A Better Lie Installment 1
Presented by Shot of Jack Top Shelf
Welcome to the first issue of Shot of Jack Top Shelf featuring A Better Lie. Thank you for coming. Beginning today (April 7, 2023) and every Friday thereafter paying subscribers will find an installment of a serial crime novel called A Better Lie. With a few exceptions, each installment will be roughly 1,000 words. Every three months there will be a short story connected to the novel released exclusively. In early 2024 paying subscribers will receive an exclusive edition of A Better Lie including the short stories.
This first installment is free to everyone. This first chapter sets up the basic premise of the story. If you enjoy this, then I expect you’ll really enjoy the rest of the book.
(You can now buy the book at amazon.com.)
This is an independent venture. That means it’s only going to succeed if people I don’t know help spread the word. So if you like serialized fiction and enjoy this installment, please share it with others on social media, your own Substack, or wherever you find people who enjoy this sort of thing. That’s the whole reason this first part is available to everyone.
Thanks.
- Jack Cameron
If you’d prefer to read A Better Lie in .pdf form click the button below.
Author’s Note: Hello. Thank you for taking this journey with me. I want to ask a favor of you. I want you to approach A Better Lie with the assumption that the characters are flawed on purpose. Not every character makes the best choices. Not every character is a fully self-actualized human being who knows what’s wrong with them and is socially conscious of the impact of their behavior. This is because I try to write a vague reflection of reality. And in reality most people are flawed and make mistakes.
I say all of this because if we allow it, our inner critic can destroy any enjoyment we might otherwise get out of another human being taking the time to craft and share a story with you. I’m not doing it to malign anyone. I’m not doing to further any sort of agenda. I’m not doing it to get rich. I’m doing it because I like telling stories and I have a sincere hope that you’ll enjoy it.
Thanks again. And now, A Better Lie.
- Jack Cameron
The gravel tasted like cold walnuts mixed with dirt. He’d received a face full of it moments ago as she pulled away. Why was it so fucking hard to breathe? Brandon saw the receding taillights of her van, but he was on the ground now and wasn’t getting up. Something warm was in his chest. He was maybe a mile from the shop. He didn’t have his phone and he wasn’t walking anywhere. He thought how he should have told Ray to go fuck himself when he first came to him with that stupid idea. Then Brandon didn’t think anything at all.
Jimmy walked in with his slicked back hair and his good suit. He spent all of fifteen seconds looking around before grabbing a simple arrangement of one dozen red roses. No imagination. Ray watched him write ‘Sorry’ on the card then asked him what he was sorry for. Jimmy said with a wink, “I was somewhere I’m not supposed to be with someone I’m not supposed to see.”
“Does she know where you were?”
“No, but she has her suspicions,” Jimmy said.
“What’s your excuse?”
“I don’t have one.” Then after a moment, Jimmy said, “What did you do last night?”
“I saw a movie.”
“You still have the ticket stub?”
Ray dug in his pockets finding the tiny slip of paper. He placed it face up on the counter. Jimmy pulled out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill like it was pocket lint. The exchange was made without another word.
The rest of the day at Adele’s Flowers went like most other days, so long as it wasn’t a holiday or Secretary’s Week or something else just as meaningless. Ray worked the counter with the owner, Laura. Ashley helped Augie create the arrangements. And Brandon was out making deliveries. The only big orders were for weddings, funerals, and birthdays. Smaller orders were usually guys trying to be ‘spontaneous’, but most of the time they were guys like Jimmy. Ray referred to them as the ‘sorry guys.’ They got drunk, slept with the roommate, got high, got dumped, or any number of other stories involving guys fucking up. They came in hoping a handful of flowers would fix whatever bad behavior they exhibited that week.
Even though Ray was still in his twenties and could count all the girls he dated on one hand he knew flowers wouldn’t save a relationship. Jimmy was doomed like all the others. Despite two years of working at Adele’s, the exchange with Jimmy stuck with him.
Ashley gave him a curious look.
“What?” Ray asked.
“You’re plotting something. I can tell,” Ashley said.
“Let’s go to the Harmon after this and I’ll tell you about it.”
“You buying?”
“Sure.”
“Is Brandon invited?”
“Of course. I know you two are a package deal.”
Ashley was a shameless flirt and Brandon’s girlfriend. Her short hair was light purple this week. She was a head shorter than him with midday sky blue eyes Ray avoided looking into. But she kind of loved getting into trouble. He figured she’d like his idea. And if she liked Ray’s idea, she could convince Brandon to go for it. The three of them might have a chance to make some real money while doing something more fun than just selling flowers.
Brandon came in through the back door. His afternoon deliveries were done. He was twenty-one but looked ten years older. He had a tough face and close cropped hair. He could have been a real bruiser except that at 5’6”, he wasn’t very intimidating. Not that he needed to be. He may have been short and worked in a flower shop, but one look at him and you knew: Brandon could take care of himself.
