Precipitation Likely, Chance of Sun ("The Might and the Will"), a Novella

By Owen Thomas

The weather in Quinn’s life is about to change again; maybe this time he can stay out of prison.

Quinn Merriwether sells camera equipment in a shopping mall photography store. Not a great job, but better than what he could expect after spending eighteen months in The Alley for felony larceny. To be clear, Quinn had not stolen anything but a bottle of bourbon. He had never known about the bag full of cash; no one had. And as for the rest of it – the diamond ring and the gun – that had been Roddy P’s idea of a going-away party; a way to get rid of Quinn and curry favor with King Itch all in one fell swoop.

It might have all turned out differently had the perky meteorologist on the local news known the difference between sun and sleet. But she hadn’t, and everything for Quinn had careened suddenly sideways, dumping him into a prison cell; the same prison his father, Clement, had once patrolled when Quinn was just a kid, back when his mom and sister were still alive. He and Clement had been spared the car accident, but it had changed everything anyway, tilting Quinn’s life like a greased slide stretching from his relatively normal adolescence, through a couple of dead-end jobs and right into an orange jumpsuit.

So. Eighteen months to think about things. Eighteen months of listening to the weather girl, as Quinn has come to think of her, chirping down at him from a television screen bolted to the corner of the prison common area, secretly judging him for trusting her. Eighteen months to hate her for not knowing the difference between sun and sleet.

Funny then, after his release, as Quinn is testing the camera equipment he has been miraculously entrusted to sell, watching the mall shoppers through the lens, when who but the weather girl strolls obliviously into the viewfinder.

She doesn’t sense the change coming. Neither of them does. Weather is like that.

"Precipitation Likely, Chance of Sun (“The Might and the Will”)" is a novella. While it is here available for purchase separately, it is also included in a larger work of short fiction by Owen Thomas entitled "Signs of Passing."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Owen Thomas
• Release date: Oct 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737737636

Book preview

Precipitation Likely, Chance of Sun

(The Might and the Will)

A novella

Owen Thomas

The characters and events portrayed in this novella are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright © 2015, 2022 Owen Thomas

Author Website: http://OwenThomasLiterary.com

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

The novella Precipitation Likely, Chance of Sun (The Might and the Will") is included in the larger work of short fiction Signs of Passing, by Owen Thomas, Copyright 2015, OTF Literary.

ISBN:  978-1-7377376-3-6

OTF Literary, Anchorage, Alaska.

Precipitation Likely, Chance of Sun

(The Might and the Will)

Clement stared down at the pillar of wine. Four cases of pinot noir, one atop the other. He kicked the bottom of the pillar lightly with the toe of his boot. A man in a silver beard and a black baseball cap pushed open the door of the Willing Spirits Emporium with a six-pack in his hand and navigated his way around the pillar out into the mall heading in the general direction of The Book Nook.

Clement nodded congenially as the man passed, pulling one of the wine bottles out of its cardboard sleeve to read the label. The man in the hat nodded back warily, wondering perhaps whether the lanky man in the boots and the long, stoic face was planning to make off with a case of pinot noir once he turned his back. Clement watched him go, waited for him to turn back for a second look, then nodded again.

The man should have been less concerned about the wine and more concerned that Clement Merriwether might reach out and grab him by the wrist and take his six-pack of beer. Not to drink it – Clement had been clean and sober for five years and six months – but, rather, to confiscate it until the man was ready to leave the mall. Technically, alcohol was not permitted in the mall proper, and all patrons of the Willing Spirits Emporium were welcome to enter the store through the mall entrance but were required to take their purchases out through the exterior door that opened out into the mall parking lot. 

Clement had, in fact, thought of advising the man of the rule but had opted to let it go. He did not have the look of trouble and Clement knew trouble when he saw it. Experience had taught him that much. He’d keep an eye out as he walked the beat.

Wayne Kylie, the younger K of K&K Distributors, came back out of the liquor store for another load.

Clem, said Wayne with a slap on the arm. How you been, friend?

Been fine, said Clement.

Looking for some wine? I figured you for a beer man.

"Am a beer man. Was one anyway. You figured right. This good stuff?"

