It was a pretty dull night. Nothing was really going on, well at least in my life. Jake one of my lifelong friends had invited me to a party tonight but here I was working the register in a gas station off the side of a decpreit highway. I never liked big parties anyway I try to convince myself with little success.

  I, probably like everyone else who worked here wasn’t dying to spend the graveyard hours of the night sitting and staring through a sheet of hanging plexiglass at random snacks and items scattered around half-full shelves, but here I was. Someone needed to pay for my college classes and my dead parents weren’t much help with the money stuff. Things are pretty slow here at my 7/11 with my clientele mostly consisting of a few random people who couldn’t remember their names stumbling around using the shelves for support, maybe a family passing through on a road trip to somewhere less depressing, and the occasional oddballs.

  The tweakers didn't scare me, and neither did the families but what really got to me were the oddballs. I had a pretty good read on how most interactions would go. Tweakers just try to get out as quickly as possible "to create a welcoming, safe, and clean environment" as my boss put it during training, and families were alright. I spent my abundance of free time outside of work practicing one of my hobbies, comedy. What better time to think of jokes than at 2 am when I was the only person in a two-mile radius with jack shit else going on.

  Recently I've been testing out some of my material unfortunate customers. I got some laughs, some half-smiles, and some groans. I tried to keep track of what worked and what didn't.

  The store had been empty at this point for maybe an hour or so now which wasn't too surprising considering kids were in school this time of year, and it was three A.M. on a Sunday night, or I guess Monday morning now. I looking out the window could see the trees outside between the onramp and the station whenever a lonely car's headlights would wash over them briefly illuminating them completely frozen with no wind to blow them. I could feel my eyes creeping closed and thats my cue to walk around the store and see if there was anything that needed restocking or I could mess with to keep me awake.

  I was around back in the chips section of the store crouched down replacing the Frito bags when I heard the sound of tires on gravel approaching the shop. The doorbell chime sounded but got cut off mid-chime followed by a sudden gust slamming the door shut. I finished restocking the last few bags when I felt a cool breeze creep across the floor towards me. Rising to greet the customer I paused for a second. He was dressed in a leather jacket and pants to match. "Get breezy out there?" I say trying to strike up a conversation. "No" he replied in a voice that was gravely enough to give the road a run for its money. Huh, weird. I know this sounds ridiculous but I swear that the man had almost a vignette surrounding him, his irises were consumed by his pupils, and a grin was just a little too wide.

  "Well, what can I do you for?" I say trying not to let my voice waver. It comes out shaky anyway. I round the corner of the aisle before heading behind the counter. Something about this guy is setting my hair on end, though there is nothing too visibly wrong, just an uncanny feeling. At this point, the shop feels a noticeable bit cooler. Shooting another glance out the shop's doors I can't see anything. I don't mean like a streetlight went either more like a black velvet cloth had been draped over the entire building not letting any light escape or any light come in. Even the sidewalk right outside the door which should be lit up by the inside lights is pitch black. He follows my gaze but says nothing. I can't tell if he missed the flash of fear on my face.

  "Well pall, " he starts ignoring the new blackness of the outside world, "I think I'll be getting a pack of smokes". Not wanting to keep this guy any longer than he will allow me I scramble to grab a pack of something before realizing he hasn't told me which ones he wants. "W.. Which ones would you like?" After a long slow exhale that laughed at my haste he replied, "Marboughs; dealers choice". I reach for the closest pack and hand them over to him. "Ain't ya got to scan it", shit, yeah "Oh oh yeah here" I put out my hand and he drops the pack into my palm and I started to ring him up. "Long night?" I ask to keep myself from panicking too hard. "Yep just have to make somewhat of a collect call", "Oh, I see".

  I didn't see, I still had no idea what this guy was up to or what kind of person he was, and as always my brain was thinking of all of the horrible ways this could end. He pulls out one of the cigarettes setting the box down on the counter. I steal another glance at the outside and I swear I could see him light the cigarette with his fingertip. Before I could open my mouth to inform him about the smoking policy he locked eyes with me and said "It's just part of the job, I'm not a gambling man but someone else took a bet and I acting as a debt collector of sorts". I ask "Huh does this kind of thing come up a lot?" Great, UGH great you know what happens in gangs you ask too much then they have to make you disappear and now you asked a question and you're going to get disappeared. Thankfully I didn't get it immediately evaporated or anything like that and I decided I might just let this dude smoke his cigarette.

  After another minute that passed slower than molasses, he opened his mouth once again subjecting me to his inhumanly raspy voice. "It tends to be pretty steady quite a few per day". I stared blankly at him not even beginning to understand what he was here for or what he does. I looked him up and down again then noticed boot marks burned into the floor from where he had been standing. At that moment I realized this may be a bigger issue than a quirky person and started to have an okay idea about just what I may be dealing with here. That's ok all I have to do is play it cool.

  He continued "I mostly just make sure that things tally up". At this point, I have to know what or who he is, and despite my gut telling me to run I said "I'm still a bit lost on what you do". His grin grew even more getting impossibly wide and he replied "I guess you could call me an employee of hell, the devil's right hand if you will". Combining all of the details of his visit I was left with very few other options or explanations for who he was so I kinda just had to believe him.

"What kind of gambling were you talking about?"

  After a long slow drag from the cigarette, he explained, "Someone took a gamble and played around with a gun. I am about to see how lucky they were and if there is anything I need to collect there."

Curiosity getting the better of me again I asked, "Did someone die?"

"That's the million-dollar question isn't it."

  And with that, he turned on his heel, walked the door and stepped out into the night. The tile from where he was standing was melted into a goopy mess and there were scorched boot marks up to the door. That will be fun to clean or explain. As he passed through the door once again the wind slammed the door shut behind him. I sat staring out of the window at the taillights of his car which almost seemed to cast shadows rather than giving off light. After a moment or two the wheels started spinning and he took off onto the highway heading west out into the new Mexican desert. I didn't get a chance to try out any material on him but I knew that coming out alive from that situation was about one of the best outcomes I could have asked for.