Redtooth

Redtooth

  By Brian Rathbone

  Copyright 2010 Brian Rathbone

  https://brianrathbone.com

  Published by White Wolf Press, LLC

  Duct tape.

  With delicate precision, Bob applied just enough pressure to the scalpel to carve out a narrow silver strip. Wearing a headband with a magnifying glass on one side and a light on the other, he used jewelers' pliers to apply the strip along the edge of his Bluetooth headset, just where it was coming apart.

  "You look like an idiot," came the voice of his long-suffering wife, Sheila. This was said with a familiar tone, which meant: "I love my husband, but I think he may have lost his mind."

  Bob didn't look up, "I'm just fixing a minor problem with my headset."

  "You're going to look like a moron every time you wear that thing."

  This statement was said in a tone that Bob also knew well, it was the one he heard when he did things like get the newspaper in his favorite old boxer shorts, which just happened to be purple with red hearts on them, or any of the other things he did that seemed to make the neighbors think less of him.

  "Why don't you just get a new headset," Sheila pleaded. "Look at that thing; it's falling apart. And these new Greentooth headsets are way nicer. The range is better, the batteries last longer, and look how small this thing is?"

  Bob tried to hide the fact that he hadn't realized she was wearing her new headset. "This one has history," he said. "The first time I ever heard your voice was on this headset; how can I throw away such a significant piece of our past?"

  "Then put it in a shoebox with our old love-letters and pictures," she said. "I'm going out with the girls, but when I get back, we're going shopping; there are some things you need."

  "Sure. OK. That sounds fine," Bob said, already thinking of ways to get out of shopping with Sheila. "I'm not cheap," he thought, "I'm just resistant to change." It had always been a challenge for him, since things in life insisted on changing without his consent and without giving him any prior notice whatsoever. When he found something that worked for him, he stuck with it until life left him no other choice.

  Sheila was different. Whatever new gadget or trendy technology came along, she had to have it. While everything in her life was wireless, Bob still preferred trusty old copper. The Bluetooth headset had been a big change for him when he'd purchased it a decade before, and he wasn't ready to part with it. He told himself that he just hadn't found the right one to replace it yet. Knowing that denial could be reinforced with self-justification, he recalled that not so long ago someone had complimented him on his headset, saying that his was the best model ever made and that they didn't make 'em like they used to. As he attached a final strip of tape for structural reinforcement, he examined his handiwork and smiled. If he squinted just right, he could barely tell the duct tape was there.

  The time had come for a preemptive strike. If Sheila thought he needed some new things, then it would be far better for him to go shopping alone, and he started a mental list of the things she might think he needed: boxer shorts, socks, toothbrush, and one of those things you use to trim ear hair. Those were the only things he came up with, and he repeated the list back to himself, trying not to get distracted by the nagging question: why the heck was hair growing in his ears? Sheila would have used her Greentooth headset to record the shopping list as an audio transcription in her netCal, but Bob was just fine with the fact that he might forget one of the items on his list. It certainly wouldn't be the ear hair remover.

  While driving to Chin's Pawn Shop in a car that was running on bacon grease, used cooking oil, and just a hint of refried beans, Bob reminded himself that he was not cheap. He did not intend to buy boxer shorts or socks at the pawnshop. Maybe the ear hair trimmer, but it would have to come in the original box, he told himself, or Sheila would never understand. In truth, he was going there for something entirely for himself, but he was torn from his thoughts as the car behind him began to follow too closely. In his mirror was a stern-faced man wearing dark sunglasses and who appeared to be in something of a hurry. Bob considered speeding up but didn't want trouble with the law, and they were not far from the pawnshop. He decided to simply engage his turn signal well in advance.

  To his surprise, the car behind him veered off the road and came to a sudden stop just before the pawnshop entrance. Bob pulled in slowly, having a strange feeling in his gut, but Chin had said a special shipment was coming in, and he didn't want to miss his opportunity. Looking back, he saw that the car was now empty, and he wondered for a moment where the stern-faced man had gone.

