Jesh, you Motherfucker

“They’re watching us.” My coworker, Jesh, says to me as he mops the market floor. A floor so stained and beaten no amount of bleach could whiten. “They’re going to kill us.”

“What?” I say dismissively as I count the cash in the register drawer to make sure it’s square before closing.  I don’t know Jeshwanth or Jesh that well. He’s a thin Indian man in his early twenties who just started working at the market a week ago. This is our third shift together.

Only eight minutes till we close at 11 PM. Only eight minutes before I lock the front door and go home.

“They’re outside right now.” Jesh states with more severity, “They’re waiting for us to walk out. They’re going to kill us, Stephen.”

I lose count of the stack of fives I’m holding and look at Jesh, “Who?”

Jesh nervously says, “The mob. They’ve been following me.”

“The mob?” I respond incredulously, “We’re in Monterey.”

“The Sicilians, Stephen. They run this town.”

Monterey, indeed, was historically owned by the Sicilian mafia. It was once a small Chinese fishing town, but the Sicilians moved in and burned down their homes and businesses. There’s still a large Italian population here.

“Oh, yea?” I sneer, “What do they want from you?”

 “I used to buy and sell drugs from them for the last few years.”

“What!? Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Stephen, yes! One of their guys got arrested last week and I have information that could put him in prison for a long time. They want to kill me and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Dude, shut up.”

Jesh spoke faster, “I’m serious. They’re outside. They’re going to kill me and you because they think I told you something.”

“Told me what? I have nothing to do with this?”

“You think they care? You’re just another body for them to dispose of.”

I stuff the stack of fives back into the drawer, open the rickety front door and walk outside. It’s dark. The market lays in a sleepy part of Old Monterey with poor lighting that makes the surroundings look fuzzy. The parking lot is completely empty. I adjust the patio chairs patrons sit on while they sip their morning coffee. We make damn good coffee. I look around again and walk inside.

“Jesh, there’s nobody outside.”

He lowers the sound of his voice, stares me in the eyes, and says, “They’re hiding. They’re waiting for us to close first. They know we have surveillance cameras inside.”

“How do you even know that!? Why tonight!? Why haven’t they killed you already? This is stupid, Jesh!”

“They’ve been following me all morning--- Before I came to work today. I saw them earlier in the parking lot, but there were too many people around for them to do anything, so they drove off.”

I stare at Jesh trying to weigh how full-of-shit I think he is. He’s always been a weird guy, but he’s saying everything with such conviction. He genuinely looks worried and I knew he used to be into drugs. He told me he smoked meth the first day I met him while we stocked lettuce which I found odd. I always thought it common courtesy to wait till the second or third time you meet someone before discussing drug use.

I learned Jesh was a homosexual on our second shift when he confided that he was a former prostitute. I was cleaning the deli slicer when he abruptly said, “You know what’s a sweet gig? The fancy hotel downtown. I used to work there. I made a ton of money.” Knowing how little our job paid, I pieced two-and-two together and assumed he was fired.

“Yea, I used to wait tables at the bar there. When I’d bring someone their check, I’d look at them and ask, “Is there anything else you might need?” You could usually tell who did. Lots of lonely businessmen---most who had a room upstairs, I could easily slip away once my shift was over.”

I said nothing. I was fascinated by how much he told me with zero solicitation. Not even an affirmative nod from me. Why was he telling me this? Was he making a recommendation? Oh hey, Stephen you should go be a gay prostitute, great money. “Anyway,” he continued, “My boss saw me coming down the main elevator four hours after I was supposed to be off. He fired me immediately.” But you get the point, drugs, prostitution; Jesh was a weird guy and into some shit that could get him into trouble.

I stare back at him, “Please don’t fuck around right now. Are you serious?”

Tears well up in his eyes, “Stephen, yes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I put you in danger.”

“Jesh, if you are being serious, I need you to call the police right now.”

“I can’t do that. I’ll just get arrested and killed by one of their guys on the inside.” Jesh continues mopping the ancient floor and disappears down an aisle.

I look at the clock: Three minutes till closing. Fuck it, I think, I’m closing early.

I walk towards the light switch for the glowing “OPEN” sign hanging out front and turn it off, then to the rickety front door and pull my ring of keys out. All of a sudden, a shiny, black SUV speeds into the market parking lot.  It pulls in fast and brakes hard in the parking space directly in front of me. A tall man with slick-back hair jumps out wearing a black suit and tie. He forces the door open and briskly walks past me without any acknowledgment or greeting. Unaware, Jesh mops in the back.

What the fuck!? I mouth to myself as the suited man disappears into the store. Jesh was serious? I step outside and hide behind a tall bush. I peer helplessly through the large front windows. Holy fuck! He’s going to kill Jesh! I hold my position and I see the suited man emerge from the beverage aisle and stop at the register.  He’s holding a gallon jug of lemonade.

WHO. 

THE. 

FUCK. 

Buys a gallon of lemonade at 11 pm? I continue to wait behind the tall bush. He’s trying to lure me in so there aren’t any witnesses. He just grabbed a random object off the shelves. Jesh can check him out. If he’s still alive.

