Page 17 of Forgotten Path
“Fred?”
“Yeah.”
“What, like a construction job?”
As far as he knew, Fred didn’t hire full-timers. Craig had seen him pulling into the parking lot of the big home improvement store two towns over so that a group of day laborers could clamber out of the back of a pickup truck bearing a Glazier Builders decal. Fred didn’t support his lifestyle by paying salaries like the one Jayson probably pulled in.
Jayson sucked in his cheeks, indulging in his lifelong bad habit of chewing on their insides. Craig had briefly dated Doctor Webster’s dental hygienist, who told him Jay had more scar tissue on the sides of his mouth than Webster had ever seen before.
“Stop biting your cheeks and just tell me whatever it is you’re trying to decide whether or not to say. Spit it out.”
“He hires guys—off the books—to take care of special projects.”
“What kind of special projects?”
“I dunno. Stuff that only takes a few days. One-off assignments. He pays well.”
Craig was intrigued. “So, an independent contractor?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Like a consultant.”
“Maybe.” Jayson shifted on the bench.
“Do you know anybody who’s done a special project for him? How good is the pay—I mean, really?”
Jayson huffed out a breath to let Craig know he was getting annoyed. “I don’t know, bro. If you’re interested, go talk to Glazier. If you’re not, then I guess buy some more scratch-offs.”
“All right. Don’t get your boxers twisted.”
The irritation melted off Jayson’s face, and he laughed. “How do you know I don’t wear briefs, you perv?”
Craig laughed, too, and pushed himself to his feet. “Come on, I have some cash left. Let’s get a beer.”
“You treating? You know, to thank me for the lead.”
He knew Jay was only ribbing him, but he turned and looked him in the eye. “If the lead pays off and Glazier hires me to do something that pays worth a damn, I’ll buy you a bourbon at that overpriced tourist trap on the water.”
Jayson raised an eyebrow. “You got yourself a deal.”
As they strolled along the sidewalk, headed by unspoken agreement for Duke’s Brews, Craig felt something like hope stir in his belly. If he could save some real money, he’d leave this dying town and never look back. He’d even take Gran with him, assuming he could convince her to leave.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Fred took his sweet time driving through town at a crawl to show off his new canary yellow baby. He imagined the envy of everyone he passed as a source of energy, fueling his ambition and success. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and Fred wasn’t about to be eaten. Against the odds, he’d clawed his way to the top of the heap and intended to stay there.
He’d started writing a business how-to/memoir to tell how a poor kid from a poor town became a big-shot businessman. So far, he hadn’t gotten very far—okay, he hadn’t gotten past the introduction. But he knew he had a blockbuster story. Maybe he should hire a ghostwriter. Or skip the book and go straight for a screenwriter. Tom Cruise could play him.
That thought put a grin on his face, and he pressed his foot down hard on the gas, flooring it as he blew out of the town limits and took the winding road to his home. With his aviator sunglasses and the wind blowing back his hair, Fred figured he looked like he was straight out of “Days of Thunder.”
He zoomed past the stands of tupelo trees on his right and the long public beach on his left. He cranked the radio, even though he couldn’t hear the music over the roar of the engine and the whooshing air.
When he reached the four-way stop, he slowed, checked the perpendicular road in both directions, and blew through the intersection. A mother with a toddler on her hip raised her hand and shouted at him from the curb by the pharmacy. He slowed down again to give her a one-fingered salute, then gunned it.
He was still laughing when he hit the button to open his electronic gates and eased the car up his long driveway. His good mood faded before he reached the six-car garage, though. His Bluetooth earpiece beeped, and he glanced at the dashboard display. Great. It was the skirt from Chad’s office. Again.
He punched the remote button and slid the car in under the door as it was still rising. Then he killed the engine, sighed, and picked up the call.
