Tevun-Krus #32 - AtomPunk

The Salesman - A Short Story by @krazydiamond

The Salesman

by Krazydiamond

There was nothing between the smooth lines of chrome housing units but dust and prairie grass. Spiff should know as he'd driven through most of the great state of Kansas in his beat up rig, a once sweet little t-bird. He'd upgraded and retrofitted the engine himself, disposing the gas guzzling tank for a smooth running fusion device. That did not stop his car from choking and sputtering on the mass amounts of dust particulates kicked up with every passing breeze but it carried on, as did he.

The car rattled to a stop at the entrance to a U shaped bend, a line of shiny metal units only slightly nipped by the never ending dust. No kids outside, a given if there was sunshine, dust or not, but this was a good news. His potential clientele had to be of a certain age. Spiff nabbed his sample case off the back seat and struggled to peel himself out of the vehicle. The outer plastique of his jump suit was thoroughly rumpled from the long drive and no amount of smoothing by his hands could fix it. Grumbling, he snatched the static wand from the glove box. It hummed to life, a short sparking rod he slowly passed over his suit that zapped the wrinkles out. Satisfied he was presentable, he turned it off and tossed the wand in the passenger seat. Spiff didn't bother to lock up. Nobody wanted a beat up old thing, upgraded or not, the future was about the shiny and new.

Which was why his product sold so well to the right customer.

Spiff checked his grin in the side mirror. "Ready to knock em dead."

The first module was a dud. In the worse sense. Spiff rapped his knuckles on the front panel, fidgeting from foot to foot, the heavy case knocking against his thigh. He wondered if no one was home when a short eye level panel slid open. Spiff found a ray gun jammed up his left nostril. A pair of blood shot eyes peered at him through the slat, nearly engulfed by a wild bushy set of white eyebrows.

"No soliciting," snarled the occupant.

Undeterred he lifted his sample case in the air. "Good morning, sir, can I interest you in sampling Dr. Moxley's Anti-Aging Cream ™?"

The rounded nub of the ray gun nudged further into his nostril. "Ow," he said.

"Are you daft, boy?" The occupant grumbled.

Boy? Spiff barely managed to keep a straight face. The only sort to call him 'boy' were just the clients he was looking for. "Possibly. I could help but notice the size of your thumb joints sir. Dr. Moxley's Anti-Aging Cream ™ also helps with that pesky joint pain with its secret patented formula."

The hands in question, swollen joints and all, tightened on the grip of the raygun as Spiff spoke. "I said no solic-"

"We guarantee miraculous results or your money back." Spiff carried on, ending with a wide grin that displayed all his carefully polished white teeth.

"It's like you want me to disintegrate your nose," the old fellow muttered.

"I could leave my card and an informational data chip with you," said Spiff.

"Will that get rid of you?"

His grin didn't waver. "It would."

The raygun finally dislodged from his nostril as the old man sighed. "Shove it through the slat."

Spiff kept his grin firmly in place as he slid a small square of plastic through the slat. It slammed shut, nearly catching his fingers. He waited until he was several steps away from the house before he muttered "Wretched old coot."

The next four houses were also a bust but at least he didn't find any weaponry shoved in his face. The last one at least took his informational chip but so far not so much as a nibble. He eyed the next house, his mouth pursing at the arrangement of neon pink flamingos sprinkled between cheery little gnomes...in banana hammocks. They were all arranged around a fountain pool, merrily mocking the rest of the dusty neighborhood. It was the only house on the block with a green lawn.