Jack Kilborn & J. A. Konrath by Suckers Page B

entertained myself by asking everyone who worked there if they made a lot of dough.
    An hour later, after they asked me to leave, I sat on the sidewalk across the street from the bank, hiding in plain sight by pretending I was homeless. This involved untucking my shirt and pockets, messing up my hair, and holding up a sign that said
“I’m homeless”
written on the back of the pizza box.
    Other possibilities had been,
“Will do your taxes for food”
and
“I’m just plain lazy”
and my favorite
“this is a piece of cardboard.”
But I went with brevity because I still didn’t have a pencil and had to write it in sauce.
    I sat there for a little over and hour before George Drawbridge appeared.
    He looked like the picture his wife gave me, which wasn’t a surprise because it was a picture of him. Balding, thin, pinkish complexion, with a nose so big it probably caused back problems. After exiting the bank he immediately went right, moving like he was in a huge hurry. I almost lost him, because it took over a minute to pick up the eighty-nine cents people had thrown onto the sidewalk next to me. But I managed to catch up just as he boarded a northbound bus to Wrigleyville.
    Unfortunately, the only seat left on the bus was next to George. So that’s where I parked my butt, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand if I didn’t have to.
    I gave him a small nod as I sat down.
    “I’m not following you,” I told him.
    George didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were distant, out there. And up close I noticed his rosy skin tone wasn’t natural—he was sunburned. Only on the left side of his face too, like Richard Dreyfuss in that Spielberg movie about aliens. The one where he got sunburned on only the left side of his face. I think it was
Star Wars
.
    Unlike his wife, George didn’t smell like sweaty feet. He smelled more like ham. Honey baked ham. So much so that I wondered if he had any ham on him. I’ve been known to stuff my pockets with ham whenever I visited an all-you-can-eat buffet. After all, ham is pricey.
    I restrained myself from asking if he indeed had any pocket ham, but couldn’t help humming the Elton John song
“Rocketman”
and changing the lyrics in my head.
    “
Pocket ham… And I think I’m gonna eat a long, long time…”
    I didn’t know the rest of the song, so I kept think-singing that line over and over. After a few stops George stood up and left the bus. I followed him, keeping my distance so I didn’t make him nervous. But after walking for a block I realized I could stand on the guy’s shoulders and piss on his head and he still wouldn’t notice me. George Drawbridge was seriously preoccupied.
    We went into an Ace Hardware Store, and George bought twenty feet of nylon clothesline He also bought something called a magnetron. I knew that there was something I needed to buy, but I couldn’t remember what it was, and I hadn’t written it down because I needed to buy a pencil. So I got one of those super large cans of mega energy drink. It contained three times the recommended daily allowance of taurine, whatever the hell taurine was.
    After the hardware store it was back to the bus stop. We were the only two people there. George didn’t pay any attention to me, but I was worried all of this close contact might get him a little suspicious. So I made sure I stood behind him, where he couldn’t see me. Then I popped open my mega can and took a sip.
    The flavor on the can said “Super Berry Mix.” The berries must have been mixed with battery acid and diarrhea juice, but with a slightly worse taste. It burned my nose drinking it, to the point where I may have lost some nostril hair. Plus it was a shade of blue only found in nature as part of neon beer signs. I could barely choke down the last forty-six ounces.
    The bus came. Again, the only seat available was next to George. I took it, and pulled my shirt up over my mouth and nose to disguise