The S.P.E.

Chapter 3

Mr. Fischoeder wanted to retire. He was already about a hundred and forty-five years old, so it was no real surprise. The surprise was how he started to go about it. He hired a young "go-getter" home for the summer from college- Logan Barry Bush. And Logan, Mr. Fix-it, encouraged Mr. Fischoeder to sell off some assets so he can really enjoy retirement in style. He started by selling the baseball team- the WonderWharf WonderDogs. He sold them to Felix, who figured out that investing his money was better than using it to have money fights and was back in the black.

The next thing to go up for sale was the yacht club. Apparently, Mr. Fischoeder had sank all his boats (there were several) so going to the club was just too depressing for him. Some club member bought it, strengthened the membership requirements, and now only about 40 people in the area could get in. Jimmy Pesto was not one of them; my father thought that was a hilarious karmic conclusion. It's not like we would have been eligible even if we won the lottery, so I didn't pay much attention at the time. But the next thing he sold signaled the end of my childhood.

He started selling off his individual land holdings, like tenements and business fronts.

~

First Jimmy Pesto bought his building. Then the old couple, Edith and Harold, who were somehow still alive, bought theirs. The stationary store, the fancy grocer, Fig Jam, the locksmith, the liquor store, Sal's sex shop... one by one they bought their buildings. Even Reggie bought the store his deli was in. Even Mort! They were all able to buy their stores. Then one day as we were restocking the restaurant after it the remodel was finally done, Mr. Fischoeder sent in his goon.

I was sitting in a booth, wiping down the menus, filling the salt and pepper shakers, marrying ketchups, basically just doing the regular side-work that was always my job to do, when the bell on the door jingled. A tall young man in nice slacks and a button down walked in. It took me a moment to recognize my old enemy in this young adult man. His hair was combed, and he had facial hair- just two- or three-day scruff- but it made a real difference.

"Well look what the stupid cat dragged in. I knew I hated cats for a reason," I said as I met his eyes. They were green, I noticed for the first time. His smile was one-sided, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I don't recall ever hearing 'Thank you for saving my life, Logan. You're truly a superhero to me.'" His smirk broadened into a true smile as he posed like Superman.

"I figured after my parents wrote you that recommendation letter, your ego

couldn't take any more stroking. You wouldn't fit into any of your hats. That would have been a real tragedy," I snapped. His smile went from posed to real.

"Oh, you read that? Yeah, Bob and Linda really love me now. That letter got me accepted to five different colleges. It also really helped with the la-dies." He strung out the word like he thought he was a player or something. I noticed my stomach did a small flip-flop. I really hated the thought of Logan scoring with girls because he saved me. It felt... wrong somehow. I shoved the feeling down and stomped on it with vigor before my face could do so much as flinch, though.

"Don't be gross Logan. Why are you here? What do you want? Nothing is on fire now. No chance of being a hero today." I went back to measuring out pepper into the shaker in my hand.

"Au contraire, mon frère," he quipped. "I am here to offer your family a great chance to get out of the shadow of a landlord and be independent. I'm here to offer you to buy out your lease." He went from being annoying to being smug and annoying.

"That's YOU? You're the one who convinced Fischoeder to sell off his buildings?" My body went as cold as my voice. I dropped the pepper and the shaker on the table. Small glass shakers went rolling all over the table, sprinkling spice everywhere. Some even fell to the floor and broke. I slammed my hands on the table as I stood up. I walked slowly towards Logan, my full five feet staring up into face. He started to lose the shit-eating, self-satisfied grin and realized I was angry.