  "Best to just get on with it," he thought as he entered the pawnshop. Brass bells on a leather strap made a tinkling racket as the heavy, reinforced-glass door slammed shut, but Chin was nowhere to be seen. A flash of movement caught Bob's attention as another car pulled to the side of the road.

  "You want something?" asked an unfamiliar voice, and Bob jumped. A man with a heavy brow and thick fingers stood behind the counter.

  "Where's Chin?" Bob asked.

  The man just shrugged, "Needed time off. I'm filling in."

  The bad feeling in Bob's gut returned; Chin hadn't said anything about taking time off. Bob considered walking out, but something about the cars stopping outside made him stay, and he examined the man behind the counter more closely. He was older, heavy-set, and seemed more dim-witted than dangerous, but Bob couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. "Did you get a shipment of headsets in?" he asked despite his misgivings. "Chin said he had something special coming for me." Secretly, Bob had been hoping Chin had found an identical Bluetooth headset that he could use for parts.

  "Yup. Got headsets."

  Bob pulled his headset from his ear with deliberate care, knowing that the hinge was starting to crack. "I'm looking for one exactly like this."

  The man eyed the headset with distaste. "None like this one. Have new ones. New ones better. You buy new one."

  "I don't want a new one, thanks. I'm happy with this one. Best ever made."

  "This?" the man asked. "This is junk." Then he slammed his thick-fingered fist down on Bob's precious Bluetooth headset. "See? This one's broke. It's junk. You need new one."

  "You just broke my headset!" Bob would have launched into a whining tirade, but some instinct made him look outside, and he saw the stern-faced man sneaking up on the second car that had stopped outside.

  "Buy something or leave," said the man behind the counter. "Got things to do."

  Bob would have stormed out, but something still told him not to go outside.

  "Here, try this one. It's good," the man said, and then he handed Bob an earpiece so small and light that he would probably forget he was wearing it.

  "What kind is this?"

  "Redtooth. It's new. It's good."

  "Who makes it?"

  "From China. It's new. It's good. Stick it in your ear," the man said, pointing to his bulbous ear with a sausage-like finger.

  "Yeah, but-"

  "Stick it."

  "I would but-"

  "Stick it."

  "In my ear?" Bob asked, suddenly deprived of his senses by the conversation that had just taken place, and after a dull nod from the strange, speaking-in-short-clipped-phrases man behind the counter, Bob stuck it . . . in his ear. Since he was expecting a comfortable fit, it came as quite a shock when the earpiece bit him, and he let out a yelp.

  "Stings don't it," the man said.

  "Yeah, it stings," Bob said as he reached for his now stinging and burning ear.

  "Don't take it out," the man said, "will make your head explode."

  "What?" Bob asked, but then he heard a soft tone in his right ear.

  "Hello and welcome to Redtooth. My name is Carol Ann, and I'l
l be assisting you today."

  "What?" Bob asked, confused by Carol Ann's soothing yet slightly condescending tone.

  "I'm sorry. Please hold," Carol Ann said, making it sound almost like a sincere apology.

  "Working?" the man behind the counter asked as he smiled and nodded, as if he expected Bob to be thrilled with his new headset. "Good," he said in response to Bob's mute stare.

  "Thank you for holding, Mr. Charvesky. This is Carol Ann and I'll be assisting you today."

  "I'm sorry," Bob responded as nicely as he could. "I haven't purchased anything, I don't have a contract or a plan; I just want this thing out of my ear. And my name is not Mr. Charvesky, its Bob Hanks."

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Charvesky, I'll make a note of that in your account."

  "It's Bob Hanks."

  "Yes sir, Mr. Charvesky, I'll make a note of it."

  Bob let it go. "How do I get this thing out of my ear?" he asked. The man behind the counter just grinned.

  "Did your sales representative tell you about the exploding feature of your new Redtooth device?" Carol Ann asked.

  "Feature?"

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Charvesky, your new Redtooth device is enabled with cutting-edge explosive removal technology. With just the press of a button here at Redtooth headquarters, we can remove the Redtooth headset from your ear."

  "Along with my ear and most of my head."

  "Quite possibly, Mr. Charvesky, yes," Carol Ann said, seemingly unconcerned about the effect that might have on his wellbeing. "This feature is