Chapter Four
English 352
3-27-2006
Chapter Four
The drive from downtown to the apartment fifty-seven blocks away didn’t Kopelson. He liked having the freedom of being in a vehicle that was semi-moving. When he normally left at five it was a nightmare. As far as he was concerned the benefit of working later than everyone is nearly free-reign of Twenty-Seventh Street on his ride home.
MedSupply was done. Its last day was tomorrow. He still had time to buy some of the remaining inventory but it hadn’t changed at all since the phone call. He didn’t get a hold of any new suppliers and he was worried about having to impose a shut down.
His best bet was his old friend Chris Burner. His main buyer kept mishandling the product, leaving it out too long, or selling it for way below market price. Burner planned to find someone new, perhaps Kopelson, but the contract expired next month so he needed a supplement for the next three weeks.
His cigarette smoke flew out the cracked window as he rolled home. He stared at the road and tried to focus but his thoughts kept cycling back to his impending problem. Whenever he tried to think of something else the thought would end and the same one would come up again.
He pulled into his apartment-garage and shut the door. He punched in his code so hard his index finger throbbed when he got to his room.
He sat down in his leather chair and opened his briefcase. He pulled out the donor profiles hoping that some miracle had rejuvenated the stiffs to a usable condition so he could get enough supply to tide the company over until the next month. He shuffled through them again.
Still disappointed, he put the manila envelopes on his desk and picked up an ashtray. When he sat down he looked at the top profile. Baldwin. She was the youngest and least fucked up of the group, which was saying a lot since she died of a heroin overdose. He opened up the file and noticed the name of the funereal home.
“How old is your son?”
“My wife is three months pregnant.”
“So why is it ‘Menke and Son?”
“It sounds more professional.”
Kopelson taped a cigarette filter on the bar and offered one to Menke. Menke turned it down but that didn’t defer Kopelson at all.
Kopelson loved these conventions. Large gatherings of people whose jobs were stigmatized by society we always a good time. He always met some of the most interesting characters at bars in hotels and convention centers.
“Kind of limiting his career options, aren’t you?”
They laughed and ordered more beer.
“You know, Harvey, I’m thinking of expanding my business to include more donations to you supply boys. I think we could work something out.”
“I’m not in the market right now, Tom. MedSupply is being good to me. They keep getting more stock points and I don’t think they’ll ever go out of business at this rate.”
“Did you hear about the guys selling transplants in Dallas?” Kopelson said.
“Yeah, it’s a shame.”
“Like our pariah status wasn’t bad enough.”
“I meant that they got caught, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
They laughed, but something about the way Menke said it was off. It seemed like he was baiting him, testing to see if Kopelson would respond favorably. He shrugged it off and the two kept on drinking.
Since that time the two had kept in moderate touch. Though far from friends they usually saw each other at conventions and shared a drink or six. It hadn’t been bad except Menke always brought up the supply thing.
His cell phone rang. He flipped it open and checked to see the caller. It was Matt.
“Matt, how’s it going?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What’s wrong? Is everything at Wyuka okay?”
“Yeah, its fine, but one of the local mortuaries sold a plot here and didn’t tell the family they could have the same things done here but save the driving time.”
“That’s not right. I hate that. The family shouldn’t have to pay for escorts if they know they don’t have to.”
“I know, so I’m going to have to file a civil suit.”
“Who did it?”
“Menke and Son.”
The phone call ended and Kopelson went to his computer. He clicked the ‘Local’ folder and found Tom’s site. He went to the contact section and found the number for the home. He programmed it into his phone. The clock said one-thirty so he decided to go to bed. He could give Tom a call in the morning.
The phone rang and Gibson answered.
“Hello?”
“Is Mr. Menke available?”
“One moment, please.”
He put the caller on hold and strolled down to Menke’s office. He knocked and after about thirty seconds was cleared for entrance.
“Are you jerking off in here?”
“Yeah, it’s the thought of you and all that corpse love. It gets me so hot. What stiffer, your dick or your partner.
“Call on line two,” he began walking, “you jackass.”
“Hello?”
“Tom, its Harvey Kopelson.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not too much. I realized I haven’t seen you in a while. We should go have a drink and catch up. What works for you?”
Menke looked at his over-sized desk calendar. He ran his finger along the current week.
“It looks like I’m free uh…tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
“Sounds good. Iguana’s at seven?”
“You’re on.”
