Chapter 3

A few days later, I was crouched in front of the shelves stocking product when the light at the doorway went dark.

Anita Chavez led the way, her son clutched against her chest, two lines of tears running down her face.

Behind her came a guy in a tight black T-shirt.

Tattoos ran from his neck down both arms, the whole dragon-and-tiger deal.

Slouching, careless, a cigarette hanging from his lip.

The tattooed man kicked over the chewing gum rack by my door.

A clatter, and candy went rolling everywhere.

The customers in the shop, and the people passing on the street, all turned toward the noise.

"What's going on here?"

Anita shouted at full volume.

"Everybody take a good look! It's this black-hearted shopkeeper!"

"Calls it charity water, but it's poison!"

"My son and I drank his free water and we've been throwing up and running to the bathroom. The hospital diagnosed acute gastroenteritis!"

"The money aside, who answers for what we went through?"

She flung two sheets of paper out of her bag, one a photocopy of a diagnosis.

The other a printed list of damages, spelled out in black and white:

Medical fees: thirty-two thousand

Nutrition costs: eighty thousand

Lost wages: sixty thousand

Emotional distress: forty-one thousand

Total: two hundred thirteen thousand dollars.

"That water of yours, it's a no-name product! Expired! Gone bad!"

Anita's voice climbed higher and higher, and a ring of people gathered at the door.

I stood up and pulled the supplier invoices and the quality inspection report out of the register drawer.

"The water's a legitimate brand, shelf life eighteen months, sixteen still left before it expires."

"Supplier invoices, inspection report, all here. You want to see the originals, I've got those too."

"Now, you put out your evidence."

"Which line of this proves your illness has anything to do with my water?"

Anita snatched them out of my hand and tore them in two.

Ripped my invoices to shreds.

"Forgeries! And you're still waving them around!"

"A crook like you gets by on lies!"

The tattooed man stepped up and shoved me.

My shoulder hit the shelf, and a few bags of potato chips came down on my head.

He reached out and knocked over a couple of the snack racks too.

Glass jars of canned goods shattered across the floor, a total mess.

The crowd stood there, stunned.

Kevin Finch was passing by on a delivery run. He stopped his scooter and ran in to help me.

"Talk it out if you've got something to say. What's with the hands?"

The tattooed man growled back,

"Now you know to talk it out?"

"When you were pushing around my sister, a woman raising a kid alone, you forget how to talk then?"

"Today I'll teach you a lesson you'll remember."

Someone in the crowd spoke up, trying to smooth things over.

"The lady and the kid really got sick. Just pay them something."

"You're running a business. Peace brings profit."

"Right,"

chimed in a neighbor who always loved to run her mouth.

"Who told you to go showing off,"

"Don't take on a job you can't handle. Something goes wrong, you brought it on yourself."

Every one of these people had drunk the charity water. And now, one after another, the sneering.

Do a good deed, and this is what you get?

Just then Dustin Lawrence, the man who scavenged around the neighborhood, pushed through the crowd.

"You say Horace's water's got something wrong with it. I've been drinking it half a month. How come I'm fine?"

Greg Lambert stepped out from the other side.

"Anita, bring that diagnosis closer, let me see it."

"Which hospital issued it? Where's the date? Where's the doctor's signature?"

Anita's mouth opened, then the tattooed man took a step forward, right at Greg.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Why should we show you anything?"

Greg said,

"I used to be a doctor at the city hospital. I can tell you whether it's real or fake!"

"And I can't stand watching you make trouble for a good man like this, leave everyone out here cold!"

My eyes stung too.

"That's right!"

More and more people who'd drunk the charity water came forward.

"How come we're fine?"

"There are a hundred reasons to get gastroenteritis. Why pin it on Horace?"

"You want damages, take it to court!"

Anita's face went red, then white.

Greg heard that and just pulled out his phone.

"Calling the cops first!"

The tattooed man heard that and faltered too, quietly tugging Anita by the arm.

Now Anita's voice went a lot thinner.

"He fooled all of you! You all drank water from who-knows-where!"

"A student, why would he hand out free water for nothing? There's got to be something behind it!"

Kevin shot back,

"Anita, if there really was something wrong,"

"why is the water you sell in your store hauled over from his place, and hauled in that much?"

The crowd broke out laughing.

Anita's mouth hung open, and nothing came out.

The people from the police station arrived, asked about the situation, looked at the diagnosis and the list of damages, then looked at my supplier invoices.

The one in uniform pulled Anita aside and said a few things in a low voice.

Anita's expression went from flushed to dead white.

"Everybody head home for now,"

the one in uniform said.

"You've got evidence, take the legal route. Don't make a scene at the door."

The crowd broke up.

On his way out the tattooed man pointed a finger at me and mouthed three words with no sound.

"Watch your back."

The shop emptied out all at once.

The floor was covered in crushed potato chip crumbs, shredded scraps of invoice, flattened plastic bottle shells trampled underfoot.

I shut the door, swept the trash off the floor, and set the shelves back in order.

Then I opened my laptop and kept adding new evidence to the folder marked "Charity Water Case."

Next, it was time to get ready to fight the lawsuit.