Denis cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
While Billy dried his hands, Denis worked the soap between his fingers and lathered and rubbed with the violence of a surgeon.
After, Billy thrust his damp hand at Denis. “Sorry about your dad.” The men shook hard. Billy again wished there were other, better things to say to people in mourning. He exhaled, grasping at some new language for grief. “Tell me about him?”
Denis looked taken aback. Then he sad-smiled. “He was a Dublin man, a welder. Made gates, mostly. He had his moods, but he was kind and funny, too, and really smart. The true gold, though, was in his hands. He could make anything. I often think of how he made a living from soldering things together, only to fall apart himself.” He recovered and brightened. “This one time, I’ll never forget…”
Billy listened.
*
Almost three o’clock, and Billy’s meeting with Tony loomed. Just as Billy thought he couldn’t stand to wait another minute, Bald Art appeared. “Big Billy, how’s it going?”
“It’s going.” Billy kept his eyes trained on the conveyor belt and its parade of toys. He didn’t need small talk right now. He needed to focus on his big speech.
Bald Art watched Billy work for a few moments. “I see you’re hard at it, so I’ll get right to it. I need to ask you about the missing seconds?”
Billy felt himself pale. All last week, he’d saved every damaged doll and soldier, bringing them home and hiding them in his toolbox in the garage.
“Why don’t you turn off the machine, Billy?” Bald Art sounded like one of those TV hostage negotiators. When Billy ignored him, Bald Art reached out and knocked off the power himself.
“What are you at?” Billy said, annoyed.
Bald Art leaned over the conveyor belt, trying to get a good look at the empty seconds bin. Billy got an up-close view of Art’s shaved head and its stud of black hair follicles. “There were no seconds for the entire week you were here, and then you went out sick yesterday and the seconds returned. Now you’re back, and again there’s none?”
Billy shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“What?” Bald Art asked, baffled.
“Does it matter where they go, as long as they don’t go to packaging?”
“Well, of course it matters.”
Why? Billy wanted to roar. And why was Bald Art going on about the seconds anyway? Didn’t he know Michael was gone? Did he really think Billy gave a crap about anything after that, least of all the protocol for the correct disposal of the seconds? The seconds didn’t matter, at least not to anyone except Billy now.
“Everything has to be accounted for,” Bald Art said. “That’s the issue, and right now everything can’t be accounted for, can it?”
As hard as Billy tried to stop them, tears stung the back of his eyes. “No, everything can’t be accounted for.”
Bald Art’s round cheeks reddened and he turned flustered. “Well, now, that’s all right. We just need to agree you’re going to go back to how we’ve always done things. Right?” he finished, almost cheerful.
“Right. Absolutely.” Billy just wanted this over with.
“Good. No sense in doing things different, is there? Not when the system works so well.”
Billy smiled wryly. “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve become a bit of a fan of doing things differently.”
Bald Art’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure I follow—”
“Don’t worry about it. Now go on. I’ve heard you loud and clear.”
“All right, then.” Bald Art moved off, but right before he disappeared around the corner, he glanced back. He looked worried, as if afraid Big Billy might have lost more than his seventeen-year-old son.
*
Billy arrived at Lucy’s desk, sweating and breathless. Lucy looked out over her thick glasses. “Did you take the stairs?” The silver neck chain drooping from her glasses shook as she spoke. “The stairs?” she repeated. He nodded, lying. She smiled. “Good man, keep it up.” She suggested he drink green tea, too, great for the metabolism and full of antioxidants. He wasn’t sure if she’d heard about his sponsored diet, or if she was just giving him unsolicited weight-loss tips, as so many others were prone to do. Either way, he couldn’t listen straight.
“If I can do anything for you or your family, Billy, please say the word.”
He nodded, his lips pressed together. She punched buttons on her desk console. “Billy’s here.”
“Send him right in.” The crackle of Tony’s voice sent a shiver through Billy. Lucy rolled her wrist and nodded encouragingly, ushering him forward. His hand dropped to his trousers pocket, feeling for the soldier. He pushed himself into Tony’s office.