Page 5 of Never Your Valentine

“This guy gets it.” Beefy points a finger toward my chest. “This guy, right here. The owners don’t know shit, thinking we’re just stupid code monkeys. Keith’s the stupid one.”

Murmurs of “idiot,” and “asshole,” and “fuck that guy,” fly between them. We’ve found our target.

“How about we write Keith’s name on some of this equipment before we get going?” I ask.

They cheer at that. I grab a can of spray paint from the hall cabinet, along with some sharpie markers. I spray KEITH across a monitor in bright red. I ask what else I should write, and a list of grievances comes out—everything from missing vacation to stale snacks in the vending machines. I hand Tim the paint, pass out sharpies to the rest, and let them tag everything in the room.

The guys are even more hyped than before, but their energy has shifted. They’ve gone from snarls to whoops, and their eyes have gone from narrowed to wide and eager. I’ll gas them up just a bit more and then set them loose.

I open a side cabinet and make a big deal out of giving “premium” baseball bats to the others. They’re ordinary bats painted black, but they look tough and the guys receive them like they’ve been given a prize.

“Give me a minute to get out of here,” I tell them. “When you hear the music, go.”

I hustle up to the booth that hangs above the room like a press box. It’s got bulletproof glass plus a mesh screen, so I can monitor the activity below in total safety. I slide on ear-protecting headphones, turn the playlist to maximum volume, and watch the controlled destruction.

My brother stomps in a few minutes later, shouting to be heard above the music as he apologizes for being late. He hangs his thick parka on a peg near the door and shakes snow off a fleece beanie before tucking it into a coat pocket.

I pull one side of my headphones out. “Is it still bad out there?”

“Snowing like it’s got a quota to meet.” Felix snags the extra pair of ear protectors and snugs them on. We watch the rage room for a few minutes. Two of the men go hard on a printer while two more kill the oversized computer screen. I check the playlist. It’s on “Angry Again” by Megadeth. They’re halfway through their time.

Felix grabs a scrap of paper and scrawls a note. Let me guess. The monitor is their boss?

I nod.

The premium bats?

“So premium,” I mouth.

Full animal playlist? Felix writes.

I nod again.

“Ee-cray!” he shouts, calling back to a tourist we had once who insisted that euchre was pronounced that way, no matter how many times we told him that our favorite card game was pronounced you-cur. Since then, it’s become our shorthand for idiots who don’t listen.

I don’t think these guys are idiots. They just needed some guidance. I wave my phone at Felix, showing him the time. “You owe me ten minutes.”

“I’ll come in early next week.”

That’s what he said last week, but I don’t mention it. I’m just happy my brother’s willing to work on Fridays so I can get a night off. I show him the schedule. Besides the Solduxe guys, we have two of our regulars, a couple who come after marriage counseling. They always book separate sessions.

Felix gestures for me to take off my headphones so he can shout at me. “It’s going to be past eleven by the time I’m done cleaning. I swear you schedule it that way on purpose.”

“Waaah.”

“The snow’s coming down hard. Let me stay upstairs tonight.”

“If you want, sure.” I unhook the spare key from my ring and toss it to him.

There are two apartments above The Break—mine and a fully furnished one across the hall which the landlord was never able to rent out. I let my brothers use it from time to time. “Leave the key in the office when you go,” I say.

“Where are you headed tonight?” Felix asks.

“The Frostline.” It’s way too loud for me to stay home while the rage room is operating, so I always go out on Fridays. When the weather’s decent, I’ll hang out with friends, visit my parents, or go fishing. But in January, it’s too cold and dark to do anything but drink.

“Not The Driftwood?” Felix asks.

“The Frostline.” I’m still thinking about the woman blocking the door of the bakery this afternoon, with her cocoa and her selfie stick.