Chapter 9
nine
Zander
"Seems like you guys take a lot of breaks." Hoffman is in a super shitty mood today. The guy is in his early thirties and seems to have all the money in the fucking world and he's been bragging about his hot girlfriend, so it's hard to see why he'd be grumpy.
"Break time is required by law," I say snidely. We've already been rubbing each other like two pieces of sandpaper, and now we're just tolerating each other. The job is good money, and it gives us at least five months of solid work, but I'll be just as glad to be done with him.
"Right." He glances around and lifts his fancy sunglasses. "Don't see OSHA around right now, and you guys ended the workday early last week. Don't think you ever caught up on those missed hours."
Jameson joins us right then, and it's a good fucking thing because I'm about to tank the whole fucking job and take my digging toys and go home.
"Our dad had a heart attack, and we never leave our workers unsupervised.
It's a major safety violation," Jameson says sharply.
"Our work is right on schedule. I doubt you'll get that when the framers and subcontractors come on board. "
Hoffman pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes. "Yeah, fine. Carry on and … uh … keep up the good work," he mutters before walking away on his shiny loafers.
Jameson looks at me. "I think it pained him to say that last part.
He does love to complain. I saw him standing here with that sour, rich boy scowl, and I saw your sour, less than rich boy scowl, and I thought shit, that guy is about to lose his cool.
You that is. I don't think Hoffman has any cool to lose. "
"Probably good you arrived when you did cuz, yep, shit was about to get ugly.
He's pissed that we take coffee breaks. I see the asshole walking around all day with that phone pressed to his ear, and we're the ones slacking off.
" I look toward the office trailer. Hoffman is walking up the steps to the door.
He takes a second to stomp his shoes and get rid of the dirt he collected on his self-important mission to let us know we're taking too many breaks.
"I still say there's something sketchy about the guy.
Can't put my finger on it, but the fancy car, the big investment projects, the expensive watch and clothes, everything looks and feels like a mirage.
I think he's one bad deal away from not being able to come up with the money to pay us. "
Jameson looks over at me with an annoyed grin. "All right, sunshine, back up on the excavator."
"Yeah, okay, but I think I'm right. You get good intuition for these things after growing up with our old man, the dude who invented sketchy business deals."
"I grew up with the same master of sketch," Jameson says, "but I prefer to remain positive.
And because we grew up under Finnegan Wilde's very unwatchful eye, we know how to make sure we get paid.
And now that I'm sounding just like Dad, I'm going back to work before Mr. Prissy Pants has to trek out here through the dirt in his pretty loafers.
Speaking of the old man, Nate says he keeps getting in trouble for saying inappropriate things to the nurses.
Just can't get the man to step into the new century.
I think the doctor might discharge him early for bad behavior. "
I laugh. "Like the opposite of an early prison release for good behavior. What a prick our old man is. Not many people get kicked out of the hospital, but if there's a way to do it, Dad'll find it."
I climb back up on the excavator, pull on my ear protection and start up the engine.
I toot the warning horn once to let Jorge and Gus know break's over.
Gus puts away his vape pen. The vapor is still streaming from his nose as he heads over.
Jorge ends a call, and we get back to plowing up the land.
We're a good two hours into the afternoon shift when Jorge says he needs to get an aspirin.
I'm happy to take a break and turn off the excavator.
I wait inside the cab and pull out my phone to scroll through stupid shit.
Movement at the trailer catches my eye, and I go into instant defense mode, hackles raised and all, sure that Hoffman is coming out to see why the excavator is shut down.
He walks down the steps and turns. A car is coming up the long stretch of dirt.
Everything's been watered down to regulation, but the approaching car is moving fast enough to still kick up dust. It's an old Camaro with patches of different paint colors and dents in the passenger door.
The car stops at the trailer. Hoffman crosses his arms defensively as he waits for the driver to get out.
The driver looks raggedy with greasy hair and stained clothes. He's tall and skinny and walks hunched over like a scarecrow who's come off his post. The man turns our way for a second before facing Hoffman.
