Small Steps: Chapters 19–29

It was his payback for the phony tickets.

The concierge seemed too intimidating, so he asked one of the bellhops, who directed him to the house phone.

She was talking to him, but he got the feeling that everything she said was for Fred’s benefit.

He could feel blood pulsating against the tips of his fingers but couldn’t tell if it was his or hers.

She told Armpit she was “sorry about all this,” then went sulking off into the elevator.

Skin color was usually a reliable indicator as to which half of the house a visitor was heading for, but this woman was the exception to the rule.

Armpit struggled to keep his composure.

He sat at one end of the red and blue plaid couch, and she sat across from him on an ottoman, her knees close together and her notebook on her lap.

Everything in his house seemed shoddy and cheap.

“So we’ll say he’s in his twenties. Any distinguishing characteristics?”

Look, if she interrogates you again, just remember one word: ‘kiss.’ K-I-S-S. Keep It Simple, Stupid!

Armpit had made sure the sprinkler heads were evenly distributed, so that the water would cover the entire lawn.

There were no more speeches due, and the stuff in the book was all obvious stuff, like how you should look your prospective employer in the eye at a job interview.

“Like I said, I want to cooperate. I got nothing to hide, right?”

“I charged a small service fee. It’s not illegal. It’s called free enterprise, protected by the Constitution.”

“It’s a crime to give false information to a police officer. And for someone like yourself, with a prior offense and still on probation, you could be facing quite a bit of jail time.”

“No, it’s a two-way mirror. Behind it is an expert criminal psychologist. He’s watching and listening to everything you say. He knows when you’re lying just by your body language, and by the inflection of your voice.”

Armpit is not someone you can say no to. I’m talking big, and mean, and tough. That’s why I lied and said I didn’t know him. If I’m going to have to testify against Armpit, then you better put me in the witness protection program.

“Now I understand how Armpit managed to sell you those phony tickets. You are way too gullible.”

Unfortunately, what the hotel offered in charm and serenity, it lacked in modern technology, such as in-room Internet connections.

She had recognized Jerome Paisley as a weak, insecure man who was constantly trying to impress everybody.

Even he didn’t know the extent of her embezzlement.

The concert that night was in an outside amphitheater, nestled in the foothills.

Despite all her bluster, deep down she knew there was no way she would ever fire him.

Whoever had planted the mountain laurel had cut a gash into the sprinkler line with a shovel.

“Somebody’s been selling counterfeit tickets. This lady cop came to talk to me about it. To me? I never sold a phony ticket in my life. I explain it’s bad for business. Sure, I might make a quick buck, but then I’d never sell another ticket. See, my business is based on trust.”

And so he remained, paralyzed by indecision, a donkey between two haystacks.

Armpit doubled over but fended off the next blow, and the two of them fell to the ground and rolled into the gutter, fists flying as they traded punches.

A sad circus clown who has hopes to inspire
The love of the long-haired, blue-spangled trapeze highflyer,
Kicks off his floppy shoes and changes attire,
Just like Clark Kent, or Tobey Maguire,
And goes up the circus ladder, higher and higher,
’Cause a clown is someone she could never admire,
But there ain’t no net beneath the high wire.

Armpit had an image of himself cowering under a desk with plaster and bricks crashing around him, and big gaps in the floor opening on all sides.

It was hot and sunny at the airport, although nothing like the oppressive heat of Texas, but when he arrived at the Wellington Arms Hotel in downtown San Francisco twenty-five minutes later, fog had filled the air and the temperature was downright cold.

There was also a freshness to the air that he didn’t get in Texas, where it seemed that the same hot and humid air stayed in one place all summer long, becoming more stale and stagnant by the minute.

“Yes, it can be quite confusing,” she said without even a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

She walked with him to the elevator, then showed him how to insert his room key card into the slot to gain access to the twenty-first floor.

Jerome Paisley played in the major leagues for just eighteen days in September, when teams are allowed to expand their rosters.