Story of the Day - Installment 7, Chapter 2
Naps are wonderful things. So I take one. My couch is comfortable for a reason. Long nights can take it out of a man, especially a man of my age. When I wake up, I walk to the small bathroom that adjoins my office. Nothing fancy, just a sink, toilet, and standup shower, all of which I keep immaculate. I know that Jonesy sneaks in from time to time, but even he knows that I'm picky about my bathroom. I shave. No frills, just soap and water. It helps to look professional at all times. When I leave the bathroom I can hear Jonesy typing up a storm in the reception area.
"Hey Jonesy?" I shout through the closed door.
"Yeah," he answers opening the door between the reception area and my office.
"Got any plans for tonight?"
"Just finishing up this paper, but it's not due for another week."
"Wanna help with some survelliance at a local club?" Jonesy is astute. He knows that I want company, but he also knows that he just might make some money hustling pool tonight too.
"Will you front me $50 if there's some tables?"
"I'll front you $50 for 25% of the profit."
"25%? Come on, boss. I'm a poor college kid," he protests. I shut out my office lights and head to the reception area where Jonesy is back sitting and typing
"That may be true kid, but I take the hit if you scratch on the 8-ball. Tell me, which one of us has it worse?" I know what he's thinking. He's considering telling me to go fuck myself and that he'll just stake himself with what I paid him. But Jonesy just doesn't have a gambler's heart. And I've never heard him cuss. In about five seconds he'll decide that I'm offering a good deal.
"Alright, 15% and I'll buy the drinks." It's a crafty counter-offer, preying on my weakness for a good drink. I'm not that easy.
"20% and you still buy the drinks." He gets a thoughtful look on his face as he ponders this new wrinkle. He's faking now. I know he'll do 20% and so does he.
"Alright boss, on one condition. . . ." He leaves it like that, waiting for me to take the bait.
"What's the condition Jonesy?"
"The condition is that you stop calling me Jonesy."
"Done." Poor sap. I'll be calling him Jonesy before the night is through. We both know it. "Grab your coat, Frederick Arthur Jones, we're off to the Pendulum Club. Ever heard of it?"
"Nope," he says as he buttons up his coat. Actually, it's one of my old coats. Jonesy is a damn penny pincher. But I'm grateful. It's probably why I haven't gone bankrupt yet.
"Well it's high class, kid, so look sharp." I put on my coat and grab my hat from the rack. Jonesy locks the door as we head out. I'm a detective. We all wear hats. It's ontological. At least that's what the kid tells me.
"My looks aren't the problem, boss." Ever the smartass.
"Shut up Jonesy."
"Hey Jonesy?" I shout through the closed door.
"Yeah," he answers opening the door between the reception area and my office.
"Got any plans for tonight?"
"Just finishing up this paper, but it's not due for another week."
"Wanna help with some survelliance at a local club?" Jonesy is astute. He knows that I want company, but he also knows that he just might make some money hustling pool tonight too.
"Will you front me $50 if there's some tables?"
"I'll front you $50 for 25% of the profit."
"25%? Come on, boss. I'm a poor college kid," he protests. I shut out my office lights and head to the reception area where Jonesy is back sitting and typing
"That may be true kid, but I take the hit if you scratch on the 8-ball. Tell me, which one of us has it worse?" I know what he's thinking. He's considering telling me to go fuck myself and that he'll just stake himself with what I paid him. But Jonesy just doesn't have a gambler's heart. And I've never heard him cuss. In about five seconds he'll decide that I'm offering a good deal.
"Alright, 15% and I'll buy the drinks." It's a crafty counter-offer, preying on my weakness for a good drink. I'm not that easy.
"20% and you still buy the drinks." He gets a thoughtful look on his face as he ponders this new wrinkle. He's faking now. I know he'll do 20% and so does he.
"Alright boss, on one condition. . . ." He leaves it like that, waiting for me to take the bait.
"What's the condition Jonesy?"
"The condition is that you stop calling me Jonesy."
"Done." Poor sap. I'll be calling him Jonesy before the night is through. We both know it. "Grab your coat, Frederick Arthur Jones, we're off to the Pendulum Club. Ever heard of it?"
"Nope," he says as he buttons up his coat. Actually, it's one of my old coats. Jonesy is a damn penny pincher. But I'm grateful. It's probably why I haven't gone bankrupt yet.
"Well it's high class, kid, so look sharp." I put on my coat and grab my hat from the rack. Jonesy locks the door as we head out. I'm a detective. We all wear hats. It's ontological. At least that's what the kid tells me.
"My looks aren't the problem, boss." Ever the smartass.
"Shut up Jonesy."
posted by MP at 5:52 PM
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