Every Second

41

New York Thruway

Not long after Dan Fulton had stopped at Weldon’s Gas and Grocery, the little station was overrun.

A big yellow Blue Bird school bus carrying “The Fighting Wildcats,” a New Jersey high school football team, had stopped to refuel, emptying close to forty players and coaching staff into the store.

Boisterous teenage boys formed a long, winding line to the restroom. Given that no girls were present, Roy Weldon, the proprietor, told them to use the women’s room, too, prompting shoving and teasing.

“You have to do it sitting down, DeFoozie!”

“That line’s for wusses and wimps!”

“This line’s for men! Get your candy ass over there, Wilson!”

Roy didn’t mind the chaos because of the business it brought. The players grabbed sodas, chips, snack cakes, candy bars, gum, magazines, juices, milk and cookies. With the gas for the bus, Roy did a couple of hundred dollars’ worth of business in less than half an hour.

But there was a price to pay.

In the calm that followed the departure of the Wildcats, Roy shook open a big orange plastic garbage bag, got his cleaning bucket holding his brushes, cloths and bottle of cleaner, tugged on rubber gloves and waded into the aftermath.

He was a stickler for cleanliness. Ever since his days as a hotel manager in Boston he had a thing about spotless bathrooms. It was a dirty job but Roy insisted his operation be a clean one at all times.

He started with the women’s room, bracing for the worst and was pleasantly surprised.

Some water had been splashed on the mirror over the sink, the trash can overflowed with damp, crumpled napkins. A few sheets of toilet tissue covered the floor in the women’s stall.

Not too bad.

He tidied up, emptied the trash into the plastic bag, opened the window and moved on to the men’s room.

He nearly slipped and fell when he entered.

As he’d expected, the floor was soaked-likely from a water fight. Crumpled napkins were strewn everywhere, torn shards of toilet paper were dissolving on the floor of the stall. Cleaning this mess would take a bit longer. Roy got his mop and broom and set to work establishing order.

He stopped when he saw what else the boys had done.

Fresh, dark graffiti shouted at him from the stall wall next to the urinal. What foul thing was it this time? He drew his face up to the scrawl.

“DAN FULTON GREEN IMPALA HH47H490 CALL POLICE!”

Roy drew back, shaking his head.

Kids.

Still shaking his head, he ran his damp cloth over it. It was just as he thought. They’d used a permanent felt-tip pen.

Roy read it again. He’d have to repaint the wall to cover it up, but he was pretty sure he had some extra paint in the storage room.

He froze when he got to the door.

Wait. Just hold everything for one damned minute.

Something about the message made him turn around once again.

Dan Fulton.

That’s the guy in the news!