My breath curled like fingers from my mouth in the icy air, and I pulled the golf ball from my coat pocket.
I glanced at the sign next to the door, in the bold font typical of such signs.
NO SOLICITING
And in a smaller font below it: “Seriously. Don’t ring the bell. Don’t make it weird.”
I smirked and rapped on the door smartly with the golf ball — a trick I’d been taught to save my knuckles some pain in the cold — before hastily stuffing it back in my pocket. I had to give the homeowner points for a creative sign. But…I also had to make it weird. You didn’t lead the company four months in a row if you weren’t willing to make it weird.
A man came to the door. Regular dude. Looked nice, if nondescript.
“Hey, are you the homeowner here?”
I’d learned to regulate my tone my first week on the job. If I sounded like a salesman, I’d never set a single appointment. The goal was to trick you into thinking I was someone else entirely. A tradesman, perhaps, a low-level worker for the electric company. One who was utterly untrained in dealing with customers. One who had some important business to conduct with you, business that involved the well-being of your home and your ability to keep the lights on, but who was also really bored and just wanted to get the hell out of there. One who would get the hell out of there, if you’d just hurry up and sign his fucking form already.
The man looked at me appraisingly. “Yes, what’s this about?”
“Sorry, sir, I just need to make you aware of a new program through Great Lakes Power, it’s going to be rolling out here in the next couple of weeks, and we’re just informing people so they understand, you know, how it might affect their power bill going forward…”
“I see,” the man said, his face a mask. “Well, I’m so appreciative. I thought you might be a solicitor at first, which would have been a problem, because…” his voice trailed off as he nodded toward the sign. “But, if you’re here from Great Lakes Power, you’d better come in.”
Now, technically, I hadn’t told him that I was from Great Lakes Power. I’d told him the new program was through Great Lakes Power, which was true, because it was the only power company around, so every installation of solar panels would technically go through their grid.
But hey, he was inviting me in. Who was I to argue with that?
I sat on the couch in his living room, and he sat on an armchair across from me.
“So,” he said. “My power bill.”
I cleared my throat. “Right, how much would you say you pay normally?”
“Depends on the month,” he said. “During the summer, it can get pretty high. Maybe $175, on average?”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound neutral and uncaring, even though I was secretly enjoying those little dopamine hits I always got when a customer was this easy. “Well, good news, I guess, this program is actually going to save you money.”
Not would save you money, if you chose to do it. It is going to save you money. Because you are going to do it.
“Oh, what a relief,” the man said with a smile. “Money’s been tight lately. More mouths to feed than usual, you know?”
“I hear that,” I said understandingly, so focused on securing the appointment with our solar panel salesman that I actually didn’t hear it at all.
He nodded politely, still smiling, and said, “Well, thank you very much for the information. When should I expect to see the cost of my bill decrease?”
This was always the tricky part. Trying to gently transition the customer into setting a sales appointment without realizing that they were, in fact, a customer.
“Oh, we could probably get you taken care of in…two months?” I said, trying to make it sound like all the work and cost would be on our end. “Maybe less, honestly. We’ll just need to bring one of our guys by later this week, check your wiring, make sure you qualify, and get you squared away. When’s a good time?”
“Qualify?” the man said. Still smiling. I was starting to dislike that smile. Starting to sense that he might not be as big a rube as he initially seemed.
“Yeah, y-you know,” I stammered, and I wasn’t stammering because I didn’t know how to answer his question. I was stammering because despite the man’s smile, I suddenly looked in his eyes for the first time, and saw that they were so fucking dead that I no longer wanted to be there. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home. I wanted to —
The smiling man interrupted.
“Because often, when people need to know if I qualify for something…they need to know my credit score. And often, someone who needs to know my credit score would be a solicitor. Which, as we’ve already established, you are not.”
My mouth was dry. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mother. I wanted to quit my job and go spend my life building houses for orphans or something. “No, I’m—I’m not trying to sell you anything, sir.”
“Of course not,” he said, his smile growing wider and his eyes somehow deader. “But perhaps you are using a bit of clever wordplay to set an appointment with someone who will?”
