Don Bruns - Stuff to die for

“It’s a part-time job that lets us pick up a few bucks.”

He squinted his eyes and looked at me. “I see us making a million dollars in two years.”

“Jesus! You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Two guys started Google at our age. What about them? And Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. By our age they had already written that movie Good Will Hunting that made them millionaires. Why can’t it happen to us?”

“Because you’re talking about hauling somebody else’s shit. That isn’t the same as Google or a hit movie.”

James slowly stood up. I almost told him that the client’s wife thought her husband might be an international terrorist. I almost broke my promise to Em, just to jab him a little bit. But hell, he would have loved the intrigue. James looked down at me from his perceived lofty position. “I’m going down to Gas and Grocery and picking up a six-pack. Hell, you don’t bother to get the beer around here and after listening to your negative attitude, I could use a drink.”

T HE THREE OF US MET AT CHILI’S. If you want a drink and a decent meal in Carol City, Chili’s is about it. And the sad part of that story is that Chili’s isn’t really in Carol City; it’s across the border in Miami Lakes. There’s no place in Carol City to get a decent meal and a drink.

“James.” Em nodded at him, an icy tone from her usually warm mouth.

“Em. Looking sexy as usual.” In her skintight jeans, she did.

She grimaced.

“Of course, it’s all for show. I happen to know you’re frigid as hell.” He smiled, shrugging his shoulders as if it was all a joke we should share.

“And you’re an asshole, James. Now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way shall we discuss your business?”

I jumped in. “How much did you tell her we charged?”

“I told her $1,500.”

“How much?” I thought James’s eyes were going to pop out of his head. To be honest, I thought mine would too.

“Well, she didn’t balk at it. I called a moving company and asked them what they’d charge. I think it’s worth it to her to have the stuff moved. She just wanted someone to take responsibility.”

The bartender brought us three short drafts, and we sat silently for a minute, sipping the dark bitter beer and watching the happy-hour crowd walk through the doors.

“Jackie is expecting you guys this weekend. Can you do it Saturday?”

“For that kind of money I’ll move it at three in the morning. Oh, by the way, Skip, did you say something to Angel about the job?”

“Angel?”

“Angel. The Bahamian guy who hangs out at Gas and Grocery.”

I stared blankly at him.

“He asked if we needed any help moving the stuff from Jackie Fuentes’s house. Said he could use some extra cash.”

I thought for a moment. Angel is almost always there. He’s hanging out in the parking lot, looking at the magazines inside, or just appearing out of nowhere. He’s always a little wacked, but I like him. He’s someone who seems very real. “No. I don’t remember talking to him.”

James shrugged his shoulders. “Well, he seemed to know about it, but I told him the first job we were doing alone. Couldn’t afford a third split.”

I shook my head. No third splits! Maybe down the road. And I was certain I’d never said a word to Angel.

“Anyway, he asked, and seemed disappointed when I said no. By the way, where are we taking this stuff?” James raised his frosted glass and took a long swallow.

“She’s rented a small storage facility.” Em had all the information. “Once it’s in there, she can quit paying on it, and the owners of the facility will eventually haul it away or sell it. Apparently people do it all the time.”

“Pretty sneaky.” James seemed pleased with the scam. Make it a little shady and he was there.

A pretty blond waitress walked by and smiled. “Hi, James. Busy this weekend? I’m off.” She stopped and brushed the hair off his forehead.

“It’s tempting. Let me get back to you. I may have to work.”

“Saturday night? After Cap’n Crab closes?”

“I’ve got a second job.”

She frowned.

“Got to make a little more money so I can take you down to Miami and have a proper date.”

She smiled. “Proper. I’ll hold you to that.” She moved on, looking back over her shoulder, giving him a wink.

Em had that disgusted look on her face. She couldn’t see the charm. Given the time and the desire, James could win her over. I would bet he could get her into bed. He just has this winning way about him. However, I wasn’t about to give him the time or encourage his desire.

“Can I see the truck?”

“Out in the parking lot.” James kept his eyes on the blond’s cute rear end as she disappeared into the kitchen.

I took a final swallow of my Amber Bock and we got up from the bar. Em left half a glass. She always does. I was paying, and Amber Bock isn’t the cheapest beer that they serve.

The sun was cooking the parking lot, the heat radiating from the black asphalt. Our truck sat at the back of the lot, shining in the bright sunlight. James had insisted on a truck wash. I told him that the cleanliness of our truck didn’t mean anything to the lady off of Indian Creek Village, but he insisted that a clean truck showed a serious attitude about the business. I agreed with him, until I found I had to pay half the cost of the wash. Eight bucks. From now on, it was half-and-half on the expenses, and only a third of the profits until he’d made the $12,000 back.

“I got a glimpse of it at your apartment the other day,” Emily said. “What’s inside?” She started to open the cab.

“No. Let me show you where the money is made first.” James pulled on the rear heavy metal latch and slowly pushed up the sliding back door.

“Well,” she let her eyes wander over the interior, “it’s the back end of a truck.”

James scowled. The future was not something to make light of.

Plywood panels lined the walls and the floor. Hooks had been screwed into the left wall and a shelf was mounted on the right. It was an amateur job all the way around, but it seemed to fit us perfectly. We were two of the biggest amateurs in the business.

“Now the cab.” James walked around to the front and opened the driver’s door. Two cloth seats, an automatic transmission, and an add-on CD player. Nothing fancy. James beamed. “Then there’s this little storage area.” He pulled down the passenger seat and there was a concealed door behind the seat. James hoisted himself into the cab, opened the door, and stepped into the storage area. “See? There’s a false wall in the truck, and we can put our personal stuff back here.” He stuck his head out. “Room for three people.”

“So, if you get thrown out of your apartment you’ve got a place to stay?”

He stared at Emily and stepped down from the truck.

“Have you ever tried to back it up?” she asked.

I studied her for a moment. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“No rearview mirror. You’ve got to use side mirrors.”

James looked into the driver’s side mirror and ran his hand through his sandy brown hair. “How hard can that be?”

“It takes some getting used to.”

“And how do you know?” She came off like an expert, this girl who drove a drop-top Thunderbird.

“Skip, I worked for Daddy a lot of summers. I’ve driven about every kind of truck imaginable. Trucks with eight forward and four reverse gears. Trucks that hauled lumber and all types of building materials. And I’ve driven plenty of trucks with side mirrors. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

I’m sure my eyes widened a little. I saw a look of awe on James’s face. I had a new admiration for Em. She was full of little surprises.