Wake-Up Call. Joaquin De Torres

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СКАЧАТЬ DON’T THINK I CAN HANDLE THAT, MOTHA FUCKA!?” The young man recoiled sharply, while patrons and associates jumped again.

      “I’m sorry, sir! I wasn’t talking about-”

      “I worked for a special combat team in Iraq while you were still suckin’ on your motha’s titty!” Stedman quickly looked at Henderson’s tattered cami jacket and recognized the 3d Infantry Division, Special Electronics Warfare patch on the arm. “I was a computer expert! I knew how to take apart a laptop and put it back together in total darkness! Can you do that, you snot-nosed bastard? I WAS A LAP STRIKER, BITCH! I CALLED IN AIR STRIKES!” He jabbed his thumb towards his chest. “ME, MOTHA FUCKA! ME!” Stedman stepped in front of Henderson and held up his palms politely. He glanced at the name patch sewn above his pocket.

      “Mr. Henderson. I apologize for our associate. He’s new.”

      “And disrespectful!” Henderson was still glaring at the young man, now shaking. “Not everything you see is what it is, punk! Let me show you how we do it on the battlefield!” Henderson turned back to the laptop and held his left wrist near one of the USB inputs on the side of the device. Suddenly the video display on the Sony Matrix stopped; a new display took over the screen; something foreign and strange. The screen’s display light intensified as Henderson tapped at the keys with his right hand. His left hand was clenched in a fist as his wrist touched flush with the left side of the laptop. Stedman thought he saw glowing, arching sparks move from the two USB ports to his wrist and back again-a connection between the machine and his flesh. Then the display screens on every laptop in the store changed in instant synchronization, mirroring the intense light of the Matrix’s display. All the employees, including Stedman and Wilson, turned and watched their displays shift and morph. The light on every screen began to strobe, and a shape formed at the center. Henderson’s eyes closed as he continued typing, yet none of his keystrokes showed up on the display. The center image began to grow and with a tap of the Enter key, the displays on every TV in the store instantly and simultaneously mirrored what was on the laptop displays. The entire store was synced up to the one Matrix.

      People across the massive store in the TV department cursed when the Oakland Raider game being shown on all the massive LCD screens, was replaced by the brilliant light. But it didn’t take long for them to stand mesmerized by the glowing image that was still too fuzzy to see. Stedman turned to Henderson whose eyes had rolled up into his head. His mouth was open and his upper body began to shake violently.

      “Mr. Henderson! MR. HENDERSON!” He tried to pull him off the laptop by the arms, but Henderson seemed locked in place. “TIM, HELP ME! HE’S BEING ELECTRICUTED!”

      “STEP BACK, BRIAN!” The tall, burly Wilson, a former Antioch high school linebacker rushed in and tackled Henderson, bringing him to the carpeted floor like any number of quarterbacks he’d sacked years ago. The strobing light emanating out of the Matrix instantly stopped, as did all the flat screens in the building. What was left on their displays was an image now fully visible in almost 3D clarity. People moved closer to the TVs and laptops to inspect the image with puzzlement.

      “Mr. Henderson,” said Wilson with his massive arms still wrapped around him. “Are you okay?” Henderson’s eyes blinked rapidly then looked around. They both sat up together and Stedman helped both men to their feet.

      “Are you hurt, Mr. Henderson?” asked Stedman. He noticed Henderson gripping his left wrist with his right hand and wincing.

      “I’m okay, man,” Henderson said finally, then turned his head to the Sony Matrix he had touched. “I would like to purchase this laptop.” Wilson noticed that the drunken slur had disappeared, replaced by a calm, almost eloquent voice.

      “Mr. Henderson, the Matrix is over $3,000,” said Stedman cautiously. Henderson reached into his jacket pocket with his right hand and pulled out a wad of bills. He handed it to Stedman.

      “Go on,” he urged. “Count it.” He looked at the young man who had ridiculed him earlier. “And no, I didn’t steal it nor sold drugs to get it.” The associate kept his mouth shut, shaking his head, balking at even saying a word. Stedman took the money and counted it.

      “Mr. Henderson, there’s over $4,000 here.” The associates raised their eyebrows in surprise.

      “It’s the last of my life savings.” Stedman shook his head slowly.

      “No, I’m not going to take your life savings.” He looked at Wilson. “Tim, ring up Mr. Henderson on register six. Use the 20-percent-off discount; code 9, and give him the additional 20-percent-off Veteran’s Discount, code 42.”

      “But wasn’t the Veteran’s Discount only good for last month during the Veteran’s Day long weekend?” asked Fran, causing Wilson to wince again at her naiveté.

      “It’s good today,” Stedman said flatly, smiling at Henderson. “Tim?” Wilson nodded and carefully pulled one of the new Sony Matrix laptop boxes out from the locked bin. He waited for any additional orders from his boss. Stedman put the money into Mr. Henderson’s hand gently.

      “I think a 40-percent-off discount should put a few dollars back into your savings, Mr. Henderson. I, we. . .appreciate your service in Iraq.” Stedman offered his hand and Henderson took it gratefully. “There’s a two-year warranty on that laptop, but if anything happens to it, even beyond those two years, you come right back here and ask for us, Brian Stedman or Tim Wilson. We’ll replace it for you, no questions asked, sir.” Stedman offered a respectful smile. Henderson nodded clumsily. His eyes drifted from Stedman and Wilson to the humbled young man again. Henderson straightened his posture and raised his chin with dignity, and put his hand on Stedman’s shoulder.

      “This is called customer service, young man. This is called respect. People like me, we fight so you don’t have to.” The boy looked down in shame while Henderson looked back at Stedman. “Thank you for your kindness and respect.”

      “It was my pleasure, sir.” Henderson turned to follow Wilson up to the front of the store. Stedman turned to the young man sharply.

      “Joaquin, wait for me in my office. We’re gonna have a little talk.” When the boy left, he turned to Fran. “Is there anything wrong with the display model? I thought I saw some electric sparking.” Fran lifted the display unit and inspected it, shaking her head.

      “Nothing. Like it’s fresh out of the box. But look at the screen, Brian.” Stedman didn’t realize it, but everyone within sight of a laptop, PC or TV was gazing silently at their screens throughout the store. Upon them was a frozen image of the night sky filled with stars so clear and close that one would think he was looking through a planetarium telescope. It wasn’t a scene from the space shuttle, or from a satellite. There were silhouettes of trees cropping the view. It was shot from a forest as if the photographer was lying on his back in the woods and looking up at the universe. Devoid of any reflections, glare or city lights, the image was breathtaking.

      “It’s beautiful,” whispered Stedman.

      Wilson shook Henderson’s hand after the purchase and walked him to the front automatic doors.

      “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Take care of yourself.”

      “You, too, son.” When Henderson walked out of Best Buy and Wilson turned back around to survey the store, all the screens instantly resumed their original broadcasts.

      Chapter 7

      Breaking СКАЧАТЬ