Simple Syrup was first published in Cirque Journal in Volume 10, Number Two, in the Spring of 2020.
It's included in the short story collection Stumptown available for PURCHASE.
Jolene wanted pisco sours. Eddie didn’t really care for pisco sours, he wasn’t a big fan of raw egg whites, but that wasn’t really pertinent to the situation. She had mentioned it casually, more of a statement than a request, taking a puff on her vape pen and blowing it out with a satisfied purr. Eddie had done his best to ignore her, sitting at the kitchen table, gluing together a model ’75 Trans-Am, snatching the occasional snort from the tube of modeling glue.
“Did you hear me?”
Eddie thought about another snort. It would be pleasant to do a little more floating, but no, that would just be trouble later.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“Can you make me one?”
“Can’t you do it yourself? I’m a little busy here.”
“Eddie.”
Two of Eddie’s fingers had dried glue on them. Eddie rubbed the unnatural surfaces together, relishing the strange sensation. A dry chitinous shell. The victim of a science experiment gone wrong. Once a normal everyday man, now imbued with the powers of an insect. With great power comes great…..
“Eddie.”
Eddie got up and looked through the bottles on top of the fridge. Most were half full or less. Jolene was a woman who enjoyed a life full of variety. Eddie rarely touched the stuff, unless Jolene insisted. Too much down with too little up, but sometimes she insisted. Certain moods gave Jolene certain preferences. Not letting her drink alone sometimes had its benefits. Sometimes. The bottle of pisco was near the back. It had been awhile since she had wanted pisco sours, since Jolene had felt the need to float down the current of memory to her younger twenties, slutting her way across South America. Cavorting with a wild abandon. Never envisioning her future a decade later, her bony ass firmly planted on the flowery couch that Eddie’s mother had given them. The couch Eddie had pretended was the batmobile when he was a child. Eddie’s mother had a nicer couch now. It was naugahyde. It in no way resembled the batmobile.
“Eddie.”
“We have the pisco.”
“What about the rest?”
Eddie looked in the cupboards and the fridge. Lemons, bitters, and eggs. The thought of the goopy texture of the raw egg white in his mouth made Eddie shudder a bit. Once Jolene got drinking pisco sours she’d start telling stories at an uncomfortable level of detail. The eggs in the cupboard made Eddie uneasy. Eggs belonged in the fridge. Jolene claimed that they didn’t keep eggs in the fridge in Europe. She’d shown him a couple of articles on her phone. Eddie didn’t give a damn. Eggs belonged in the fridge.
“We have everything but the simple syrup.”
“Do we have sugar?”
“Yeah.”
“Then make some.”
Eddie drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. He looked back at the half done Trans-Am. Agent Kurt Wilder needed his car to be done. The agents of DREAD were closing in. He had to escape with the microfiche. It was his day off. Eddie had to go back to work at the Shell station the next day. Jolene had tomorrow off. She worked four tens at the tire center. It would be nice to get the Trans-Am done.
“I don’t know how.”
“You just heat sugar and water. How hard can it be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fuck.”
It used to be when Jolene got frustrated she would at least curse under her breath. Those days were long gone.
“If you don’t want to make any then go to the fucking store and buy some.”
“It seems kind of a waste when it’s so easy to make.”
“It’s like fucking two dollars Eddie.”
Eddie looked at the Trans-Am model again. Agent Wilder would have to wait another day. Maybe he could evade for another twenty-four hours. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. The die was cast. Eddie looked down at his pants. They were faded, but didn’t have any holes. His t-shirt was also acceptable. A few stains here and there, but nothing too serious to worry about. He was just going to the store. He went into the living room and sat down on the couch to put on his shoes. Jolene was still sucking on her vape pen. The air smelled like watermelon Jolly Ranchers. The television was playing Into the Wild on Netflix. Agent Wilder felt betrayed. He thought he could trust her.
“Do you need me to grab anything else?”
