Empty Pockets by Dale Herd

you will,” he said.
    And I took a drink.
    I gave the bottle back to him, wiping the lip with the back of my hand, and he asked me where I was going to go. I said I didn’t know right now but I didn’t care so long as it was somewhere new.
    He said he could understand that, he’d really like to do that too, but what he would really like to do would be to go to Africa.
    â€œWell, why don’t you?” I said.
    â€œI can’t,” he said.
    â€œSure you can.”
    â€œNo,” he said, “I can’t.”
    â€œIf it’s money why don’t you quit and get a better job, then take off?”
    â€œNo,” he said.
    â€œIs it because of Jo?”
    â€œNo, it’s simply convenient to work here.”
    â€œBullshit,” I said, “you’re here because any minute you keep hoping Jo will sail in here and sit down on the magazine racks like she used to do.”
    â€œNo, that’s not true. It’s my mother. I’m here because of my mother.”
    But he looked away as he said it and put the bottle down, and the next thing he did was grab his jacket and walk out the door.
    That was the last time I saw him. We weren’t very good friends to start with so I didn’t mind that much, but he had been nice to me at a time when not many other people were and I was sorry I had opened my mouth.
    Then last week by chance I was at a party in Palos Verdes Estates and looking down on the long sweep of South Bay I could see the Redondo and then the Hermosa Beach Pier. So in the morning I drove up the coast through Hermosa and stopped at the store.
    Arnie was there and after a welcome he gave me Dave’s new telephone number and told me to call him.
    â€œI don’t know about him,” Arnie said. “He’s still doing a good job here but he’s into a new thing. You remember that Hemingway stuff?”
    â€œFor sure,” I said.
    â€œWell, it’s space stuff now. He’s saving his money to try to get into one of those space programs.”
    â€œThat’s something,” I said.
    â€œI don’t know. You remember his apartment? All that skeet-shooting and deep-sea fishing gear? All that’s gone now. He’s got the whole thing fixed up like a spaceship. He’s got this armchair he sits in, a big red job, with some kind of control panels built into the arms that control everything—windows, doors, the heat, lights, TV , the phone.”
    â€œSounds like he’s changed quite a bit,” I said.
    â€œI don’t know,” Arnie said. “I was talking to him the other day and he said what he likes about outer space is that it’ll be a completely different place where a man has perfect control. He said if you land on a planet you don’t like you simply get back in the ship and blast off. You think that sounds any different?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said.
    â€œNo different than crawling inside a bottle,” Arnie said, “like a couple of characters I used to know.”
    â€œSure, Arnie,” I laughed, “but I’ll never confess.”
    â€œWho was asking?” Arnie said.
    I laughed again and went over to the phone. I dialed Dave’s number and waited. The phone rang twice and then Dave’s voice came on.
    â€œComputer Center, Computer Control speaking.”
    â€œDave,” I said, “this is Dick. How are you?”
    â€œRepeat, please.”
    â€œNorris,” I said, “Dick Norris.”
    â€œNorris,” Dave’s voice said. “Norris, Dick. That does not compute.”
    â€œHey, Dave . . .” I said.
    â€œRepeat,” the voice went on, “that does not compute.”
    The line went dead.
    â€œSon of a bitch,” I said. “He hung up on me.”
    â€œI told you.” Arnie laughed, looking at me. “But I don’t give a damn, so long as he does the job and comes to work on