06 June 2008

Story of the Day - Installment 5

I pay with a $100. All I have. The waitress looks at the bill. Looks at me. Reassessment. I almost want to tell her. No, sweetheart, your first impression was right. But I keep my mouth shut. Why ruin a good thing. I even tip big. Nothing new there. Why I'm broke in the first place.

Outside the rain has stopped. I like rain. Especially when it ain't raining. Gives you a clean feeling. Don't get that much in my line of work. And the smell. I pause. Take it in. Nice.

Like walking too. Of course, that's more a matter of necessity than anything. No car. Besides, the office is close. Thunder starts up just as I reach my building. One of those days I guess. I take the stairs. Exercise is good.

You'd expect my secretary to be some pretty young thing. Pretty hair, doughy eyes, and a body that makes you feel all virile. Why stop there. Fishnets, high heels, and lipstick. Red lipstick. That glistens. Sometimes I wish the stories got it right. But they don't.

"Mail come Jonesy?" I ask as I walk in. Jonesy is not some pretty young thing. Jonesy is Frederick Arthur Jones, graduate student, pool hustler, and dirt poor. Lives with his grandparents, also dirt poor. But honest and hardworking. Loves 'em to death but can't stand 'em at the same time. Hence the bars, pool, and working for me. He's strictly part-time but practically lives in the office. Studies here, writes his papers here, brings his dates here too. Damn awkward sometimes. But he's honest. I need that. Hates it when I call him Jonesy. So of course I do. Every chance I get.

"Yes," he says and tosses me a neat stack rubberbanded without looking up from his book. He's efficient too. Already ditched the piles of crap.

"Bills?" I ask as I take off my soggy coat.


"A couple. They're in there."


"New clients?"


"Nope."


"Payments?"


"Nope."


Saves me the time I woulda spent looking through the mail. So I toss it back. "What are you reading?" He catches it. Didn't even lose his place.

"Stuff you wouldn't understand," he says without looking up. Cocky little bastard. Probably right though. "Hector wants you to call him at work. Wants to find out how the meeting went." Hector is 50ish, a former boxer, smart though, works at police headquarters. Answers phones, files papers, keeps track of the detectives and their cases. Used to work for me. Got shot a few years back. Needed health insurance. I couldn't get him any, so I pulled some strings and got him his current job. Hector is honest. Hates corruption. Hates graft. Sometimes, I think he hates me for setting him up with the job. When things looks fishy, he calls me. Set up the meeting with the giant.


"What time is it Jonesy?" I ask.


"'Bout 4:30."


"Can you make it to the bank?" He nods. "Good, here's $950. Deposit five in the business account, figure out what I owe you, and bring me the rest." He throws his book in his bag and grabs his coat. "By the way, how much do I owe you?"


"$197.75, which is damn cheap if you ask me."

"I didn't. Should charge you rent is what I should do." He looks askance. Not the best sense of humor on this kid. "Take two, call it even."

"Gee thanks." Got the sarcasm bit down though.

"If I'm on the phone when you get back, don't interrupt."

"Got it." And the door slams. Kids. Well I guess he's in his twenties but still.

The outer office is tidy. A rule the kid tries to follow but his stuff usually litters the front desk. The inner office, mine, is immaculate. The stories always have papers scattered everywhere, files, newspapers, crap. General untidiness. I hate that. Clients almost expect it. Usually thrown off when they sit down with me. Partly I'm a neat freak, partly I own very little. Medium-size desk with a pen, pad, and phone. That's it. Everything else is in a drawer. Why they exist. Sofa, small and comfortable. Yeah, it has a pullout bed. What can I say? Clean office, dirty life. I sit down, compose myself, dial Hector.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm waiting for the next installment!...and waiting...and waiting...I want to know more please. Geez, you're a damn good writer. Now quit slackin' - you've got readers out here!

12:07 PM  

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