I sit forward. "Wait a fucking minute," I say to myself. "I know that piece of greasy shit."
The two men exchange terse words, then walk into the trailer.
Jameson buzzes me on the two-way. "Did you catch that? Over."
"Sure did. So, I wasn't imagining things. What was that dick's name? He had a stupid nickname, but Dad called him 'ole yellow teeth?' Chuck or Charlie or something, right? Over."
"I think he calls himself Chug. I still laugh when I think about what Dad did to him when he tried to cheat him out of that money. Over."
I laugh. "Shit, how could I have forgotten about that? He hung there in the barn from his ankles for like three hours. Till he passed out. Then Dad cut him down, and he stumbled away. Over."
"Well, Z, guess you were right. Something sketchy about Hoffman. Over."
"Told ya so. Over and out." We end the conversation.
I get ready to start again. I glance toward the office.
They're still inside, but if Hoffman's dealing with a scumbag like Chug, then he's even sketchier than I thought.
Here I was thinking the guy was probably into elaborate tax loopholes or questionable investments, but Chug is a whole other layer of shadiness.
I was still a teen when Dad strung the guy up by his ankles to punish him for not bringing him his share in some kind of black-market sale.
Dad never let us in on details of his criminal activity.
He somehow convinced himself he was protecting us, but his illegal side businesses always ended up showing up at our doorstep, whether it was armed men coming to collect or thugs showing up for a fistfight, we were constantly in danger.
We just didn't know any of the details. Chug was one of the more pathetic two-bit criminals that Dad occasionally dealt with.
After seeing his car and the way he looked, I'm sure he hasn't moved up in status in the criminal world.
That means Hoffman is dealing with pathetic two-bit criminals, so how the hell is he pulling off this posh lifestyle? I sure as hell hope we get paid.
My phone rings. Jorge is still plodding back from the truck. He suffers from migraines, and he looks miserable. Might have to cut his day short. I glance at the screen. It's Kiera. We sometimes hang out on Friday nights. She's cool and loves sex, so we're a good match.
"Hey, I hear Nate's band is playing at the Gold Rush," she says. "Can you get us a jump in the line?"
"You mean like do I have an in with the band and access to backstage passes and all the perks?"
"Yeah. It always gets so damn crowded when they play. I don't want to wait."
"Well, considering the last time I was at the Gold Rush, I ended up in a fight with some blowhard who thought it was cool to grab the asses of all the servers, I'm kind of low on Harry's perks list. And before you ask. He doesn't give a shit if I know the lead singer of the band."
"Shit, Zander. Why do you have to be so hot tempered? Are you banned like last time?"
"No, I don't think he used the word banned, but there were some other choice words thrown about. It'll probably be crowded enough in there that he won't notice me."
She laughs. "Right, Zander the giant, it's amazing how easily he gets lost in a crowd. Still, I'm game. If Harry doesn't let us in, then we can just go back to my place. Bought a new piece of lingerie, and I've been needing an excuse to wear it."
"Well, I never say no to a new piece of lingerie. Why don't we skip the Gold Rush and go straight to the new lingerie?"
"Oh, but I love to see Nate sing, and I'll be so hot after watching him, I'll be extra horny."
"Just what every guy wants to hear. That his baby brother turned on a girl so much that she couldn't keep her hands off him."
She scoffs. "You know what I mean."
"Not really. Hey, I've got to turn this beast on and get plowing before the asshole running this project comes over with his shiny shoes and vinyl white teeth. I'll talk to you later, but I'm up for something tonight."
"Okay, call you later. And Nate or not, I'm super horny."
"I liked the second half of that comment. See you later."
Chug is just leaving the trailer as I fire up the engine.
He's angrily muttering to himself, and his face is splotchy red.
I think about the creep hanging upside down in the barn like a fucking vampire bat, and I have another good laugh.
My dad was always an asshole, but he was a fucking creative one, and frankly, his methods worked.
We all lived through his insanity. Now that he was older and not in great health, he'd given up on that lifestyle, and I sure as hell didn't miss it.