Bound to Burn

2. Restocking Fee

2

RESTOCKING FEE

CASH

I Wanna Be Sedated by Ramones

“I have people coming to the store just to gawk and they don’t actually buy anything,” I grumble into the phone.

The bell above the door rings and yet another young lady enters and pretends to look through the record bins while trying to covertly scope out the store.

“I thought I was helping that piece of s**t record store of yours so you’d get more customers,” Jacks says, referring to the ‘plug’ he gave my store while doing a radio interview. Since then, it’s been a revolving door of women from every age group hoping to run into Jack.

“Well, you didn’t!” I bark at him and drag the palm of my hand down my face. “You made it worse.”

“I can hardly see how I made it worse,” Jack says.

“You don’t get it,” I huff. “They’re coming in here hoping to see you.”

Jack chuckles into the phone which grates on my last nerve.

“This situation is not funny!” I yell and one of the girls looks up from the bins curiously, so I turn away and cup the phone. “It’s not funny, Jack.”

I’m used to Jack taking up space in a room. He’s not even in my store yet he’s still depriving me of oxygen.

“Maybe it’ll help you get laid.”

“I do not need help getting laid!” I whisper shout.

“Excuse me?” A voice startles me, and I turn to see a girl standing on the other side of the counter with painted red lips and lashes way too long to be real.

I hold the phone away from my ear and look at her expectantly.

She leans on the counter, her shirt falling open just enough not to be accidental. “Does Jack O’Donnell ever come in here?” At least she has the decency to look bashful about asking.

Holding my finger up, I turn around while I place the phone back to my ear. “I hate you.” I hit the end button and slide the phone into my back pocket before turning around to face her again.

“So, does he?” she asks, expectantly.

“He doesn’t work here,” I tell her, just as the bell rings again. I’m starting to understand why Jack hates it so much. I want to walk over there, pull it from the hook, and crush it under my motorcycle.

“Can I help you with anything else?” I ask politely while surveying the scene in front of me. Several women are now giving each other the evil eye over the record bins as they pretend to shop, all of them with skin-tight dresses and of varying ages.

The girl at the counter gives me a disappointed look. “No, thanks,” she answers and then makes her way down the aisle to the exit.

When the bell rings again, I’m almost afraid to look. To my satisfaction but to the disappointment of my patrons, Angel, my neighbor who owns the thrift store down the block, walks down the aisle, looking at my ‘customers’ with a questioning gaze.

He sidles up to the counter, his belly protruding over the waistband of his pants, and his stubby fingers rubbing his goatee. “You giving away free plastic surgery, Amigo?” Angel whispers, cupping his mouth so no one hears him.

“You wanna restate that question?” I ask him as he looks around again, noticing that none of them are lacking in the plastic surgery department.

“Gucci bags, autographs, salads?” He starts naming off things.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I have my hands full here,” I say, annoyed.

“I can see that,” Angel says, lasciviously.

“Ever since Jack mentioned my store during his radio interview, everyone thinks he shops here.” I roll my eyes in exasperation.

The back buzzer sounds indicating a delivery. “Wait here.” I hold my hand up to Angel and walk down the hall to the back door. There’s a guy waiting with a dolly full of boxes.

“The albums I ordered,” I say more to myself than to the delivery guy who honestly looks like he doesn’t give a s**t.

He drops off the first load, and while he’s grabbing the rest of the boxes, I inspect these.

“What the f**k is this?” I point to the boxes stacked by the back door when he returns with the rest of them. The boxes are smashed and torn in places.

The delivery man looks at me with a blank stare.

“Your order,” he says and looks back down at his tracking device. I can tell he’s itching to leave. His truck idles in the alley, and I can smell the fuel through the propped open door.

I kick at one of the boxes that looks like it has water damage. “Is that piss?”

He shrugs. “I just deliver them.”

He walks out the back door and I hear his truck change gears as he takes off. I kick the back door shut and dial the number to the company I bought them from, and immediately get put on hold. With the phone cradled to my ear, I open one of the boxes to see how bad the damage is.

When I finally get through to someone, they argue with me about the shipment.

“I can’t sell these if they’re damaged,” I argue back.

“I can offer a r****d for the ones that are damaged, but you’ll have to send those back to us,” the woman on the other end says.

“There are a lot of boxes here,” I sigh loudly, not caring if she notices. “This is going to take me forever.” I’m already busy enough, and I don’t need this added onto my plate.

I stomp down the hall to the front of the store. f*****g Daphne had to flake out on me and now I have no help. I get that she was having a hard time after her brother passed, but she barely gave any notice before she moved back to London. We’ve known each other for a long time, back to the band days, and I know how hard she took her brother’s death. I don’t think any of us knew how bad off he was. All of the bad history with Aiden didn’t seem to matter anymore.

I look around and notice all the women are gone - along with Angel. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone as I survey the empty store, but then my eyes land on a note on my counter.

I told the ladies that Jack likes to shop at my thrift store, I hope he doesn’t mind. Anyway, you’re welcome.

I crumple up the note and chuckle to myself.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need to have the damaged albums shipped back and there will be a 5% restocking fee.” The lady on the phone refocuses my attention.

My eyes go wide, and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. “A restocking fee?!” I yell into the phone. “The albums are damaged!” How can they restock damaged albums?

“We’re not liable for any damage. You’ll have to take that up with the delivery service,” she explains.

“Are you f*****g serious right now?” I can’t contain my anger.

“Sir, I’m sorry you are experiencing an issue, but there’s nothing else I can do.” She sounds anything but sorry. In fact, she sounds bored.

“Fine.” If I could slam the phone down I would, but all I can do is hit the end button with force, which doesn’t have the same effect.

“f**k!” I huff, slamming my palm into the wall and instantly regretting it. I hear a small cough and spin around to see big brown eyes staring back at me, and the longest f*****g legs I’ve ever seen.