Ray on the other hand - with his mop of brown hair and a thin body a few inches too tall - had never been in a fight. He worked in a flower shop because he thought it would be a good place to meet women. It didn’t occur to him until after the first week that the majority of customers at a flower shop were men (or women) buying flowers for their girlfriends, women planning weddings, and people planning funerals.
Yes, there were women who bought flowers for themselves or their girlfriends, but most of them were attached and trying to make their boyfriends jealous, or so he imagined. And the rest didn’t seem like the sort to hook up with the flower shop guy. He stuck with it though, because retail was retail, Laura paid above minimum wage, and he liked working in downtown Tacoma.
Ray entered the Harmon after six. It was impossible for him to walk into the place without thinking of what came before. One of his favorite things about working downtown was feeling like he was walking through history.
The Harmon building was built in 1909, when the F.S. Harmon Manufacturing Company opened in downtown Tacoma. They’d made all sorts of furniture, but their big money-maker was their mattresses. They maintained the Northwest franchise rights on Serta mattresses for years. By 1960 business slowed and Harmon shut down most of their operations, but the nine-story building remained. Anyone driving down Pacific Avenue towards the waterfront in Tacoma couldn’t miss the side of the building where the painted sign proclaimed: ‘F.S. Harmon Mfg. Co. Furniture.’
Ray had learned Harmon’s history from an ex-girlfriend who’d pointed it out during one of their dates. Her great-grandmother was a Harmon. For most of the last half of the twentieth century the building was abandoned, much like the rest of downtown. Then in the late 1990’s the Harmon Brewing Company took over the bottom floors and created one of the best downtown bars in Tacoma. It catered to the museum crowd and college students. Ray liked it because it was only a few blocks from Adele’s.
Ray saw Ashley and Brandon at a table near the back. Ashley gave him a quick wave. A light hit Ashley’s hair just right, creating a violet halo. Ray nodded at her and sat down. A waitress arrived with three pint glasses and a pitcher. Brandon went for his wallet, but Ray waved him away and pulled out Jimmy’s hundred-dollar bill. He took a breath. He had been thinking about this pitch all day.
“This one,” Ray said, “is on Jimmy.”
“Who is Jimmy?” Ashley asked, playing along and acting overly interested. Brandon started pouring, handing the first pint to Ashley.
“Jimmy is the guy who gave me a hundred dollars for a ticket stub.”
“What?” Brandon looked at Ray and handed him a pint.
“Jimmy was fucking around on his girlfriend or something and needed an alibi. I gave him a ticket stub from the Blue Mouse. Finally saw Cabin in the Woods.”
“Oh. Was it good?”
“I’m not usually a horror movie guy, but it worked for me. I’m getting off topic. Look, my point is I made a hundred dollars off of a six dollar ticket stub.”
“I see where you’re going with this.” Ashley said.
Ray caught his stride back. “Why do people buy flowers? They’re usually apologizing. People don’t do it just to be nice. They want something. Usually forgiveness. But what if we could give them something else?”
“Concert tickets? A new car? What?” Brandon said.
“What if we helped them create alibis for whatever shenanigans they’ve been up to?”
“Jesus, Ray. You just got here and you already sound drunk.”
“Brandon, you’re not taking this seriously,” Ray said.
“What gave you that impression?”
“Just hear me out. I know it’s a little outside of normal,” Ray said.
“Fine. Maybe you’re not drunk,” Brandon said, “But the more important part here is neither am I. This sounds crazy and crazy is always more appetizing when I’m wasted.”
Brandon and Ashley didn’t go for it right away, but Ray knew they wouldn’t. The first round came and went. They ordered nachos. Jalapenos on the side for Ashley. Ray ordered another pitcher of beer without thinking about it. He didn’t mind blowing money on a night out, especially when it was not money he’d really earned.
He poured another round as Ashley whispered something into Brandon’s ear. Brandon gave her a look. She stuck her tongue out. Ray watched them flirt. Sure, he would have loved to have some girl on his arm, but there were many nights at the Harmon without Ashley, when Brandon would tell him of the hassles of working with the woman he was also lived and slept with. Their flirting didn’t really bother Ray. Most of the time.
“Okay, Ray,” Ashley said. “Tell us more about this idea of yours.”
“I want to sell alibis at Adele’s,” Ray said. “We’ll have to be discreet about it, but the basic idea is we give people proof of where they were last night or whatever else they might need so their significant other doesn’t get suspicious.”
“You want to help husbands cheat on their wives?”
Ray took a drink and considered Brandon’s comment. When Brandon put it like that, it sounded pretty bad. But Ray did not see it that way. What came next he said quickly. He couldn’t help it.
“Not exactly. Think back to the last time you were seriously emotionally hurt. I mean one of those devastating moments where it took days or weeks to get over it. Hell, maybe you’re still not over it. I remember mine: It was when Tara screwed that Erik guy and called me in the middle of the damn night to tell me all the details.”
“I remember. That was messed up,” Brandon said.
