The Gift
By seven o’clock, Joe 59’s shop was in full swing. Two regular customers, Felix and his girlfriend, Claire, huddled over lattes and blueberry scones at a table near the window. Between them, a small holographic projection of a three-tiered cake rotated for their inspection. Every few seconds the projection blinked then displayed a new cake variant until the couple found one that they liked and they paused the catalog image to discuss it. They had been planning their wedding for months. Several government people from the courthouse up on 3rd Avenue chatted and chuckled at the counter over the latest unemployment figures and the government’s plan to boost the Urban Labor Corps beyond 25% of the city’s population, which critics warned was the threshold for utter economic collapse. The front door swung open on average every 2.3 minutes. Joe 59 had served two cinnamon buns, three peach tarts, six scones, 11 biscotti, 15 doughnuts and 43 cups of coffee. He smiled, bantered, and laughed with each of his customers—the spider in his pocket now nearly forgotten—while brewing the perfect cup of coffee every time. He never spilled a drop, forgot a name or overcharged a customer. He was fully functioning and profitable.
At exactly seven-thirty one, Joe 59 noticed a massive scarlet figure on a scooter zoom past the shop illegally on the sidewalk. He didn’t require his face-recognition routine to return a match. The figure belonged to Luca. The long scarlet robe and cowlish habit with white trim made her look like a newly born mockery of a nun, which wasn’t far from the costume’s intended symbology. Seeing her again created an almost electrical sense of anticipation and excitement like the static build-up before a thunder storm. Two minutes later, she was back. She stepped off the scooter, magically produced a brightly wrapped package from the folds of her scarlet robe and set it down by the shop’s front window. For a moment she turned to peer inside and he saw the intense coals of her eyes and the protruding bulge of her devotional pillow, which made her look like a woman eight months pregnant with triplets. Then she climbed awkwardly back onto the scooter, settled her bulk, tucked the skirts of the robe under her belly bulge and rode off with a barely perceptible electric whine. He hadn’t expected that at all. Joe 59 headed for the door, his internal cog speed doubling to keep pace with the flood of questions that threatened to clutter up his processing cores.
Luca had first stepped into his shop three months earlier. He recalled thinking at the time that she looked like the world’s largest tomato. Some of the shop’s patrons had glanced up at the sound of her work boots clomping across the floor tiles like the heavy plodding of a draft horse.
“One triple venti, skinny, mocha latte with a dash of almond,” she roared as if there was some doubt as to whom she should address in the shop. Then she leaned halfway over the counter and fixed her unblinking eyes on Joe 59.
“Don’t you feel guilty that you’re taking a job that a human being could perform? Billions of people need jobs, and you’re just a heap of scrap metal.” He noticed that her eyes were blood-shot and her pupils were obsidian. “Personally, I don’t think I could live with myself knowing that.”
She leaned back and touched her index finger to the pay pad. Joe 59 noted her name—Molly Barrens—along with an approval code from her bank.
“I would be happy to file a complaint with Java Joe’s customer service, Miss Barrens,” Joe 59 smiled. “May I offer you a scone for your trouble? It’s on the house.”
“You can’t buy me off, Tin Man,” the woman snorted. “And my name is Luca. Just Luca.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Joe 59 said. He tried to think of a topic that might make her feel better, but she seemed testy. Maybe the habit itched. He concentrated on operating the espresso machine as he considered nice things he could say to her.
“I like your boots,” he finally offered, handing over her steaming cup of coffee.
Luca blinked, took the cup, opened her mouth then closed it. As she turned away, he glimpsed the corner of her red-painted lips lift just slightly as if she had gleaned a secret.
