Black Buck(80)

“Rhett. I don’t know about this, man. It’s just that—”

“Just what? Anyone would kill to be in your shoes, Buck. I thought you’d be more grateful.”

I swallowed. “I am, Rhett. I really am, but—”

“But fucking what? I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. Why do I always have to push you to accept a golden opportunity? Do you think you’re too good for this? For us? Are you trying to start your own thing, is that it?”

“What? No. What are you talking about?”

“You know, Buck. Maybe Clyde was right. Maybe I backed the wrong horse, and you’re not cut out for this anymore. Maybe I was wrong to think you still cared about the company, about me.”

The waitress walked over and refilled our glasses. “Can I get you two anything else? Coffee? Tea? It’s past eight now, so maybe a mimosa?”

“No, thanks,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Just the check, please,” Rhett said.

We sat in silence as a busboy cleared the table. Rhett picked up the check, and we silently pulled on our jackets and gloves. When we got outside, Chauncey was waiting across Seventh.

I turned to Rhett, who slowly exhaled a plume of breath into the cold air. “Want a ride?” I asked.

“I’ll walk.”

“Okay. See you at the office.”

I took a step into the crosswalk, then felt a firm hand on my wrist. When I turned around, Rhett was shaking like he was going to cry.

“I meant what I said, Buck. Whether you like it or not, when you walk into the office, you will be Sumwun’s director of sales, and you will give more time and attention to the company. It’s the least you can do for everything I’ve done for you. For picking you over Clyde. Understood?”

I stared at his white knuckles tightening their grip on my wrist, burning in the late winter’s chill. “Yeah, my bad. Thanks for always looking out for me, Rhett.”



* * *





The buzzer rang. I got up from the couch and walked over. Then it rang again, long and obnoxiously. It was around six-thirty, so I figured it was Brian and let him up without checking.

Barry was also blowing up my phone.

Got the SDR yet? ;)

Almost, I typed. Unsure why this is so important though?

Don’t worry bout that. Just don’t fk it up. If u do, we’re done

When the elevator opened, I stabbed my head inside, and said, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I saw Brian, but I also saw the face of an elfish Black girl. She was wearing a black leather jacket and had a pixie cut, black ear gauges, and one of those bull-like septum piercings.

“You’re shorter than you look on TV,” she said, hands on her hips and a face full of disappointment.

I turned to Brian. “Who the hell is this?”

“I’m right here,” she said, pushing past me into the apartment. She took her jacket off and I saw tattoos running the lengths of her arms. “If you want to know who I am, why’d you ask him? You’re probably not used to women speaking up for themselves, but I assure you I am capable of doing so.”

“Brian,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t stealing anything. “Who. Is. That?”

“Um, that’s Rose Butler.”

“Okay,” I said, squeezing my eyes. “And?”

“And we play poker together. Usually on Wednesdays. When I told her I couldn’t make it, she asked why, so I told her.”

“And?”

“And she said it sounded fun. That she saw you on TV and wanted to meet you . . . and see what you could teach her.”

I grabbed his collar and yanked him out of the elevator. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You think you can just bring anyone here? That this is some sort of a game? And I didn’t know you played poker or even had the money for it.”

“He doesn’t,” she said, grabbing a Perrier out of the fridge and cracking it open. “I have to spot him since I took all of his money last month. But this looks fancy, is it French?”

“Put that down,” I ordered. She chugged half and left the opened bottle on the counter before plopping down on the couch and putting her dirty leather boots on my white oak coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said, wearing his abused puppy-dog face. “She won’t get in the way, I promise. I told her this is serious.”

“Don’t ever invite anyone here again. Got it?”

Still staring at the ground, he nodded.

I looked across the room. She was digging her heels into the coffee table, working stains into it that I’d likely never get out. I stormed over and shoved her feet off. “Get out. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to. Plus, you’re ruining my shit.”

“Oh, like this?” she asked, swinging her feet over the length of the couch, holding them there.

“Don’t you dare. I swear to God. If one piece of dirt gets on that couch, I’m going to have you arrested.”

“You have two choices, Buckaroo. Either let me stay and your couch stays just how you probably like your women, white and pretty, or you kick me out and I drive my muddy boots into the cushions before you have a chance to forcibly remove me. Which will it be?”