COUNT

There are four different liquor stores on Grand Avenue between 69th Street and Queens Blvd. Each one carries Old Dog bourbon for about the same price. About once a week Dante becomes a customer to one of these establishments on his way home from work. Which one he chooses is dependent on parking availability. The first one with an easy spot to pull into is the winner. If there are no spots near the first three, the final option, Lady Bea Liquors is located in front of the Q58 bus stop so although risking a summons, there will be a spot. The day Dante engages in this weekly act of consumerism is determined simply by his supply. When the bottle is finished, he buys another. Sometimes it is five days, sometimes seven and on particularly stressful or celebratory weeks it may be three.

The gray room had no windows. It had no door. It had a table, one chair, and one slightly bewildered, bleary-eyed man sitting on said chair. On the table sat a little black book and a large black leather case. Dante had almost no recollection of how he got here. Almost, because like the fleeting moments of newly regained consciousness after a vivid dream, there was something just out of reach in his mind. Some tangible fact of existence that was like a star in the sky you can only see when you're not looking directly at it.

Tonight's winner was Virgil's. The second option for wine and spirits on his route. About a half-block away, Dante spied a woman getting into a white Jeep parked in front of Inferno, the tattoo parlor next door to Virgil's. And so with clockwork precision Dante pulled in harmoniously as the Jeep pulled out.

He opened the book. For the first time? The hundredth? He couldn't be sure. Written in beautiful cursive on the first page of clean white paper was the single word, "Count".

Entering Virgil's was a cheerful event. Every time the door opened a chime played the first few bars of "Happy Days are Here Again!" presumably to let Virgil know someone was entering, even though Virgil was always at the counter. But not tonight. Virgil was on the ground. Was that blood? Just then the universe exploded. A sound like all the sounds that ever existed combined into one, a light so bright it burned the back of his brain. Then nothing.

He opened the case...again? He began to count the money. On some level, he knew when he was done counting it would be $20,000. Or was it? He needed to count. 20, 40, 60, 80..........

There was a bottle on the counter...Old Dog bourbon, with the familiar St. Bernard on the label. Just what the doctor ordered! He thought with a smile. On the floor next to his feet was a large black leather case. "Virgil?" He called out. "Hello?" There was no one inside. Putting the case on the counter, flipping open the lid, he peered inside. Cash. Stacks and stacks of cash. Pulling out stacks and doing some quick mental math he whispered barely audibly, "There's gotta be 20 grand here!" Taking another look around he grabbed the case, the bottle and reached for the door. One last look back and then he opened the door. But as he stepped out of Virgil's he didn't step out onto Grand Avenue. He was in a gray room with no windows and no door. There was a table with one chair. On the table was a little black book and a large black leather case...