“Uh, well, it is a solar-based program, sir—” I choked out.
“Interesting. I wasn’t aware that Great Lakes Power distributed solar panels.”
My mouth moved wordlessly. It was like having a staring contest with a fucking corpse.
“Unless, of course, you’re not from Great Lakes Power at all,” he said, his smile finally disappearing. “Which would mean that you’ve lied to me.”
“W-well, technically, I never told you who I worked f—”
“No, you said the program was through Great Lakes Power, of course…again, very clever wordplay…one might even call it intentionally misleading.”
I stood up. “I should go,” I said.
The man reached into his waistband and pulled out a matte black handgun. A silencer was attached. “You should sit,” he said, the smile returning.
I sat.
“Now, I engaged in a bit of wordplay myself. I wonder if you caught it?”
When it became apparent no response was forthcoming, he continued.
“I recall telling you to come inside if you were from the power company. And, since you are not from the power company, that means you entered my home uninvited. That is against the law. That makes you a criminal. Do you know how I feel about criminals?”
I shook my head wordlessly.
“Actually, I like them,” he said. “You’re like me. You know what you want, and if you can take it, you will, laws be damned. I respect that. So, I’m going to ignore the fact that you’ve pissed all over an expensive couch…and let you live.”
He stood up, still holding the gun.
“I just need one thing from you before you go. Do you see that tray, over there on the table?” He glanced over toward a tray with three bowls on it. They appeared to be filled with some kind of oatmeal.
“Y-yes,” I managed.
“I was just about to bring that down to my guests when you overlooked my NO SOLICITING sign. Would you mind bringing it down to them for me?”
I looked at the gun in his hand and dared not disobey.
Moments later, I was walking through a doorway and down a dark, dingy staircase. The freezing air chilled the damp spot running down the leg of my pants.
When I reached the bottom, I gasped. The tray slid from my hands, oatmeal splattering all across the concrete floor. I was in a small room, and shackled to mattresses on the opposite end were three men, gaunt and skeletal. One of them was missing several fingers. Another, a whole hand. They looked not just hopeless, but as if they’d been hopeless for weeks. The room smelled of shit and fear.
“I’m sorry, boys,” the smiling man said as he followed me into the room. “But it appears our new solar salesman friend has dropped your food. What a shame. I’m sure you were looking forward to your first meal in two days.”
It was all too much. I began to cry.
“Look at him,” the man said to his three prisoners. “He’s robbed you of a meal, and he’s the one crying. The nerve of our salesman friend!”
He was still smiling. His tone was light and joyful. The man gave every indication of enjoying himself tremendously. And yet, I somehow sensed that he was merely pretending.
“One of you ought to teach him a lesson,” he said. “I do love a tale of revenge.”
And with that, the man pulled another gun, this one smaller, from his pocket. He tossed it to the ground, within reach of all three prisoners.
“Aim it at me, and I kill you, of course,” the man said, fingering his own trigger. “But for the man bold enough to kill our salesman friend…I let you go. Immediately.”
The three shackled men looked at the gun, and then at each other, and then at their captor. As if trying to decide if he was serious.
“No…please…”
It took me a moment to recognize the sobbing voice as my own. Finally, one of the three prisoners spoke.
“We refuse,” he croaked. “We won’t.” A single tear rolled down his cheek as he looked hungrily at the gun.
“All of you?” the man asked, surprised. “Such good men you are! Noble! Brave! We’ll see what that gets you.”
His smile erased. And then, he turned to me. He nodded toward the gun on the floor, thinking for a moment.
“How about this,” he said. “You or them.”
I stared at him blankly. “W-what?”
“You or them,” he repeated. “Pick up that gun. Kill them all, and I let you walk free. Kill yourself, and these men of virtue will return to their families with no further harm.”
One of the prisoners sobbed, but now the sound of his misery was infected with longing. The man turned to his prisoner.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” he said. “Our friendly neighborhood solicitor told me what kind of man he was the moment he knocked on my door.”
With that, he smiled at me again, his brow raised, and for the first time, his eyes looked alive.