“Grab a melon if they got any. A melon would be good for breakfast.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Not a honeydew. I don’t like honeydews.”
“Me neither.”
Jolene gave Eddie a sideways glance, her lips on the vape pen’s tip with her cheeks sunk in. Eddie watched her, but felt like some kind of voyeur. There was a crack in the ceiling behind her. Cobwebs too. Pisco sours. She always told her stories about South America when she drank pisco sours.
“What if I just got some wine instead?”
“Eddie.”
Her voice was like the snap of her fingers. Eddie rose on command and headed out the door into the bright sunshine of the balcony. Their apartment was on the second story. He should have brought sunglasses. He would look cooler in sunglasses. He wasn’t going back inside. Eddie let his eyes adjust and headed down the row of doors to the stairs at the corner of the building.
The Dorsey boy was sitting on the top of the stairwell. Eddie wasn’t surprised given the noises coming from the corner apartment, the landlady’s apartment. The boy was ten, playing Candy Crush on an iPad, the world muted by ear buds. When he saw Eddie he scooted over a bit to let him by. Eddie stopped on the landing and looked back. The Dorsey boy didn’t notice. He kept his eyes screwed to the screen on his chunky lap. Eddie went down to the parking lot. It was warm out. Not uncomfortably hot, but definitely warm. Eddie thought about Jolene’s Taurus, but quickly let the idea go. She’d need the gas day after tomorrow. Eddie gave the car a last once over, waved at the two men smoking in the corner of the lot under a half dead elm, and started walking.
The moment Agent Wilder’s foot landed on the cracked concrete of the sidewalk, he was forced to accept the fact that Prague wasn’t what it used to be. It looked nothing like Jolene’s photos, the ones she insisted on hanging in their room. Intermixed blocks of crumbling concrete and no sidewalk at all, just dirt and gravel. Faded paint and chain link fences. Graffiti. Old pop bottles, cigarette butts, and a pile of dog shit at the end of one block. Weeds desperately clinging to life in every single one of society’s chinks and seams. Yes, Prague had definitely seen better days, but then again, so had Agent Wilder.
It didn’t matter. He was free now. Five years of captivity. Five years in the jungles of a country that had seemed exotic when he had first arrived. Five years of starvation and random beatings. It didn’t matter. He was free now. All he had to do was avoid the agents of DREAD for another twenty-four hours. One more day, then he could escape. It was all set up. It wouldn’t be long until he was finally home. He just needed the damn Trans-Am to be finished. A car came cruising down the street, an Audi, waxed and flashing in the sun. Eddie tensed. Were they watching him? Was this going to be it? He reached underneath his shirt to the waistband of his pants. Cool and casual, that was the way to be, don’t let them think you're reaching for your gun. The car moved past, the driver looking straight ahead, but a kid in the back staring at Eddie. It was him. The one they called Little Boy. One of the most dangerous assassins in the world. Little Boy’s hands were out of sight. Agent Wilder tightened his grip on his Beretta. Little Boy’s eyes narrowed.
Eddie’s phone rang. He pulled the old flip phone out of his pocket. It was Jolene.
“Eddie.”
“Yeah.”
“I want a cantaloupe.”
“Okay.”
“Hurry the fuck up.”
“Okay.”
The line went dead. Eddie put his phone back in his pocket. It wasn’t the code word he was expecting. Was the whole mission scrapped? Agent Wilder looked for the Audi. It was gone. What if the damn corner store didn’t have cantaloupes? What the hell was he supposed to do then? Eddie sure as hell didn’t want to walk clear to the WinCo. That was over a mile away. Would they even have simple syrup? For just being a corner store it had quite a variety of stuff. Eddie kicked a rock with his foot. The soccer ball went skittering out ahead. Eddie moved forward and kicked it again. Defenders moved to intercept. Eddie easily dodged around one and then another. The roar of the crowd rose to a fever pitch. Thousands of camera flashes filled the stadium. Eddie didn’t let it distract him. He moved forward with purpose. None of the defenders were fast enough. It was just him and the goalie. He juked left, reared back, and kicked. The goalie dived to intercept. The rock went skittering into the street, well wide of the goal. A passing car honked its horn, the driver holding a middle finger into the air. So close, but yet so far.
