Chapter 8 #2
“He’d never do that.” The utter sincerity. The gentle seriousness. The implied threat. I’d never want Caspian defended with anything less.
“I know.” I snap the last snap and step back. Tony’s two inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than the last owner of that outfit. “Tuck the shirt in and tighten the belt.”
He does it quickly. He still looks as if he’s wearing his father’s clothes, but at least he won’t be running around naked.
“Good to go.” I put the screwdriver in the pocket that held the level when I walked in and lay my hand on the door latch.
“Wait,” Tony blurts. “I have to wash my hands.”
“Hurry up.”
I walk straight toward the table without looking back to check which way Tony’s going. Tonya gets up and heads for me. We meet halfway.
“What took you so long?” she whispers. “We had to order for you.”
“Things went sideways. What does the guy in the yellow suit want?”
“No one talks business before the entrée.” She looks over my shoulder. “Is that Caspian’s shirt?”
Tony’s walking toward the outside patio. He smacks into a bus cart, reaches out to hold the tray steady, then manages to catch a glass on the way to becoming a liability in a thousand pieces.
“Yes. That’s Tony.”
“Another tool?”
“The level.”
“Un-huh.”
“Caspian said he has access to their money and we need it to get settled, so…”
Tony puts the glass back on the tray and smacks into a waitress, apologizing, holding her so she doesn’t fall, then smashes his thigh into the back of a chair.
“Baby girl, that man is not touching our money. This could be the best long con in history.”
“I didn’t believe in anything like this, but he was Caspian, and then…”
“I don’t need the details. I just need him to pick a different name. Tony’s not going to work.”
I open my mouth to defend the man’s name, because it’s not the same name. He’s Tony. She’s Tonya.
Damn, that’s close. Confusingly close. What kind of messy chaos agent did that?
Tony nearly walks through a sliding door screen, but sees it just in time to put his hands in front of him and save his face.
“He needs glasses,” I say.
“No shit,” Tonya says.
He looks back in our direction. I wave, even though he can’t see me.
“Another cute hand tool. What are the odds?” Tonya snaps to attention. “What was in the envelope?”
“JJ McDickface is suing us over the broken golf cart.”
“Of course he is. Fucker.” Just before we head back to the table, Tonya takes my arm. “This is the last time you go into the bathroom with a tool. You can hold yourself for five minutes.”
I go to the table without making any promises. We take our seats mid conversation.
“You understand,” Nigel says to Dan, because apparently, the co-owner of Awesome Parasailing is now in charge, “that my employer is a very exacting man. He takes this very seriously. Your job would be to make sure the room is perfect. No more. No less.”
“That’s what we do,” I say. Nigel seems to think I’m talking out of turn. “Perfection is our specialty. I can send you a client list. We’ve worked on some of the most beautiful homes in Los Angeles.”
Nigel waits for Dan to interject. He doesn’t, so Gerry does.
“This is her gig. Dan here just drives the boat.” He laughs and claps Dan’s shoulder, then turns toward me. “It’s one room. Thousand square feet. Patch job. Easy.”
One room? Sure. We can do a room, but I don’t like being pushed.
Our food comes. Tonya ordered me a caprese and Caspian a club sandwich. He’s not going to eat it.
“Have you worked on a superyacht before?” Nigel asks me.
This is more specific than I’m ready for. Tonya seems just as discombobulated. I guess no one talks business until the women leave the table.
I could tell him that as long as straight is straight and right angles exist, whether or not we’ve worked on a superyacht before is irrelevant. But I don’t know what I don’t know.
Which begs the question, do we even want this job? Work is work, and we need the money, but Tonya doesn’t want to be in Newport Beach at all. My answer to his question might make the decision for us.
“We have not worked on a superyacht, no.”
“Then staff of the Goddess can deliver a list of specialized materials.”
I’d like to know why the staff of the Goddess isn’t doing the job.
Tonya says, “We need to review the scope of work and bring you a proposal tomorrow morning.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that.” Nigel manages to interrupt at exactly the place where he wouldn’t seem rude doing it. “You can’t start until tomorrow, and this room needs to be ready by Friday.” He looks from me, to Tonya, to Dan. “Wasn’t there another one?”
“They had a fight,” Tonya says.
“He’s on a call,” I say at the same time.
“In any case,” Nigel says, shaking off the dissonance. “You come recommended by Dan here, who’s known Gerry for how long?”
“I tickled his toes when he was a baby,” Gerry says.
“So, I’m sure you’ll have enough men… people to get it done.” He takes a pen from his breast pocket, clicks it with authority, and writes a number on a napkin. “Half on commencement. Remainder on finish. Supplies paid on receipt.”
“Up front,” I interject. “We have tools, but the supplies have to be paid up front.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” He folds the napkin and slides it toward me. “My cellular is there. I need to know before end of business.”
As he stands up to go, the screech of a car’s tires on asphalt jolts me out of the moment. I spin in that direction. Outside, Tony’s three inches from the front of an SUV the size of an delivery truck. The driver shakes her fist and curses at him.
We have to go before Tony gets killed.
I open the napkin. Tonya peers at it. This could take care of a lot of problems. At this price, it’s probably not a job I can do myself. I make eye contact with my partner.
“What time?” Tonya asks Nigel.
“You may arrive at eight sharp, tomorrow morning.” Nigel stands. “The Goddess is anchored a half mile out from the Newport Bell Buoy.”
“Can we park?” Dan’s excitement is palpable.
“Of course.”
“We do have to get going.” I stand. “Nice to meet you.”
He nods. “Likewise.”
Gerry also says his good-byes, giving Dan a back-slappy guy hug. He says he’s already paid the check and basks in the gratitude while I get more and more nervous about Tony.
When I’m sure Gerry and Nigel are out the door, I wrap the two sandwiches in paper napkins.
If I’d known my level was going to change into a man, I would have brought an apple.
“Dan, you need that?” I point at a bottle of water he hasn’t opened.
“No. Go ahead. You all right? We can get the waitress to wrap it up.”
“We have to go.”
He looks concerned, but I don’t have time to explain.
Tonya, however, makes the time.
“Remember what I told you about Caspian being a screwdriver?” she says to Dan.
“You told him?”
“And good thing I did, or you’d have to explain why you’re bringing sandwiches to a starving man who’s wearing Caspian’s shirt.”
“I think it’s cool,” he says.
“I’m not lying!” I defend the indefensible.
“You’ve never met my mother.” He puts his hands up as if he’s the one being attacked.
“She was a witch,” Tonya says. “Some special kind.”
“Strega. She was half Italian or something. She said matter and consciousness were the same thing and… yeah. She proved it. Guy in a tool? Totally plausible.”
I glance from Dan to Tonya and back again. This is crazy, but it’s a convenient type of crazy.
“Fine.”