Grumpy Boss by Hamel, B. (best non fiction books to read TXT) 📗

“You gave me a fake number,” Rees said, speaking clearly and slowly. “You tried to fuck me.”

“Yeah, right, about that,” Alvin said, sounding like his voice was trebling. “Look man, I’ve been drinking a lot, okay? I was pretty wasted when you showed up.”

“And are you wasted right now?” Rees asked, almost spitting the words.

“No, no, it’s too early to be wasted,” Alvin said, then added, “but you know, I’ve had a few drinks, but I’m fine, man.”

I sighed and touched my forehead with my fingers, trying to think. Alvin was an alcoholic—we should’ve seen it. The way he had that alcohol hidden, the way he drank, the state of that place, it should’ve been obvious. And yet we both missed it.

“Alright,” Rees said, trying to talk slowly, like Alvin was a toddler with a tenuous grip on language. “Did you give me a fake number on purpose, or was that a mistake?”

“Rees, man, come on,” Alvin said, and I knew he did it on purpose. That dumb, dumb asshole tried to trick Rees, and it almost worked. If Reed had decided not to call Desmond after all, then Alvin would’ve gotten away with it.

He almost got lucky. Instead, he fucked up massive.

Rees looked like he wanted to burn something. His eyes met mine and it was pure madness in them.

“You fucked me,” Rees said. “You really tried to fuck me. You know how dumb that was, don’t you, Alvin?”

“Rees,” Alvin groaned. “You know I got loyalty. Desmond takes care of me, man. I don’t know what I’d be without him. He got this place, and you know, I got bills and shit, and—“

“He buys your fucking alcohol too I bet,” Rees said, cutting him off. Alvin let out a pathetic whine. “God damn, he owns you. Pays for everything, even your booze, and if you try and do something against him, he can take it all away and leave you ruined. You realize that, right? He owns you, Alvin.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice sounding pathetic. “But what can I do?”

“I told you, I can help,” Rees said. “You know I have resources. If you’ll let me, I can use them.”

“What do you want, man?” Alvin sounded angry all of a sudden, like his mood shifted and turned like a leave in the wind. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want Desmond,” Rees said. “Give me an address. And a phone number. No lying this time. I want Desmond.”

Alvin sighed, and another long pause came over the line. I pictured Alvin pouring a drink and slugging it back, staring at his empty surf shop, the counter dusty, the product practically rotting on the hangers.

“I need money,” Alvin said finally. “I need a lot of it.”

“How much?” Rees asked, and his expression soured, but I knew he was willing to deal.’

“Five million,” Alvin said.

Rees laughed like it was some sick joke. “Ten thousand, and I’ll buy you a place to live. In the fucking Bay Area, that’ll be over a million.”

“I need five,” Alvin said. “Just to live, man, and my shop—“

“One,” Rees snapped. “And that’s all I do for you. One million, you do whatever you want with it.”

Another silence, and I thought I heard the sound of Alvin pouring a drink. Rees looked exhausted and terrible, but his eyes were sharp and bright.

“Fine,” Alvin said. “But I need money now. You know, I got bills—“

“Fuck you,” Rees said. “You give me the address and the number, and after I’ve found and talked to Desmond, then I’ll fucking pay you.”

“He’ll kill me,” Alvin said, whining again, and it was the saddest thing I’d ever heard, a grown man talking like that. He was so shattered, and held together by almost nothing. Desmond took everything from him, and kept him on a tight leash, owned and controlled, dominated to the core, and left to rot in the California sun.

“I don’t care,” Rees said. “Make the call. Otherwise, I’ll hire a fucking private investigator for less, and find him that way.”

“Shit,” Alvin said, then rattled off a number and an address.

“Say it again,” Rees said, and I grabbed a pen. Alvin said it one more time, sounding like he wanted to throw up, and I wrote it down.

“I need money,” Alvin said. “I got bills. I really do.”

I looked at Reed, and he only shook his head. Bills meant booze, and we all knew it.

“After I find Desmond,” Rees said, and some part of me hoped he never paid—because with that much cash, I had a feeling Alvin would drink himself to death. “Good luck.”

He hung up the phone and leaned back.

We stared at each other in silence. A real number, and a real address. I typed it into my phone and found it in Chicago, like Alvin had said originally. “Looks like an apartment building,” I said, squinting down at the satellite image on Google Maps. “Could be for real, but it’s hard to say.”

“Forget calling,” Rees said and stood up. “We’re going. We’ll finish this.”

I chewed my cheek. “What about Alvin? If you pay him straight up, he might not live for long.”

His eyes clouded. “I’m not sure I give a shit.’

“Rees,” I said, glaring at him. “Come on.”

“I know,” he said, sighing. “I’ll pay him in installments. Spread it out over a long time. Maybe that’ll help keep him alive.”

“He won’t like that,” I said, shaking my head.

“He can go fuck himself.” Rees grinned at me, but before he could say any more, someone knocked at the door. It sounded urgent and rapid, and I turned with surprise as Jack stepped into the room, breathing hard.

“Sorry,” Jack said, gesturing behind him. “Tried to warn you— the phone was tied up— I wanted to stop her, but—“

“What are you talking about?” Rees asked, but Jack stepped aside, and Lady Fluke strode into her room followed by her assistant, who remained near the doorway, tapping away on a phone.

Lady Fluke stood in and put