while I worked overtime at my station and got raped by taxes and union dues.
A few minutes later, she came out of the bathroom. "All right, a re you ready for this, cowboy?"
"Is there an open bar?"
" God. Yes, but go easy on it, please."
"Don't hold your breath. Hey, after this, you wanna get something to eat?" I almost hoped she said no just so I wouldn't have to listen to her talking any more.
"Sure," she said without a lot of enthusiasm, then set up her excuse to get out of it with, "I might have to work, though."
Fuck it. Now I just wa nted this trip to be done with.
We stepped into the beige-colored conference room, and three men dressed better than me around a fake oak table didn't bother to look up from their cell phones.
"Hey, everybody," Tracey announced. "Look who I found wandering around the airport."
Chapter 6
Accomplices
At the head of the table sat the damn kid calling himself Kamikaze. He wore a black suit and shirt with a lime green tie. The light bounced off of the silver rings in his pierced bottom lip, the stud in his nose and the diamonds up his left ear. He looked up from his phone and nodded at me with a cheesy-ass grin. "Good to see you."
I ignored him and made my way to the bar set up on a folding table against the wall. A bottle of single-malt Scotch that I couldn't afford on my pay called my name. Tracey took the open seat next to Kamikaze and set her purse down.
"Hey, man," he said again, a little louder, "Thanks for coming in. How was your flight?"
He would keep doing his 'polite' way of showing he was in charge and that I needed to acknowledge him until I said something, so I just said, "Everything was fine," and sat down with my red plastic cup of Scotch next to some squirrelly guy staring at an open laptop with programs opening and closing all over the screen even though his hands didn't touch the keyboard.
I made passing eye contact with a cut black guy at the end of the table wearing a pair of khakis and a black polo shirt tight enough to make sure everyone knew he hit the gym regularly. He jutted his chin out to me in a silent, ' what's up,' and I returned it.
On the table in front of me and everybody else laid a pad of yellow legal paper, a plain w hite folder and two black pens.
Kamikaze tapped the screen on his phone, tucked it back into his suit and knocked his knuckles on the table. "All right. Everybody's good, everybody's got drinks, so I guess everybody's ready to get details on this amazing license to print money, right?"
Nobody in the room said anything. Douche bag .
"Shit, quiet room," he fake laughed. "Everybody's too badass to say anything. All right. Well, we're just gonna hit the highlights on this project today and take an early-out so we can all relax and absorb this information and maybe take in some of these fine musical shows that, uh, lots of fat white people seem to like. Anyway, tomorrow, we'll really knuckle-down on this bitch 'til it's black and blue. Cool?"
Again, nobody said anything. Prick.
He dug booklets out of a black messenger bag next to his chair and slid one to each of us. "So for today, here's the short version. We're brainstorming ideas for a high-paying, very specialized operation. Now all of you bring your own skill set and experience to the table, and what we're going to do is draw from all of it to come up with deliverable ideas that, in a perfect world, will mean everybody here at this table will get to be a part of the final operation. It may look overwhelming at first, but I promise there is a win scenario out there for us, we just have to find it."
I downed the rest of my Scotch. I could already feel my mind beginning to wander away from this shit. The motherfucker was probably going to try to sell me a tim eshare by the time it was over.
I opened up the booklet while he talked a lot more. The font was too small, which only made me more pissed than I already was that I had some goddamn homework to read through. The pieces
A few minutes later, she came out of the bathroom. "All right, a re you ready for this, cowboy?"
"Is there an open bar?"
" God. Yes, but go easy on it, please."
"Don't hold your breath. Hey, after this, you wanna get something to eat?" I almost hoped she said no just so I wouldn't have to listen to her talking any more.
"Sure," she said without a lot of enthusiasm, then set up her excuse to get out of it with, "I might have to work, though."
Fuck it. Now I just wa nted this trip to be done with.
We stepped into the beige-colored conference room, and three men dressed better than me around a fake oak table didn't bother to look up from their cell phones.
"Hey, everybody," Tracey announced. "Look who I found wandering around the airport."
Chapter 6
Accomplices
At the head of the table sat the damn kid calling himself Kamikaze. He wore a black suit and shirt with a lime green tie. The light bounced off of the silver rings in his pierced bottom lip, the stud in his nose and the diamonds up his left ear. He looked up from his phone and nodded at me with a cheesy-ass grin. "Good to see you."
I ignored him and made my way to the bar set up on a folding table against the wall. A bottle of single-malt Scotch that I couldn't afford on my pay called my name. Tracey took the open seat next to Kamikaze and set her purse down.
"Hey, man," he said again, a little louder, "Thanks for coming in. How was your flight?"
He would keep doing his 'polite' way of showing he was in charge and that I needed to acknowledge him until I said something, so I just said, "Everything was fine," and sat down with my red plastic cup of Scotch next to some squirrelly guy staring at an open laptop with programs opening and closing all over the screen even though his hands didn't touch the keyboard.
I made passing eye contact with a cut black guy at the end of the table wearing a pair of khakis and a black polo shirt tight enough to make sure everyone knew he hit the gym regularly. He jutted his chin out to me in a silent, ' what's up,' and I returned it.
On the table in front of me and everybody else laid a pad of yellow legal paper, a plain w hite folder and two black pens.
Kamikaze tapped the screen on his phone, tucked it back into his suit and knocked his knuckles on the table. "All right. Everybody's good, everybody's got drinks, so I guess everybody's ready to get details on this amazing license to print money, right?"
Nobody in the room said anything. Douche bag .
"Shit, quiet room," he fake laughed. "Everybody's too badass to say anything. All right. Well, we're just gonna hit the highlights on this project today and take an early-out so we can all relax and absorb this information and maybe take in some of these fine musical shows that, uh, lots of fat white people seem to like. Anyway, tomorrow, we'll really knuckle-down on this bitch 'til it's black and blue. Cool?"
Again, nobody said anything. Prick.
He dug booklets out of a black messenger bag next to his chair and slid one to each of us. "So for today, here's the short version. We're brainstorming ideas for a high-paying, very specialized operation. Now all of you bring your own skill set and experience to the table, and what we're going to do is draw from all of it to come up with deliverable ideas that, in a perfect world, will mean everybody here at this table will get to be a part of the final operation. It may look overwhelming at first, but I promise there is a win scenario out there for us, we just have to find it."
I downed the rest of my Scotch. I could already feel my mind beginning to wander away from this shit. The motherfucker was probably going to try to sell me a tim eshare by the time it was over.
I opened up the booklet while he talked a lot more. The font was too small, which only made me more pissed than I already was that I had some goddamn homework to read through. The pieces
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