3-27-2006
Chapter Four
The drive from downtown to the apartment fifty-seven blocks away didn’t Kopelson. He liked having the freedom of being in a vehicle that was semi-moving. When he normally left at five it was a nightmare. As far as he was concerned the benefit of working later than everyone is nearly free-reign of Twenty-Seventh Street on his ride home.
MedSupply was done. Its last day was tomorrow. He still had time to buy some of the remaining inventory but it hadn’t changed at all since the phone call. He didn’t get a hold of any new suppliers and he was worried about having to impose a shut down.
His best bet was his old friend Chris Burner. His main buyer kept mishandling the product, leaving it out too long, or selling it for way below market price. Burner planned to find someone new, perhaps Kopelson, but the contract expired next month so he needed a supplement for the next three weeks.
His cigarette smoke flew out the cracked window as he rolled home. He stared at the road and tried to focus but his thoughts kept cycling back to his impending problem. Whenever he tried to think of something else the thought would end and the same one would come up again.
He pulled into his apartment-garage and shut the door. He punched in his code so hard his index finger throbbed when he got to his room.
He sat down in his leather chair and opened his briefcase. He pulled out the donor profiles hoping that some miracle had rejuvenated the stiffs to a usable condition so he could get enough supply to tide the company over until the next month. He shuffled through them again.
Still disappointed, he put the manila envelopes on his desk and picked up an ashtray. When he sat down he looked at the top profile. Baldwin. She was the youngest and least fucked up of the group, which was saying a lot since she died of a heroin overdose. He opened up the file and noticed the name of the funereal home.
“How old is your son?”
“My wife is three months pregnant.”
“So why is it ‘Menke and Son?”
“It sounds more professional.”
Kopelson taped a cigarette filter on the bar and offered one to Menke. Menke turned it down but that didn’t defer Kopelson at all.
Kopelson loved these conventions. Large gatherings of people whose jobs were stigmatized by society we always a good time. He always met some of the most interesting characters at bars in hotels and convention centers.
“Kind of limiting his career options, aren’t you?”
They laughed and ordered more beer.
“You know, Harvey, I’m thinking of expanding my business to include more donations to you supply boys. I think we could work something out.”
“I’m not in the market right now, Tom. MedSupply is being good to me. They keep getting more stock points and I don’t think they’ll ever go out of business at this rate.”
“Did you hear about the guys selling transplants in Dallas?” Kopelson said.
“Yeah, it’s a shame.”
“Like our pariah status wasn’t bad enough.”
“I meant that they got caught, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
They laughed, but something about the way Menke said it was off. It seemed like he was baiting him, testing to see if Kopelson would respond favorably. He shrugged it off and the two kept on drinking.
Since that time the two had kept in moderate touch. Though far from friends they usually saw each other at conventions and shared a drink or six. It hadn’t been bad except Menke always brought up the supply thing.
His cell phone rang. He flipped it open and checked to see the caller. It was Matt.
“Matt, how’s it going?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What’s wrong? Is everything at Wyuka okay?”
“Yeah, its fine, but one of the local mortuaries sold a plot here and didn’t tell the family they could have the same things done here but save the driving time.”
“That’s not right. I hate that. The family shouldn’t have to pay for escorts if they know they don’t have to.”
“I know, so I’m going to have to file a civil suit.”
“Who did it?”
“Menke and Son.”
The phone call ended and Kopelson went to his computer. He clicked the ‘Local’ folder and found Tom’s site. He went to the contact section and found the number for the home. He programmed it into his phone. The clock said one-thirty so he decided to go to bed. He could give Tom a call in the morning.
The phone rang and Gibson answered.
“Hello?”
“Is Mr. Menke available?”
“One moment, please.”
He put the caller on hold and strolled down to Menke’s office. He knocked and after about thirty seconds was cleared for entrance.
“Are you jerking off in here?”
“Yeah, it’s the thought of you and all that corpse love. It gets me so hot. What stiffer, your dick or your partner.
“Call on line two,” he began walking, “you jackass.”
“Hello?”
“Tom, its Harvey Kopelson.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not too much. I realized I haven’t seen you in a while. We should go have a drink and catch up. What works for you?”
Menke looked at his over-sized desk calendar. He ran his finger along the current week.
“It looks like I’m free uh…tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
“Sounds good. Iguana’s at seven?”
“You’re on.”
posted by Dan at 5:23 AM
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