"Sol Ridge? It’s alright, I guess. I can’t much tell one from t’other tell you the truth about it, Clem. It’s gettin’ popular so it must be good stuff to some people."

Good way to lose some of it, said Clem, nodding at the pillar under his arm. Leaving it this way out in the mall.

Shoot, Clem. Not worried about thieves in here. Not your mall. Not with you makin’ the rounds.

Why not take it in through the front entrance? Like you’re supposed to, Clement wanted to add but didn’t because he liked Wayne and Wayne’s father, Joseph Kylie, and because Clement was just kind of like that, not saying everything he could. Leaving one in the chamber.

Aww, said Wayne, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the outside world. Some rascal parked his rig in the loading zone. This was just easier. Say, how’s Quinn? Haven’t seen him much since… well since he got back.

Clement smiled to himself a little deep inside where Wayne couldn’t see. In hoping to change the uncomfortable subject of breaking the mall rules, Wayne had leapt headlong into the equally uncomfortable subject of young Quinn. He should’a taken a second to think that one through, Clement thought to himself but didn’t say.

Oh. ‘Bout as good as can be expected.

Clement could see that Wayne now wanted desperately to change the subject back to the pillar of wine cases he had loaded in through the wrong door, but that he could not so quickly abandon his interest in Quinn’s well-being.

He’s gotta job now. So that’s good, said Clement.

Job huh? That is good. Where’s he workin’?

Clement nodded his head in the same direction as the man in the baseball hat carrying the six-pack had gone, way past The Book Nook.

"Oh, down in F-Block at The Shutter Shack. Sellin’ cameras."

No kiddin? Wayne was bad at concealing his surprise. How’d he get that gig? You pulled some strings, didn’t you Clem?

Nancy Havemeister needed some help. That’s all. You should go see him. No one in there but him most of the time.

I will, Wayne lied. I will. Soon as I get two minutes to rub together. The old man never lets up. But you tell Quinn I said hey. Glad he’s back.

Clement gave the tower of wine another kick and gave Wayne a meaningful, over-the-rim-of-his glasses look – even though he was not wearing glasses – that meant get the alcohol the hell out of the mall. When he saw that Wayne got the message, he waved casually and was off.

Tell Joe I said h’lo, he said.

He walked over to The Book Nook and stuck his head in looking for the man in the baseball hat. He was chatting up Calista May, who was behind the counter laughing in that way of hers, kind of a snorting sound from behind her hand that she used to keep people from seeing her teeth, which were probably worth hiding. The six-pack was on the counter.

No alcohol in the mall, son, said Clement.

The man broke off from Calista and looked over at the door towards Clement.

Huh? he said. They’re not even open.

No alcohol in the mall.

"I purchased them in the mall. Who are you, anyway?"

Mall security. Not gonna tell you a third time. Glad you’re feelin’ better Calista.

Clement moved on.

He called it walking the beat, and it was what he liked most about the job. His office, the mall security center, was a tenebrous cave that glowed a sickly glaucous green from the three video surveillance monitors that jutted out from the wall above his desk. If ever he wanted to, Clement could sit in his chair and cover every square inch of the premises, as well as the east and south parking lots and the back loading bays. Every place but the restrooms and the interiors of each store, although most of the common area cameras had the capacity to capture and magnify most of the retail spaces.

But sitting in a squeaky chair in a dark, stale, windowless room looking at a tv screen was not Clement’s idea of a good life. He liked to walk. He liked to see people and talk to them. He liked looking people in the eyes, which was the only way to tell what they’re up to. Windows to the soul and all of that. And if security was the goal, well then there was nothing better than walking the beat. And Clement Merriwether was no stranger to walking the beat. Inside or outside. Not just seeing, but being seen.

Of course, if he were really serious about being seen as a way to deter mischief, then he would have worn his uniform. Without the uniform – unless you worked at the mall and knew who he was – then Clement may just as well have been another anonymous shopper, just another tag-along husband pretending to look at things in the windows but actually looking at the women half his age while the wife was busy maxing out the credit card in the Cozy Kitchen or the Yarn Barn.

No question: the uniform would have made the real difference. It was a starchy, blue and black get-up that Clement hated and had only ever worn three or four times in the eleven years