Black Buck(18)

Jason was my best friend, my brother, and we knew each other better than anyone else. But in that moment, it felt like we were worlds apart. He was the type of person to laugh instead of cry—he pierced tension like a needle. As I stared into his broken face, I knew there was an interior world he was hiding, even from me. And to keep it real, it hurt.

“Aight,” I said, grabbing his shoulder. Wally Cat waved me over, but he’d have to wait. There was no chance I’d risk being late.

6:25 a.m. The train pulled up and I had thirty-five minutes left. I can do this. I hopped on, put my headphones in, and closed my eyes, listening to Nas’s “Hate Me Now.”

6:35 a.m. I caught the L right before it took off. My heart was working overtime. Everything was happening so fast. Meeting Rhett, the office, Clyde grilling me. Stop thinking. The minute you slow down, you’re gonna get whiplash.

6:50 a.m. By the grace of God, the 6 train was sitting with its doors open. I jumped the stairs two by two, just making it. Sweat ran down my forehead, and I gripped the cold metal pole so hard, I thought I’d dent it.

“Hey, Darren.” I turned around. It was Brian. Wearing his green apron on the train. There’s no hope for this guy.

“Heard you’re not working at Starbucks anymore?”

“Uh, yeah, man. Sorry I wasn’t able to give you all a proper goodbye. Everything happened so quickly, and I ended up taking a job with that guy who came in the other day. Rhett Daniels.”

“It’s okay. I knew you were meant for bigger things. Don’t get me wrong, you were the best boss we ever had, but you were sort of too smart to be a shift supervisor. That’s like, I dunno, Professor X teaching elementary school.”

He was staring at one of those shitty poems on the wall instead of me. I couldn’t tell what he was feeling.

“I appreciate that, Brian. Working with everyone was fun, man. I’m gonna miss you all. Is Jared taking over my shifts?”

“Yeah, Nicole was crying when he told us, and Carlos was smiling, like he was proud of you or something. You’ll still stop by though, right?”

I looked down at my phone. 6:56 a.m. and we were at Twenty-Eighth Street. One more stop. If I run, I’ll make it.

“Of course,” I said. “Jared’s an asshole, so I’ll see you all around as much as—”

The train jerked to a stop, throwing bodies into one another.

A voice came over the intercom. “Apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but we are experiencing delays due to a sick passenger on the train ahead of us. We hope to be moving shortly.”

Sick on the train ahead of us? Fuck! What they actually mean is someone threw themself on the tracks. Who would be so selfish to commit suicide on a Monday at 6:57 a.m. and make everyone else late? Kill yourself on your own time!

“Hopefully they didn’t throw up all over the place,” Brian said, still staring at the poem.

The train pulled into Thirty-Third Street at 7:01 a.m. I bolted up the stairs of 3 Park Avenue, through the revolving doors, and into an elevator right before it closed. I hit thirty-six, praying it wouldn’t stop on a lower floor.

As the elevator climbed, all I heard were cables pulling, stretching, and shaking. No music. No mayhem.

I jumped out and looked to the right, but saw no commotion beyond the frosted doors. When I looked left, my heart dropped. The conference room was packed, and everyone inside was staring at something.

Me.



* * *





I stood in the elevator bay without a clue what to do. There I was in the plaid button-up, denim jeans, and Saucony running shoes Ma had picked out for me. I took a breath and opened the doors.

The sharp-featured receptionist smirked and clicked her tongue. “Bad move, Buck.”

Why the hell is she calling me Buck? But I had no time for questions. I was shaking worse than Jack at the end of Titanic. And there would be no one to save me either.

I walked toward the heavy wooden door on the left. But before I opened it, Rhett shook his head, pointing to the other side of the room. I walked the length of the glass wall, everyone’s eyes still on me, and opened the other door.

Every single leather-backed chair around the mahogany table had an ass in it. Every inch of the marble counter below the flat-screen TV was occupied. Every heater in front of the windows had someone on it. Some people smiled, others covered their mouths in horror, and a few seemed to be praying for me. And, I shit you not, every single person was white.

I looked across the room at Rhett. Clyde sat next to him, beaming.

“Why are you late?” Rhett asked.

“This is going to be good,” one girl whispered to another.

“Um, the train. Someone got sick on the one in front of me.” I looked around the room to see if it was an acceptable answer.

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Ah. Got it. The train. No worries. Take a seat and we’ll begin.”

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and sat on the floor.

“Get the fuck up!” Rhett yelled, charging toward me.

I shot up and braced for impact. What I knew even then was that this office was not a normal office, that this company was not a normal company, and that these people were not normal people.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? We start at 7 a.m. sharp. Every single Monday of the year. Not thirty seconds late. Not one minute late. And sure as hell not three minutes late. Where the fuck do you think you are? The first floor?”