Eddie ignored the car and crossed the final street to the dilapidated windowless concrete box that was the corner store, the entrance a portal of glass and metal bars. A man stood near the door wearing a hoodie despite the heat. He was a nervous looking man. An open sore graced his left cheek. His eyes were furtive, a hunted animal trapped beneath layers of trembling flesh. Eddie gave the man a wide berth when he entered the store.
The door gave off an electric ding when he opened it. The market was larger than it looked outside, with mostly snacks and packaged goods, but a small selection of fruit on one side and an impressive collection of beer and wine. Behind the counter sat the proprietor, a skinny man of South Asian origin who eyed his customers with a combination of grace and suspicion which marked the gaze of those who worked long in his profession. He smiled when Eddie entered, because Eddie was known to not be a thief, and Eddie smiled back, though neither had any idea of the other’s name despite their association of many years.
Eddie went back to the small fruit section and began his hunt. The queen needed the most choice and freshest of melons, and he, her most loyal knight and retainer, must retrieve it for her. The pickings were slim, bruised apples and brown bananas, and for a moment Eddie feared that his quest would take him the distance to WinCo, but luck was with him. There, on the end, sat two sad looking cantaloupes. Eddie eyed them with the discerning air of a man who knew nothing of what made a good cantaloupe, and after a minute of hefting each individually, and giving both a light knock with his knuckles, selected the one that was the less ripe of the two. Breakfast taken care of, Eddie switched focus to the primary objective of his quest. He followed his instinct and moved amongst the shelves to the small overpriced bags of flour and sugar, but the simple syrup wasn’t there. He wandered aimlessly a little more and then forced himself to accept his ignorance, going to the front to ask the proprietor for help. The little man smiled as he approached, so Eddie forced himself to smile once again too.
“Do you have simple syrup?”
The man’s answer was melodious.
“Simple what?”
“Simple syrup.”
“Isn’t that just sugar and water?”
Eddie shifted the cantaloupe from one hand to the other.
“Yep. Do you have any?”
“Maybe with the mixers, over by the wine.”
The owner pointed towards a far aisle. Eddie gestured at the counter with the cantaloupe.
“Okay if I leave this here for a sec.”
The proprietor shrugged.
“Sure.”
Eddie put the cantaloupe on the counter. The wine aisle was magnificent to behold. Rows of bottles, fluorescent light flashing through their red and white contents, flanked by boxes and the gallon jugs containing the lowest of the low. At the end of the aisle were the mixers. Margarita and daiquiri buckets, small bottles of bitters wrapped in paper, tomato juice for bloody marys, and rows of club soda and tonic water. Eddie leaned over to look along the bottom shelves. The door dinged as somebody came in. Much to Eddie’s disappointment the store had simple syrup. A few dust covered bottles on the bottom shelf. Eddie lifted one in his hands, brushed the dust off of it, and straightened his back.
The nervous looking man from outside was inside, fidgeting and examining the bags of jerky opposite the front counter. He looked up, and for a moment he and Eddie locked eyes. It was at that moment that Eddie knew what he was going to do. It was all one fluid motion, a beautiful symphony of movement that broke all expectations given by appearance. The man spun and pulled a handgun from the pocket of his hoodie. The proprietor fell back in shock, his eyes wide, his mouth open. The robber’s face was contorted with manic delight.
“Give me the cash fucker!”
Eddie dived down below the level of the shelves, the bottle of simple syrup dropping from his grasp. His heart was beating like mad. Out of sight, the proprietor was evidently too slow to follow commands.
“I said give me the fucking cash man!”
