The BOYS

FINALE - Episode FIFTY two

"I'm disappointed," Walter Zweiss sighed at Walter Fales. "Frankly, I expected better things from you, a fellow Walter and fellow professional, a conqueror of financial obstacles..."

"Well, I'm disappointed, too. I knew I was coming down... no apologies, there, but I did not expect to end up in a place where the employees kill one another. If I had, I would've tried to find work with Halliburton..."

The boss frowned. "Does this imply criticism of America's Vice-President, or of my own operation?"

"Well, someone who goes to a foreign country where they hate Americans... that's why they get the big bucks. And, like I said over the phone, I realize that there's a certain risk in any service or retail operation, I just don't expect my own colleagues to try to kill me..."

"Technically speaking, however," and Mister Z removed the unlit cigar from his mouth, pointing it past Walt towards the window, and its vista of his bustling Chikin Shak, "Barry Cullery was not your colleague, he was your employer. I hired Joe Sybco who, like you, was mature, a man of many capabilities and experience under pressure. It could've been you who would have ended up the perpetrator of this crime, not its victim."

Walt leaned forward in the yellow kitchen chair across the desk. "Just between you and me, fellow Walter, I'm not entirely offended by that allegation. Barry was a mean, bootlicking, bully who, as far as I'm concerned, got more or less what he deserved."

"I see." Zweiss balanced the wet cigar precariously on the casino ashtray, folded his fingers, tapped the knuckles of his right hand with the fingers of his left. "As, of course, did David Pearson."

"That nutcase?" Walt sat back, shook his head as if spattered by a wet dog. "He actually picked a fight with me... I still don't get it. Guess they don't make war wimps the way the used to."

"Of course not," Walter Zweiss agreed. "Still, you must admit that your tenure, brief as it has been, has raised certain issues of self control and self-discipline... Barry Cullery, I do admit, could be difficult but, of all the Dog Pounds and all but one of my Chikin Shaks, his franchise had the lowest expenses and the highest profit margin, and rated in the top quarter in aggregate Health Department scores and peripherals sold."

"Peripherals?" Walter Fales floundered, thinking of Merritt and the big, floating castle.

"Tie-ins... toys, souvenirs, that sort of thing..."

"Oh... guess those other franchises got stuck with Cat in the Hat and Alamo too..."

Mister Z winced. "We, uh... hope to do better over the holiday season, we've entered into a partnership with a Hollywood production company to promote their film about the North Pole. It stars Tom Hanks... or is it Tom Cruise, I get the two mixed up... I have been informed that it cost over one hundred and twenty million dollars to produce. Unfortunately, the unhappy events of Halloween evening have rather poisoned Judge Evans against my venture in Oceanside, and I will be forced to seek other avenues of expansion..."

"Well, I'm very happy for you... not about the Judge, but the Christmas movie. Christmas is when the money flows. Come to think of it... I suspect that department stores will be hiring Santas within a week or two. Now that Halloween's over, Thanksgiving doesn't count for all that much, and, you know, it's zip... zip... zip... and on into the future. So, if I could..."

"Yes," the businessman allowed, "if you insist, I'll write up your last paycheck on my own account... I'll even pay you for the full shift, Saturday, just to prove I'm not exactly the villain in all of this. But I invited you here for a reason..."

"A reason?"

Zweiss put his feet up on his desk. "Hot dogs, Mr. Fales, are the wave of the future... oh, perhaps they'll never quite capture the market share that burgers and pizza hold, I do think that the fashion for Mexican things will fade, eventually. What is in our favor is that the market is under-utilized... there is room to grow and remain a step ahead of inevitable competition. And, well, Mr. Sybco's actions have placed me in a sort of a bind, temporarily... I do have a graduating class coming out of Barstow in March, six fine young men and one lady, but it seems that I am currently in the position of having to move bodies around to fill a rather significant hole, if you understand what I'm getting at..."

"You're offering me Barry's job?" Walter's jaw dropped.

"Good Heavens, no! I mean... daytime management is a highly skilled position, requiring not only an intensive course of education, but many, many years of graduated experience..."

"Really? As I saw it, what Barry did was mainly bully kids and housewives and a couple of old men who'd lost their good jobs, make sure they didn't burn the dogs... or undercook them and start a salmonella epidemic... put the dog in a bun, pass it over the counter with a packet of onions or potatoes fried in tasty but artery-destroying lard, add some colored and sugared cold water to wash it down and make the correct change. No offense, sir, but a monkey could do the job... so you're going to promote Louie up to day shift..."

"That is an option," Mister Z said...

"He deserves it. Which leaves night shift open, what were you going to do... put Kenny in, and find some fool willing to drive all over the county filling in, spending two thirds of his take home pay on gas..."

"Something like that..."

"Well, Kenny's a nice kid and all, but he ain't quite up to the status of a monkey."

Zweiss removed his feet from the desk. "Are you implying that you might consider coming back to work as manager of the night shift?"

"Let's suppose I did," Walt suggested. "What would it be worth, to me... or to anyone, come to think of it."

"Well, it's a salaried position... all of my night managers start at two thousand per month, base, the dayfolk get twenty two hundred, but it's for longer hours..."

"Yeah, I sort of figured... six nights a week, fifty-four hours and a little more on Fridays and Saturdays, conservatively let's say sixty, and countin' the overtime I wouldn't be getting, say seventy hours... four weeks, plus... comes to a little bit under seven an hour..."

"Yes, but you would receive Christmas Day off, and one week vacation after a year."

"Sick days?"

"Three, no cumulative."

"Health insurance..."

"I'm not a bank, Mr. Fales. But, don't forget, I said base... there would be an incentive program..."

"I been through one of those." Walter's eyes were glazing over the Martian deed on the wall behind Zweiss, but his brain was running numbers... first and last month's rent, phone, gas and electric... to hell with cable if he'd be working nights... it was the first and last, and a security deposit too, probably, that had to be overcome. There wasn't as much room to stretch out in the Explorer as in the Town Car, but the windows were tinted and he could get some blankets at the Goodwill... work out a deal with Louie or someone to use a shower a couple of days a week...

"There's one condition that would be absolute," he said. "Louie gets Barry's parking space... that's OK, but I would get the other space, next to the dumpsters. Whenever I needed it, no conditions, no questions asked..."

He saw Mister Z hesitate, running the mathematics through that outsized, Martian brain of his, and then the pudgy entrepreneur was on his feet, hand extended to seal the deal.

"Welcome back! We have an arrangement... welcome back,” Zweiss chortled. “Welcome back, my boy, my dear, dear boy!"

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FIN

The serial will begin anew on Saturday, July 2nd