How Much is that Body in the Window?
Eric Bonholtzer
“Shoplifters Will Be Skinned”. When he saw the sign Jasper couldn’t help but smile, issuing a loud laugh to prove he got the joke. Despite the nonchalance he tried to effect as he entered Mike’s House of Furs, the young activist could barely suppress a shudder at the sight of all the pelts, all the senseless cruelty. He was a bundle of raw nerves, his stomach knotting and clinching. A dual mixture of fear and anticipation coursed through his veins as he thought to himself, he deserves this.
The store was deserted, Jasper the sole customer. In fact, the only other person in the store beside himself was a conservatively dressed salesman with overly stiff posture that led Jasper to much speculation about the guy’s love life. The young activist put on an Oscar caliber performance, searching about for just the right coat as the salesman made his approach. “Name’s Mike, as in Mike’s House of Furs.” He had meaty hands that looked clammy as he extended one in a manner that reminded Jasper for some reason of used cars. “I’m the owner of this place. Anything I can help you with?” Jasper took the hand though declined to introduce himself.
Something didn’t sit right with this man and it was more than just being involved in the propagation of slaughter. Mike had an acute glare about him that seemed to take in more than it seemed even as he spoke genially about offering his help, as if what he was really trying to get across was what can I do to get you out of here the fastest? But Jasper was not going to be deterred and certainly not by this two bit fur peddler.
“I’m just browsing, thanks.” Jasper hoped none of his trepidation shone through in his voice and apparently none had because Mike merely nodded, adding where he could be found if Jasper was in need of any assistance and wandered off to another part of the store..
Liking the situation less and less every second, and feeling that Mike’s intense gaze was boring into him every time he turned around, Jasper quickly snatched five of the most ostentatious and expensive coats that he could find giving intense scrutiny to the price tags. The sooner this was over the better. Each minute he was in here was another chance at discovery. “Could you open up the dressing room?” He did his best to sound casual. He didn’t know if it worked or not.
Mike, on the other hand, seemed at ease, almost as if he were enjoying seeing this young customer so wound up, and he even smiled as he led Jasper to the dressing room. Jasper’s fears were allayed slightly, for surely if the owner had any hint of doubt there was no way he would be let alone with a bundle of coats. As Jasper neared the dressing room, his resolve balked, and in a moment of indecision, he returned the five high priced coats to the rack and snatched up three at random in their stead, hoping Mike didn’t have a dressing room limit. He reasoned that he would have less attention paid to him if the overcoats weren’t of such high value and Mike might check them when he let him in. Besides, a stab at the fur world was a stab at the fur world and price was a secondary factor to getting out without getting caught.
“If you need help, just let me know.” Jasper couldn’t help but feel the salesman’s gaze looking him over. But without incident, the door opened and shut.
Jasper set to work. He withdrew a folding blade, a cheap throw away and slashed the inside liner of a coat, poking the blade through to the fur opening wide gashes as he did so, irreparably desecrating it. On his second coat, Jasper realized just how much fun he was having and engrossed as he was in his work Jasper failed to notice the door handle slowly turning behind him. Only when the latch he had cautiously thrown began to rattle did Jasper realize something was wrong. The young activist cursed vehemently. He was almost done. He just needed a little more time. Mike’s voice came from behind the partition, “Everything OK?, you’ve been in there for quite a while.”
“Uh yeah, I’m fine.” Jasper worked to cover his tracks. Folding the wrecked coat beneath the viable one, Jasper pulled on his knife, only to find it stuck. Panic clutched him. He just couldn’t leave it. It was a throwaway, but it had his fingerprints on it and there was no way Jasper was going to be able to talk his way out of a three inch blade sticking out of one of the coats. He had to get it out. Jasper tried to stall, “Just give me a minute all right.” He struggled desperately with the knife. The rattling of the latch didn’t stop. Mike was still trying to come in. Jasper knew something was wrong, the shaking growing stronger and the attempt at entry growing more frantic.
“Sir I have to get in there!” came the voice. Then suddenly the knife was free. As fast as he was able, the young activist folded the blade and returned it to his pocket. Breathing a sigh of relief he popped the latch and opened the door a relieved smile on his lips as he snatched up the coats being careful to sandwich the ruined one between the others.
Already on the tip of the tongue was his excuse, “You know, I like them, but they just really aren’t me. I’m sorry for wasting your time...”
He never got the chance to say them, the words dying off as Jasper noticed the long knife in Mike’s hands. Jasper trembled, not knowing was going on, his knees weak. This just couldn’t be happening. Sure, he’d ruined some furs but it wasn’t like he’d killed someone. Mike was looking at Jasper like he had just strangled his children. It just couldn’t be happening. He had figured that the absolute worst that would happen if he got caught was a little fine, on the outside maybe probation but certainly not this. This was lunacy.
There was a sardonic mirth in Mike’s voice, “Didn’t you read the sign?”
Jasper opened his mouth, but no answer came. The knife came down, again and again, savagely. Jasper tried to ward off the blows but they came too fast, too strong. Crimson showered the dressing room.
On the cusp between life and death, as Jasper slowly dimmed he mustered the strength for just one question, it all making sense now, except for one thing, one thing he had to know, “...how’d...you...know...?”
Mike was silent a long time as if deciding whether to not to deign him with an answer. Jasper noted how a thin rivulet of blood, his blood, was wending a narrow path between Mike’s eyes, down the bridge of his nose and clinging tenuously to the tip before dripping away. It was singularly the most clear and fascinating thing Jasper had seen all day. Mike smiled, his gaze never faltering, his mind made up. He could give him that at least. “In my store, men don’t try on women’s furs.”
Mike did not live up to his sign’s promise. He had bigger plans. Mike respected the fact that when it was all said and done, the young man hadn’t whined, hadn’t pleaded, he had merely resigned himself and asked a last question. It was an honorable thing. It was something a warrior would do, and Mike felt obligated to pay tribute that. So he preserved the body, stuffing it, making Jasper the ultimate mannequin.
Every so often, Mike would bring him out, to introduce a new fashion; it simply wouldn’t do to have him out all the time because someone might recognize him. No Mike saved him for special sales. But every time Mike brought his human mannequin out he couldn’t help but smile thinking that a man who “wouldn’t be caught dead in fur,” had been just that, and he could also not help but think, that in his expert opinion fur never looked better on anyone.
