THINK YOU CAN ROCK N ROLL
YOUR WAY INTO HEAVEN?
THINK AGAIN!
SPECIAL SPEAKER THIS SUN
The marquee sign outside Cavalry Bible Church had caught Everett’s eye each time he passed it on the way to his Radio Shack store, “his” as in franchisee. While a hard worker at heart, he has developed a reverence for his accomplishments, an investment born and nurtured, takes its first steps and before long just needs occasional attention. Jameson is just one of a dozen he started or inherited over the years, first as a side hobby until it started holding it’s own, enough for Bain to a less time at the realtor’s and more time roaming around to visit the fruit of his loins, as it were.
Sometimes it’s in obedience to some corporate mandate, although he tries to stay ahead of that game. Usually he just wants in on the action, be subdued by the aroma of fresh blister-packaged merchandise and treat his managers to some free labor. Bain’s not really one to second guess them unless his nose and gut coincide, and so far that’s only been once.
At one of his early stores he brought in some hotshot on a strong referral, able to start on short notice, so Bain figured he’d fill the hole and ask questions later. After a couple of visits he snuck a peek at the books, which led him to the unthinkable, actually popping in unannounced at closing time one night while the assistant locked up. Turns out his quick hire had been shaving profits in an attempt at a short-term loan and would have pulled it off had he not been such a dumbass about it. To boot, such a feat could have secretly won Bain’s heartfelt admiration in the process.
Everett assigns respect for his fellow man to the degree that he can satisfy the Eleventh Commandment: Don’t Get Caught. Not that one should have to operate above the law to conduct his business, but if you’re gonna fuck around, at least do us all a favor and finish well. And quietly, at that. His nose and gut have a running bet that there’s someone, at least one tired soul, on any given day, who wishes their life that a certain headline would be excused from the evening paper.
In the hotel room that Saturday night he’s on the phone with a lady friend as she corrals her kids a few counties over. She gives him a hard time when he mentions going to church, but that’s about it. Bain rarely feels the need to explain his reasons, there was just something about that sign, the implied conflict of interest between a form of expression and one’s eternal security. And the more he thinks about it the more hilarious it becomes.
The next morning, on the opposite end of the back pew he could swear one of the high school punks looks familiar. How he envies their potential.
On the way out he’s treated to a heaping earful from Dan Aldwin and responds with a polite sneer.