was too much work to be angry. It took too much of his energy away from him and made him blind to the dangers that immediately surrounded him.

He returned to the restaurant that night to pick Dawn up, but she wasn’t there. He looked inside the restaurant, but she was gone. He thought about asking someone where she was, but he decided that it wasn’t worth it. He went back home.

There was a figure waiting for him at the entrance to the apartment building, dressed in black, smoking a cigarette. At first he thought it might have been Dawn, but as he got closer he saw it was a man with a graying beard. Alan had learned to keep his head down, don’t flinch, don’t show fear. So he kept on towards his building. He now saw that the man has a craggy face and large eyes that seemed not to blink. The cigarette went in and out of his unmoving mouth with a tight motion of his arm, practiced over many years.

“You Dinnell?” the man said.

“I guess.”

The man stuck out a hand. “Welcome to the outside. No one’s said that to you, have they?”

“No.”

“I know what it’s like.” The man looked around furtively. “Can we go inside?”

Alan hesitated. This is how people get killed, he thought. The man put up both hands in a gesture of trust. Alan figured that if he was going to be killed, there wouldn’t be any point in resisting at this point. This guy obviously knew where he lived, was much bigger, and could have any number of weapons stored in various places on him. Alan had none.

Inside Alan’s apartment, the man looked around, but if he was shocked by the state of the room, he didn’t say anything.

“My name’s Gene,” he said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“What do you want with me?”

Gene laughed, “Alan. This is your lucky day. I’m your fucking fairy godmother. You got an ashtray?”

Alan shook his head.

“Figures. You’re the only ex-con in the free world that doesn’t smoke.”

“I’m not an ex-con,” Alan said.

Gene whipped his head around. Alan could see he wasn’t expecting that response. “That explains it,” Gene said. He twitched an eyebrow.

“I was cleared,” Alan said stupidly. It was the first time he’d said it aloud and it felt strange, like he was telling a lie.

Gene smiled. “That’s no concern of mine. I’m here to make you a better person. If you’re up to it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to help you out of my own interests. And nothing illegal is going on here. Nothing too illegal, anyway. I’ve done this many times before, so don’t be afraid. I’m going to get you a better job, a better lifestyle. In exchange I’m purchasing an interest in you.”

“An interest?”

“Don’t get all naive on me. We have a mutual friend, mister Ring. I call him Mr. Chips, what do you call him?”

“I call him my lawyer.”

“True enough. I like you, Dinnell. You know when to keep your mouth shut. I’m going to count on that. I’m going to make you an offer right now. I’m going to get you a better job. A much better job. I want fifteen percent of your income paid in monthly installments for five years.”

“Deal.” Alan said.

“I like you more and more. Now where’s my forty-three dollars and 13 cents.”

“Come again?”

“Fifteen percent of your salary. Come on, Alan.”

“You didn’t get me this job.”

“Is that what you think? Heh Heh. I’ve been working for you for a while now, Alan. Who do you think it was who got your lawyer the evidence he needed to bust you out? I want fifteen percent.”

“I only have sixty dollars. I haven’t gotten paid yet.”

“Lucky for you I know you’re telling the truth. All right. You owe $43.15 as of this moment. You’re now officially on the installment plan, and I’m talking pre-tax income, OK?”

“Whatever.”

“And whatever else you need, you just ask. Mr. Chip gave you a cell phone, right?”

Alan looked down at the phone on the table.

“I’m the red button. I’m the fire department. You call me in an emergency, then you call the police, you got it? I have a lot riding on you. If you need anything, anything at all, call me. Just not between the hours of midnight and noon. You got business during those hours, tough shit.”