Back in the Day

My thanks to the two women who bought ten books in Russian between them, and to the young woman who purchased Danielle Steel’s Wings and Jeffrey Archer’s Kane and Abel; and to Gloria, who donated about 20 books, fiction and non, every one a keeper. She has a network of girlfriends, all single and retired, who keep tabs on each other, communicating every ten hours.

I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary in the news today, so here’s an excerpt from Open Outcries, formerly Exchanges. I changed the title after the publisher died and print copies were no longer made available. I took charge of the book and made the change in title just in case any of his relatives popped out of the woodwork with a lawyer in tow. So far, not a single print copy or Kindle has sold since the reincarnation. The guy never paid me the royalties for the 40 or so copies that sold. C’est la vie. The piece contains profanity, which was common at the Exchange. It is also an example of the shenanigans that went on outside trading, the parts that fascinated me most.

“Take over, Mich. I’ll go check the sheets.”
“Do me a favor. Check these. I didn’t get a chance to.”
She handed him a stack of lottery tickets. Everyone in the crew had submitted one. Charley smirked.
“I’m like the kiss of death. I never won anything in my life.”
“Tell your story walkin’.”
He threaded his way through the crowded aisles, past the smoking room to the Data Entry Room, where employees in green jackets, headsets in place, were seated at computers. He slapped at Warhead’s neck. The Head, 35, laughed and mumbled.
“What?” said Charley. “Take the cock atta ya mouth.”
On the glass partition that looked out into the smoking room, there was a Wall of Shame, wherein caricatures, drawn by employees, were scotch-taped. There was one of a missile that had Warhead’s face and prominent proboscis incorporated into it. There was another of him leering, drawn over a newspaper photograph of a naked little girl drinking at a water fountain.
Charley scanned the computer printouts to make sure the high, low and closing prices were correct. Suddenly the door burst open. A light-haired man of medium height entered, paused and in a goofy tone cried: “Lick me!”
Charley laughed and shook hands. “What’s up, Ray?”
“The jerk-offs I gotta deal with, that’s what.”
Ray was the assistant supervisor in Gold, come to check the paperwork.
Charley opened a newspaper and sorted through the lottery tickets, tittering disgustedly as several failed to hit even one number. The last had possibilities. His gut contracted as he checked and re-checked. His legs wobbled as he rose. His breath grew short.
Pale, he returned to the ring, tugged at Michelle’s sleeve and whispered in her ear: “I think we hit.”
“Get atta town,” she said quietly.
“Where’d we buy ’em — downstairs? I’m goin’.”
Fearing he would hyperventilate, he turned into the center aisle, head down, blind to everyone in his path, mind a jumble. As he reached the security desk, someone grasped his wrist.
“Damn, didn’t you hear me callin’ you?” said Juan. “Come back. They bought that ticket this mornin’.”
Charley stared, stunned. “Am I the biggest fish goin’ or what?”
Juan laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “That’s why everybody loves you.”
As Charley approached the ring, he was greeted by laughter and jeers. He flushed crimson.

My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE

FB: https://www.facebook.com/Vic-Fortezza-Author-118397641564801/?fref=ts

Read Vic’s Stories, free: http://fictionaut.com/users/vic-fortezza