Bad Apple by Anthony Bruno

Randy?”
    â€œOh, I done quite a few, Bells. One of the guys calls in sick, I fill in. Oh, yeah. I do.”
    â€œHow many mufflers, Randy?” Bells kept staring at him.
    Slipowitz couldn’t look at him. “Gee, Bells, offhand? I dunno. If you want a number, I’d have to look it up.”
    â€œAh-huh.”
    Tozzi didn’t like the way this was going. He didn’t know what the story was with Slipowitz, but it seemed like Bells was here to collect on a late payment. Stanley was standing between Slipowitz and the door, his big head tilted back on a bull neck, eyes half-closed with attitude.
    The lazy little tabby was nearly comatose, laid out across Bells’s forearm like a fur pelt. Bells walked it like he was walking a baby, jiggling it, stroking its chin, cooing to it. As he walked around in circles, he found his way under the Celica up on the lift. He stopped and stared up at the underside of the car as if he were gazing up at the stars.
    â€œRandy,” he said, “lemme tell you something you should know. A team is only as good as its coach. An army is only as good as its general. And a business is the same thing. It’s only as good as its boss.”
    â€œI agree with you, Bells.”
    Bells looked over his shoulder at Freshy and Tozzi and raised his eyebrows. “Listen to this, you two. This applies to you guys, too.” He went back to gazing up at the rusty underside of the car. “Now you said you agreed with me, right, Randy?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œThen I guess you don’t practice what you preach.”
    â€œWha-wha-whatta’ya mean, Bells?” Slipowitz had an unlit cigarette wedged between his lips.
    â€œWhat I mean is, we both know that you don’t pay a whole lot of hands-on attention to this place, Randy, and I consider that a breach of contract.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about, Bells. I been paying you on time. I haven’t made you wait once.”
    â€œThat’s not the point, Randy. The point is, you have other things on your mind that interfere with your muffler business here. Things like playing the ponies and picking up strays, like little Pancho Villa here, and worrying about all the mangy mutts and cats you got living at your house.”
    â€œYou don’t understand, Bells—”
    Bells shook his head, and Slipowitz shut right up. “No, you don’t understand, Randy. When I lent you the money you needed to buy the franchise, I became like your partner in this place. If this place goes under, I’m affected, too, right? So that’s why I’m here, to give you a little business advice before it’s too late. Sort of like as an extra service that I offer. You know what I mean?”
    â€œYeah. I guess. I dunno.”
    Bells looked over his shoulder and stared at Tozzi.
    Tozzi stared back but didn’t say a thing. This was all for his benefit, his and Freshy’s. Bells wanted them to see what it was like doing business with him.
    Bells stepped out from under the car, still stroking the lethargic cat. He looked down and found the metal lever on the floor that controlled the lift. With his toe, he flipped the lever out of the lock position and activated the release. The car started todescend, a slow loud hiss emanating from the greasy metal column that held the car up.
    Tozzi’s gut clenched. He watched Slipowitz, who was shaking like a chihuahua.
    â€œYou see, Randy, it’s like this.” Bells hunkered down next to one of the depressions in the floor where the car’s back wheels would settle. “I could yell and scream and make all kinds of threats against you and your family and all your pets, but that’s not me. I’m not like that. I’d rather help you out now, before you have a problem. ’Cause no one likes problems. Right, Mikey?”
    â€œSure. Right.”
    â€œWhat’sa matter, Mikey? You look