Crosswords
George slid into the booth at Der Wafflehouse and tried to look at anything but the little brown journal in front of Rube. She had given it a long enough glance to know that there were definitely more than five yellow post-its poking out innocently from under the cover. It seemed that everyone else at the table had the same sense of dread she had, and everyone was studiously ignoring the same thing. Daisy was perusing the obits, Roxie kept clicking the safety on her gun on and off, and Mason was paying a strange amount of attention to his fingernails. George flagged down Kiffany for some coffee, and turned her attention to Rube, who was filling in the crossword from Daisy's newspaper.
"Okay, Rube," George propped her head in her hands. Daisy gave her a "shut up if you know what's good for you" glare over the paper, but she ignored it. "Hit me with your best shot."
"Ten letter Elvis Hotel." Rube counted out the spaces with the tip of his pencil, then looked expectantly at his assembled crew.
"Heartbreak," Roxie muttered, pulling out the stock and slamming it back in. Rube nodded and penciled in the answer.
"Isn't it weird how little things can affect colors?" Mason stared at his fingernails. "I mean, I have one cigarette, and they're yellow again. Isn't that fascinating?"
"Don't be an idiot, Mason," Daisy commanded in a bored voice. George sighed. Telling Mason not to be an idiot was useless, like telling Rube not to be so mysterious, or banana bonanzas to not be delicious. The post-it notes were beginning to taunt her.
"C'mon, Rube. I have to get to work."
"Seven letter word for a sad state of affairs," Rube deflected.
"Georgia's love life," Mason supplied, snorting to himself.
"Too many letters." Rube didn't look up. George rolled her eyes at Mason.
"Bite me, Mason," she deadpanned.
"Not enough letters." Rube sighed and folded the newspaper in half.
"Just give us the freaking post-its, Rube." Roxie slammed the stock back again with a menacing click. "It's too early to deal with this shit."
"Impatience, impatience," Rube clucked, but he put the newspaper to the side of the table and opened the notebook. George counted at least twelve post-its before Rube began to distribute them. "We've all got busy days ahead of us. One for you," he plunked a note in front of Roxie. "One for you," and a post-it appeared in front of Daisy, who put aside her own newspaper. "One for you," and George collected her note. "And one for you, and don't fuck up this time." Mason picked up his note and grimaced at it.
"Awfully early in the morning, this one," he muttered, but pocketed it anyways.
"What about the rest?" Daisy pointed to the other post-its. Rube patted the page.
"Ah, this is for a special time we're all going to experience together."
"A group reap?" George sighed and put her head on the table. "I didn't think we did those."
"We do now, pumpkin," Rube responded, slowly distributing the post-its. Three landed in front of Roxie, and another two in front of each of the other reapers. "Family reunion. Dangerous times."
"Hang on." Mason held out his original post-it. "This one doesn't make sense. Third and fourth story of the Jenstone building?"
"Elevator." Roxie shoved her post-its in her pocket and pulled out her wallet.
"I love elevators," Daisy piped up. "I once did Douglas Fairbanks in an elevator. You know," she confided. "When they used to be classy. All plush and mirrors."
"Going down, anyone?" Mason quipped. Nobody laughed. George stared at her post-it. M. Poliski, EDT: 2:15 p.m. Corner of North High and 12th Street. She'd have to leave early from work again. She'd need a good excuse again. With a groan, she folded the note in half, scooped up the other two notes, and stood up.
"We're meeting back here before the reunion," Rube instructed. "Get here an hour early so we have plenty of time in case of screw-ups." He glanced at Mason who was suddenly very interested in his post-its. "Get out there and reap."
"Right, Rube." George groaned and turned away, only to think of something mid-turn. She looked back at Rube. "And the answer is 'tragedy'." She was halfway to the door by the time Kiffany returned with her morning coffee.