“So,” Tim said with venom, “seems our register has a hole in it.”
“How so?” Dan replied.
“Oh, don’t give me that. Admit it: you’ve been stealing from the business!”
“I would never do such a thing and you know it!”
“Do I? Do I really?”
“Yes, yes you do!”
“Oh you are good. You’re so very good.”
“Good at what? I don’t understand!”
“You haven’t even flinched, haven’t broken character for a second.”
“This isn’t a character, I’m telling the truth.”
“A likely story.”
“A true story!”
“We’ll see what the police have to say about that…”
Tim reaches for the telephone.
Dan reaches for Tim’s hand. Forces the receiver down.
They stare at each other.
“I want out,” Dan says, finally.
“Out of what?”
“This business. This relationship. This town. Its driving me insane!”
“But I was brought up here…”
“Yes, and you’ll live here and die here and spend all your time with that filth on the computer till you die here and you’re buried with your bitch mother on the hill, I know!”
“Don’t deny it. I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it all: the DVDs, the websites, the magazines. Hell, don’t you think for a minute I don’t know where all those Crate & Barrel catalogues disappear to…”
“But nothing. You haven’t looked at me in weeks, barely touched me in months. You just stand here and drown these townies with soft serve cones and you make me sick.”
“Then leave, goddamit, just go!”
And then, silence,
Save for their pounding hearts and the whir of the freezers.