Cain's Apples Read online

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  The bartender waved at Joe from the other end of the bar and tapped his wristwatch. Joe squinted at the clock over the bar. It was closing time, and Joe had been sitting there since nine.

  Joe fished through his wallet and threw a twenty dollar bill on the bar. He found his way to the door and out into the parking lot, staggering slightly as he walked. The night was cool and clear, and it felt good after the stale air of the bar.

  The plan had come to Joe during his third beer. It was perfect. It would be hard for Karen to run off with Mark Fisher if there were no Mark Fisher. What if he were plucked a little early from the tree of life? Joe smiled at his private joke. It was time to buy some apples.

  It took him two tries, but Joe finally got the car door open. The combination of the booze and his new plan made him feel elated and energized. He eased the car out of the parking lot and set out towards Route 24. After a while, he saw the glow of lights up ahead on the side of the road. He was in luck, Cain's was open.

  Joe parked clumsily and left his lights on. He got out of his car and shuffled over to the stand. The bright lights stung his eyes, and he could hear the ping ping sound of insects bouncing off of the aluminum shades.

  "Cain!" Joe called out over the hum of the generator. "Cain!" He was swaying slightly.

  Cain appeared out of the shadows in the back of the stand. "I'm here mister, no need to shout." His eyes shone green in the reflected light. "What can I do for you?"

  "You know," Joe said with menace. "You know. I want the apples."

  Cain looked at him with a question on his face. "What apples?"

  "Don't play stupid with me," Joe growled and grabbed the old man by the straps of his overalls. "I want some Mark Fishers!"

  Cain looked confused. "Mark Fishers? I don't have any Mark Fishers."

  "The hell you don't," Joe yelled, and pushed the old man hard against the side of the shed. "Listen," Joe said through clenched teeth. "You sold me some apples you called Larry Millers. I ate them, and Larry Miller died." Cain was staring wide-eyed at Joe. "Then I bought some Fred Kimballs. I threw them into traffic, and poof, Fred's pushing up daisies."

  Joe paused to see if his words were having an effect. Cain looked frightened, but he was listening. "And now I've got another problem, and you're going to help me solve it." Joe tightened his hands on the old man's suspenders and slammed him against the wall again. "Now, where are the Mark Fishers?"

  Cain shook his head and was gasping for air. "You don't understand," he said between breaths. "You've got it all wrong."

  "How's that?" Joe asked suspiciously.

  "I said you've got it all wrong." Cain had his wind back by now. "I don't get to choose which apples to sell, I just pick the ones that are ripe. Larry Miller and Fred Kimball were ripe. Their time was up."

  Joe stood there with his mouth open trying to digest what he had just heard. "Let me get this straight," he said, letting go of Cain's suspenders. "You don't choose the apples? Those two died of natural causes?"

  Cain was nodding. "Yep, in their cases anyway. The apples are just our way of timing things. We never sell them before they're ripe."

  Joe stared at the tubs of apples around him. "And all of these are," he swallowed hard, "people?"

  "Oh my, good gracious no," Cain said with a chuckle. "We only get one or two ripe batches a day. The rest of these are for display purposes only." He tilted his head and winked.

  "Well, what are you doing open now if you only get one or two batches a day?" Joe asked with genuine interest.

  "To tell you the truth, I was getting ready to close down when I saw you pull up," Cain answered. "I just sold my last batch to a real nice fellow a couple of minutes before you got here. They were a young variety. Real pretty, fragrant too."

  Joe's vision was blurry and he felt wobbly on his feet. He reached out for the wall to support himself. Cain's voice sounded distant, and it was suddenly very hard to hear above the rattle of the generator.

  "Funny thing about them, though," Cain continued. "Every single one of them was rotten at the core."

  Joe was no longer listening. Cain's blue eyes seemed to glow with their own light and were fixed on the sagging figure in front of him. "We called them Joe Johnsons," Cain said and smiled. Then he and the stand disappeared into the darkness.