The sound of jittery hands fumbling with buttons, suddenly unsure of a task so often done on automatic. Eddie nervously rubbed together the hardened surface of the dried modeling glue on two of his fingers. With great power. No, it was crazy. The proprietor’s fingers were still stumbling on the cash register buttons in their blind panic.
“Hurry up, I’m going to blast you fucker!”
The proprietor was crying, his frightened voice forced through choked sobs.
“Please. Please no. I’m trying. I’m trying.”
“Hurry the fuck up!”
The wine bottle came flying over the top of the aisles. It was one of the big cheap ones. A gallon of glass and syrupy burgundy sailing across the expanse. The robber saw the glint in the corner of his eye, started to turn, and caught the bottle full in the face. Down went the robber. Down went the wine, shattering into a thousand shards and a quickly spreading red sea caught in the madness of a violent tempest. Eddie followed the bottle, a mad rush of screaming frustration. The robber was trying to rise, the gun still in his hand. Eddie’s foot slammed into the man’s wrist. Bones crunched. The robber screamed. The gun fell to the floor. Eddie kicked the robber in the head. Once. Twice. The robber quit moving. Eddie leaned over, picked up the gun, and deposited it on the counter in front of the shocked proprietor. Eddie’s entire body was vibrating. He was nearly hyperventilating. The proprietor’s mouth moved a few times in silence before words came out.
“You’re a hero. You’re a fucking hero.”
Eddie smiled at the man. One of the most genuine smiles he’d had in years.
“Call the police.”
The proprietor was still stammering.
“Hero. Thank you. Thank you.”
Eddie bent forward and patted the proprietor on the shoulder.
“It’s okay. Call the police. I’m going to get out of here.”
Eddie scooped up the cantaloupe and headed out the door. The proprietor, face beaming, watched him go. Eddie paused for a second outside, letting his eyes adjust to the bright sunshine, and then he started back towards home. The sunshine felt good on his skin. A bird flitted from electric pole to electric pole, staying just ahead of him, pausing only here and there to let loose with a few snags of song.
The men weren’t smoking under the elm anymore when Eddie got back to the apartment complex, but the Dorsey boy was still sitting on the step playing Candy Crush with his chubby fingers. The raucous sounds were still emanating from the landlady's apartment. Eddie pushed his way past the boy and slammed on the corner apartment’s door with the flat of his hand.
“Quit kicking your damn kid out on the step you slut!”
The noises inside stopped. The Dorsey boy stood up, he looked at Eddie, confused and shocked. Eddie gave the boy a nod and headed down the balcony, whistling as he went. Eddie opened the door to the apartment he shared with Jolene. She was still sitting on the couch, puffing on her vape pen. Her eyes fell on the cantaloupe in his hand.
“You forgot the fucking simple syrup, didn’t you?”
Eddie turned around without saying a word. He walked back out onto the balcony and closed the door behind him. Jolene’s muffled voice was calling his name. He retreated back the way he had come. The animalistic noises were coming from the corner apartment again. The Dorsey boy was back sitting on the top of the steps. Eddie breathed in and let out a sigh. He tapped the boy lightly with his foot.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit. Do you want to get a pop or something?”
The boy pulled out one of his ear buds and looked at the man towering above him.
“What?”
“I said do you want to get a pop or something? You know, so you don’t have to sit out here.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you, some kind of a chimo? Fuck off.”
Eddie took another breath and let it out again. The Dorsey boy was staring at him with hostility. Eddie pushed past the kid and went back down the stairs. He stopped in the middle of the parking lot, alone but for the cantaloupe still in his hand. A police car glided slowly past down the street. It was getting hot out. Things were heating up. Agent Wilder ran towards the abyss as fast as his legs could carry him. With all his strength he threw the bomb in his hand out into the emptiness. It hung in the air, the timer rapidly approaching zero. The throw had been just in the nick of time. The bomb splattered itself across the asphalt of the street.
Photo courtesy of Wikipedia user DirebearHugs.