I nervously wait, but Jesh doesn’t return. The suited man also waits with perfect posture and a concrete face. Where the fuck is Jesh!? Finally, I give in. I leave my position behind the tall bush and walk inside towards the register.

“Hi.” I fumble, not looking the man in the eyes.

“Hi.” He responds coldly.

I ring up the gallon of lemonade and the suited man pays. He grabs it and hurriedly jogs out of the store. His black SUV speeds away down the dimly lit street.

Euphoria pours over my body. I’m alive. I run to the entrance and lock the front door.

“Jesh!” I shout.

“What!?” He shouts back as he finishes mopping.

“Was that one of the mobsters!? Was he a hitman!?”

Jesh’s tears have passed, and he oddly seems confused, “Hitman? What? I don’t know. How would I know that?”

I quickly count and log the remaining cash in the register and run upstairs to lock it in the safe. I’ve always felt proud of this small task and take it seriously. Tommy doesn’t let the other employees handle the money. It’s not that high an honor though, Tommy can’t pay his employees what the major supermarkets pay so he gets the bottom of the applicant pool--- nearly every employee I worked with had some sort of criminal record.

I set the alarm system and we leave out the back which leads to a small dark alley where our cars are parked. I nervously look over my shoulders and say to Jesh, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yea, see ya.”  He mumbles.

I drive home wondering what the hell just happened. I can’t make any sense of it: Jesh was terrified. Who was that guy in the suit? A gallon of lemonade?

 I pull up to my house unsure if I was followed. Fuck, now they know where I live! Jesh, you motherfucker! I talk myself down, You’re fine, Stephen. Everything’s ok.  Again, I look over my shoulders, hurry inside and triple check I locked all the doors before going to bed.

I wake up just after 3 AM to the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I grab the phone, let my eyes adjust to the bright screen, and see a message from Jesh, “Stephen, If I don’t see you tomorrow. If something happens to me. Know that it wasn’t an accident. I have all the info on my computer. If I die, take the files and bring them to the Monterey Herold.”

Jesus-fucking-Christ. I don’t respond. I put the phone back on the nightstand. Then, it vibrates again. Another message from Jesh, “Stephen, let yourself go. Drop your guard. I just want you to hold me. We should be together. Don’t you want to be happy?”

I stare at my phone more confused than that time in college I took an entire eighth of mushrooms.

The next morning, I woke up, threw some clothes on, and drove to the market for my shift at 11 AM. Jesh opened with Tommy a few hours earlier, so he’ll already be there. How the fuck am I supposed to work with this guy all day?

I park and see Tommy sitting alone at the patio sipping coffee.

“Hey, Tommy.”

We bump fists. “What’s up, Stephen?”

I walk inside to get my apron. The store is empty as always. No clue how this place keeps the lights on, but I digress. I make a cup of coffee, walk outside and sit next to Tommy.

“Hey, uh. Where’s Jesh!?” I ask.

Tommy laughs. “He’s gone.”

“What!?” My jaw drops, “Gone!?”

“Yea, he’s gone. I fired his crazy ass this morning.”

“You saw him?”

Frustrated, Tommy says, “Yea, I saw him. He told me the mob was after him. Said he had a file that he had to give to you on a flash drive. He was hysterical. Crying like a baby. I gave him his last paycheck and told him to get the fuck out of my store.”

“Holy shit, Tommy.---”

“---No shit, about a half-hour later his dad comes to the store to talk. I tell him all about what Jesh just said to me: The mob, the secret files, and shit. Jesh’s pops, just stares at me all sadly. He said, ‘The mob is always after Jesh, the FBI too.’”

“What the fuck…” I mutter.

“Problem is none of it is real. He tells me Jesh suffers from paranoid schizophrenia. Said he creates these crazy stories about how he’s always being followed. He apologized for his kid and left. You literally just missed him.”

Relieved, I tell Tommy the story from the night before and he loses himself in laughter, “HAHAHAHA. You hid in the bushes like a bitch, thinking Jesh was going to get murdered!? HAHAHAHA!”

“Tommy, come on. I’m not dying because of some fucking junkie! What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t fucking know. But that’s some cowardly shit, Stephen.”

“Tommy, he woke me up last night around three texting me about some files about mobsters that I need to give to the newspaper. Oh, and then he told me he wanted to hold me and that we should be together.” I show Tommy the romantic text messages from Jesh.

Tommy let out a guttural laugh so deep I did not recognize it as human, but more porpoise in nature. We laughed and sipped our coffee for the remainder of the morning.

Jesh got me. He hooked me with his delusions and despite some protest, he had me thinking I was going to get murdered when I was in zero danger. Although I’ve only met one guy like Jesh in my life, I wonder how other people’s (and my own) fabrications and projections affect our daily lives. How we can force our reality onto others and ensnare them in our insecurities and concoctions. Despite the unnecessary stress, I laugh about hiding in bushes and fearing for my life but feel bad for Jesh. What a horrible, cursed life he must live.

Oh yea, and that guy in the black suit and tie? I guess, he just wanted some fucking lemonade.