Page 7 of Cameron's Contract
“Email?”
“That’s another one,” I said.
“What kind of bonus?” asked Decker.
Shay patted his jacket pocket as though looking for it. “You’ve got this one,” he said to me.
“I’ve never seen you at Charlie’s?” said Decker.
“We’re from corporate,” said Shay. “They make us troll the neighborhood and piss off employees. Nobody’s ever home.”
“No one answers the door,” I said grouchily.
Shay shrugged. “The check’s not worth it to be honest.”
“How much?” asked Decker.
“Five,” said Shay.
“Dollars?”
“Hundred.” I said. “Five hundred. Tight bastards. Most volunteers ask us to redirect the funds back to Charlie’s.”
I patted my jacket. “I have the check here. Needs a signature. Shit, where’s my pen?”
Shay shook his head. Apparently he didn’t have one either. “We’ll mail the check to you.”
“Or we can add it your paycheck?” I offered.
“I have a pen,” said Decker.
Shay glanced at his watch and flinched at the time.
“To be honest,” said Decker, “I only just started at Charlie’s. Haven’t seen that first paycheck yet.”
“Sorry you didn’t get that email.”
Decker widened the door. “You can come in if you like.”
Shay glanced at me. “I suppose we could get this one done now.”
I agreed with a nod.
The house came in around 1000 square feet of chaos. Decker had all the makings of a hoarder, with old pizza boxes strewn here and there, beer cans crushed in the corner, and the only furniture was a well-worn sofa sagging in the middle. The mismatch cushions were stained yellow. The TV was new. Cigarette smoke wafted from a corner ashtray.
“What kind of dog?” said Shay. “Sounds like a poodle. My aunt has a poodle. Smart dogs.”
“Rottweiler. Big softy. Unless I’m threatened.”
“As it should be,” I said.
“How long have you lived here?” asked Shay.
“Just moved in with my brother. Sorry for the mess.”
“Your brother doesn’t work at Charlie’s?” said Shay.
“No, he…” He searched for the answer. “He’s got a job.”