“Seriously. What kind of fucked up childhood trauma makes someone…” Ray brooded on it for a moment, then continued, “Whatever. I’m getting off topic. What I’m trying to say is when Tara called me up, the conversation started out as your typical it’s-the-middle-of-the-night-where-are-you sort of conversation, and she of course lied about where she was. When I called her on it, she went on this tirade about her and Erik. I could have gone my entire life without hearing that. And that’s my point. She lied to me. And more importantly, it was a stupid lie.” Ray stopped for a moment. He took a long swig of his beer.
“So yeah. It hurt, but what if that night Tara had told me a good lie? What if she said she was…I don’t know…consoling a friend whose dad died?”
Ashley and Brandon stared at him for a moment. Finally, Brandon said, “You’d have stayed with her another few months, learned a few new sex moves Erik undoubtedly taught her, and probably found out she was messing around in an entirely different screwed up way.”
“Ouch. Thanks for that.”
Ray wasn’t dissuaded though. He thought back to a sales seminar he went to for a marketing class in high school and tried to remember a technique or two. He made eye contact with each of them. He imagined that their approval for this idea was vital. He took a deep breath.
“The thing of it is people who run around are going to run around. There isn’t anything we can do about that. What we can do is make a good deal more money by crafting believable alibis for them. And the better we do it, the more they’ll need us and the more money we’ll make. I made a hundred bucks today from a ticket stub. Think what we could make with some seriously elaborate shit. Not only that, but this could be fun. Remember fun? Aren’t you just as bored as I am with selling people flowers? And it doesn’t only have to be cheaters. All sorts of people need alibis.”
“Killers and thieves for example,” Brandon deadpanned.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do. And even after drinking, I still think you’re crazy.”
Ashley was unusually quiet. They drank their beer for a while. It wasn’t a particularly busy night. A baby cried somewhere in the restaurant area of the bar. Ray wondered why the hell people brought babies to restaurants. With the University of Washington Tacoma campus surrounding it, most of the Harmon’s customers were college students, but its locally brewed beers and good food brought in plenty of locals. Even if they had babies with them. Ray tuned out the kid and scanned the bar for anyone he might recognize.
“We couldn’t tell Laura,” Ashley said. “It’s too risky. She’d never go for it.” Brandon and Ray both looked at her. “And there would have to be rules.”
“Rules?” Ray asked.
“Yeah. Only the three of us do the alibis. We always split the profits no matter who is involved in the alibi. We don’t publicly advertise. Word of mouth will get us customers.” Ashley took a moment to finish off her beer and said, “Oh, and one more thing. A hundred dollar minimum payment. Sound good, Ray?”
It sounded great to Ray. He nodded, happy to have Ashley on his side.
Brandon finished his drink. “Okay. You two seem to have a handle on this. Tell me how it’d work.”
It was after 11:00pm when Ray got back to his place. A three-story Victorian in Tacoma’s North End that was long ago converted into half a dozen tiny apartments. It had been around forever, but had some sort of renovation done in the early-1990s judging from the muted color of the interior walls. He noticed the outside door to his section of the house was wide open, but this wasn’t exactly shocking. The door led to two other apartments as well as his. He wasn’t sure which of the tenants kept leaving it open, but given he lived on the first floor, and they didn’t. A burglar wouldn’t bother going to the second or third story.
Once inside, he reached in a desk drawer and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes. He hit the pack against his palm exactly twenty times, turned it over, and did it again. Satisfied the cigarettes were packed, he pulled the cellophane strip off the package and opened it. He sniffed it before pulling one out. Ray’s smoking ritual with a new pack was always the same. He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and nodded a little as he felt the tiny buzz of the nicotine.
He put on some Stevie Ray Vaughan, put the cigarette on a plate, and watched the smoke rise.
Afterthoughts
I remember the exact moment I came up with the idea for A Better Lie. I was driving in Auburn in 2011 and I had the thought, “What if someone professionally sold alibis?”
This led to a series of questions and answers in my head that eventually led to the story you’re reading now. The first one being, “Someone couldn’t just put up a sign and sell alibis, it’d have to be a covert business, so what’s they’re primary business? Where do people who regret what they did go? Years ago I spent a Valentine’s Day weekend working as a flower delivery guy and so a flower shop popped into my head.
When it came to locations in Tacoma, I didn’t want to put a thin fictional mask over real places. So instead I simply use the real locations.
Given everything that happens at the flower shop, it needed to be fictional by necessity, but once I had established that the flower shop was downtown, I knew I was going to have them meet up at the Harmon. Both due to geography and because it was one of my favorite Downtown Tacoma bars. The building was sold shortly before the death of Pat Nagle, the man who turned the derelict Harmon building into what is today. You can read more about Pat Nagle here.
Ray’s apartment is an amalgam of two or three apartments in the Stadium District that I’ve lived in, though it gets its layout from what was once called The Ivy House, but is now called The Brickyard.
There’s also a brief mention of the Blue Mouse Theater which still operates in Tacoma’s Proctor District.
I really hope you enjoyed this first installment of A Better Lie.
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15 Minute Stories ebook - The rare book of flash fiction illustrated by Ossaín Ávila Cárdenas
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Next: Read Chapter 2: Laura
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