Don Bruns: Stuff to spy for

“Yeah, yeah.” He frowned. He’d met James and obviously didn’t think much of him. “I’m not entirely happy with that choice, but I guess we’ll deal with it.” Michael shuffled papers on his desk. “But we need two. The contract calls for two. It’s a bull-shit position. Any ideas of who could do it?”

“You’ve got the installers?”

He nodded. “We need a second supervisor. It’s a gopher position, Skip. You’ve been on these jobs before.”

Actually, I hadn’t. The few sales I made were mostly residential. Selling safety and security to people who had very little to secure. And when I did sell to businesses, they usually needed one or two door detectors and maybe a window sensor. Hardly any reason for a supervisor.

Michael looked past me, shaking his head. “What did it look like?”

“What did what look like?”

“The suicide.”

“You don’t want to know.” I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. The gory, blood-stained desk and carpet and the side of the man’s head with a hole in it.

“No. I don’t.” He looked back at me. “We need another supervisor. Simple stuff, really.”

“I can do it. I’ll be the second supervisor.”

“No. You’re in charge of the project.”

“But I could-”

“No, Skip. Regulations call for two supervisors, and one person in charge of the project.”

“So what’s my title?”

“Person in charge of the project.” Michael shrugged his shoulders.

Great title. I squinted my eyes and gave him a questioning look. So if I could figure a way to also be supervisor, I could make an additional twelve bucks an hour.

“And, no. You can’t be both.”

The son of a bitch was on to me.

“My title is really Person in Charge of the Project?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I shook my head. “I might know someone.”

He looked up from his gunmetal desk in his tiny cubicle office. “That would help. As person in charge, it’s going to be your job to find that someone. And if they screw up, as I feel certain your roommate will, it’s going to fall on your shoulders.”

The guy was a prick. “This man I’ve got in mind, he has his own business. He’s obviously good at management, and I think he’d work well in this environment.”

“Bring him by tomorrow, okay? I’m going to need to at least meet him.”

I was faking it. I had a vague idea, but who knew? The guy might be legit, he might be a fake.

“Michael, I’ll have him here tomorrow morning. You’ll be in till noon?” He had a habit of scooting by eleven thirty. You’d never see him the rest of the day.

“Um, yeah. You get him here no later than noon, okay?”

“Sure.”

I didn’t know what time he woke up, but I was going to pound on Jim Jobs’s door tonight until he finally answered. There was no way this job was going to get away from me because of a missing supervisor. I didn’t know Jim Jobs well, but for what this position called for, anyone could do it.

Hell, I’d hired James hadn’t I?

S ure, I should have contacted someone I knew. This was a job that was paying me a fortune, and I should have approached it with a little more responsibility. However, in my defense, I am not a responsible person. In my short life, I’ve come to accept that fact. I think I’m stuck in an immature, irresponsible lifestyle, and I have to be content with that. As it turned out, I wish I’d looked elsewhere.

I knocked three times, and finally he opened the door.

“Huh?” Spoken like someone who had just been wakened from a deep sleep. At two in the afternoon.

“Jim Jobs?”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. I’m Skip Moore, two doors down? Apartment 12 E?”

He just stared at me, scratching himself through the white Hanes Jockeys.

“You do odd jobs, am I right?”

He seemed to be a little more clear. “I do.” His thick head of hair was spiked all over his small head and his face sported a two-day, three-day, maybe a four-day growth. Various shades of brown and gray.

“Well, I’ve got an odd job.”

He squinted, scratched himself again, and nodded. “Can you give me just a minute? I think I need to make myself presentable, this bein’ a business deal and all.”

“Sure.”

He came back a minute later, dirty T-shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. The shirt was gray, but appeared to have been white originally. I was relieved that he’d dressed, until he scratched himself again.

“People usually call me on the phone.”

I could understand why.

“In fact,” he now scratched his chin, “this is the first time anybody ever came to my door asking about a job.”

I thought about using the phone the next time I wanted to contact him.

“What is this job?”

I noticed he’d used water to try and smooth down the unruly hair. He hadn’t been successful. “Different than anything you’ve done before.”

“I’ve done a lot of jobs.”

“Trust me, Jim. It is Jim, right?”

Jim Jobs shook his head back and forth. “No. Name’s Albert. Albert Jobs. But you can call me Jim. Everyone does.”

I considered going somewhere else for my hire.

“Now, what is this job?”

Get it out of the way. Bust his chops and move on to someone who would be good at it. “It’s this way, Albert… Jim. I need someone for just a week who can work in security. We’re installing a system for a company, and this position would be for someone who runs information back and forth between the installation teams.” It was complicated, and I really didn’t want to get into the details.

“I used to work for two companies that do exactly that.” Jim Jobs smiled at me, two front teeth totally missing.

“Do exactly what?”

“Install security systems. And I helped set the whole thing up. Worked with the crew, told them where to install motion detectors, sound detectors-”

“You did this?”

“I did. Is that why you’re calling on me?”

I had no choice. I gave Albert the job.

“You did what?”

“Em, you have no idea what it’s like to live without any money.”

“Oh, jeez, Skip. Don’t start with that.”

“Then where do I start? This job is going to pay me more than I made all of last year, Em. It’s not like I’m sleeping with her.” Although if I had enough money She shook her head and bit into another bite of cornbread. We were lunching at Esther’s, on Twenty-seventh in Carol City, where they serve biscuits and gravy, sausage, baked chicken, and this fabulous peach cobbler. I’d decided to make a clean confession.

“You always play the money card.”

“Em, I love you. You know that. And I’m always amazed that you reciprocate, but there is a money issue.”

“It’s not important to me.” She pursed her lips and closed her beautiful blue eyes for several seconds.

“Because you have a lot of money and I don’t have any.” My father had abandoned the family when I was very young, and my mother, younger sister, and I lived off welfare for about as long as I can remember. Em’s father owned a huge construction company, and he’d made a boatload of money off the wealthy homeowners in the richest districts of Miami.

“Just because I work for my father-”

The argument came up once in a while. About every other day.

“So what exactly are your obligations?”

“I pretend we’re dating. Sarah and I. At the job site. And, I park my car in front of her condo three nights a week.”

“You don’t park yourself at her condo?”

“Come on, Em.”

“This lasts how long?” I could see her softening, the fire leaving her eyes, and her fist opening into a five-fingered hand.