Page 18 of Walk on the Wilde Side
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.
ten
Nev
"Kiki, did you borrow my gold hoop earrings again?" I call down the hallway. There's no answer. I can hear her on the phone.
I blow out a big puff of air as I stare in the mirror. The reflection staring back at me says you should stay home tonight. Nana always told me I had far too much intuition. She insisted that while it was good to have a strong sense of the world around you, a nagging intuition could also hold you back. It was like a set of rules you made for yourself based solely on a hunch. And so, as usual, Nana's tiny voice came through this evening, just minutes before I wrote my planned text to cancel the date with Dane. Instead of writing him, and against my better judgement, again, a judgement based solely on a gut feeling, I walked in to take a shower and get ready for the night out.
I stare in the mirror again. Plain and simple, that's the way I like it, and if the world has complaints, then fuck the world. I wipe the last streak of foundation off my forehead. I spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom mirror adding a lot of makeup to my eyes and lips and then spent the next twenty minutes erasing my hard work. I looked like a clown. Serves me right for taking beauty advice from a twenty-something who delights in her own selfies and thinks there are cow species that go with each kind of cheese. Yesterday, Mona asked me if they fed cows jalapeños to get pepper jack cheese. She insisted on sending me her tutorial on applying eye makeup that was, according to her, both sultry and perky. Not sure where those two words meet in the middle, but the result was more Pennywise meets the Joker.
