On the Line:
“Deckard is the boss man’s name. You’re the new blood, so just make sure you got your head down if you see him. He’s the guy with the King of Diamonds on his lanyard. He thinks everyone ought to know him already, so he thinks it’s funny to wear it. He’s the boss man, though, so he’s prob’ly right. Everyone ought to know Kevin Deckard. Listen, just don’t take your hands off the packing slips, even to wave at him, if you see him. He don’t like being looked at. Don’t take it from me, though.”
“That’s Deckard outside the break room. Looks like a nice guy, always laughing. Easy to laugh when you make what that fella makes for just walking around giving folks like us a hard time. He has an office uptown, but he’s always down here, talking it up with the managers. They hate his ass, too. Some time you’ll hear them at their cubicles in the middle of the production floor out there. They’ll be chuckling and doing impressions of Deckard. Lucky he ain’t come by and seen them. Don’t take it from me, though.”
On the Line:
“He’s got a line, you’ll hear him say it a lot. He says anyone who says you can’t take it with you just ain’t willing to dig a bigger hole. You believe that? When that man dies, he’s going to be surrounded by all the gold he can get his hands on. Ain’t no way to live. Don’t take it from me, though.”
At the Lockers:
“Some time I imagine Deckard when he goes home. Sitting there with his family. Knock-out wife. She came in once, fine as hell, boy, I tell you. He got two kids, too. Six and four. Little girls just as cute as daisies. I don’t envy them, growing up calling a man like that their daddy. But, I imagine him in that spotless house, like a museum or hospital or something. Goes home, eats his wife’s dinner. Sends them girls to bed. Goes upstairs and pounds the bejesus outta that wife, I tell you, boy, you know it.
I love my wife, but she ain’t as much to look at. Don’t take it from me, though.”
In the Alley:
Deckard lay on the concrete. His wallet lay unfolded on his chest, rifled, and his arm spreads over a pile of distended garbage bags, which he had apparently clung to during the assault.
The greasy run-off from the garbage trickles nervously into the street, flowing into a puddle of rain water and motor oil. It shines under the streetlight, driving a rainbow into Deckard’s endless eyes like a steak knife.