Page 50 of Doozer

Of course, I was aware my father had some sort of land deal cooking with Judge Snodgrass, but I wasn’t about to let him know about my intel.

“Congratulations, but I still don’t see what any of that has to do with me,” I said.

“This deal involves you, because once it’s completed, your future children, my grandchildren, will be set up for life,” my father said, excitedly. “And I want all of my children to work with me to help make it happen. As soon as we enter the next phase of development, I’ll be bringing Gia and Carmen on as the company’s private legal team, but I need you to make that happen.”

“Gia and Carm can do what they want, but I’ve never asked for your money and I don’t need it.”

“It’s not about the money, Marco. It’s about our family building something together. A legacy.”

“I still don’t understand how I could possibly help you,” I said.

“I’m bound by an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement, unable to say much more until you’re on the payroll, but let me assure you, son. You are in a unique position to help your family become a dynasty in Portland.”

“Through logistics fucking management?”

“You have to trust me when I say you have all the education and experience needed to fill this position and that it is in your best interest to accept it.”

“That almost sounded like a threat,” I said.

“Not at all,” my father replied. “Believe it or not, Marco, I care deeply about your future.”

I studied my father’s face. He seemed genuine but was clearly withholding as much as he was disclosing. However, his reluctance to give me detailed information about this deal was far less shocking than the fact that he wanted me involved in the first place.

“Take some time over the next few days to think about my offer,” my father said. “Maybe talk things over with that girl of yours.”

“What?”

My father grinned. “I told you, son. I hear things.”

* * *

“The order sheet says high gloss finish,” Elwood repeated.

“I already told you I don’t give a shit what the order sheet says. I talked to Jeff yesterday, and he definitely wants a satin finish.”

“But he signed the sheet, and the sheet says glossy.” Elwood held up his clipboard.

“I swear to God, Wood. If you show me that thing one more time, I’m gonna shove it so far up your ass—”

“I’d like to see you try, punk,” he said tossing his clipboard onto the nearby workbench and getting into a fighting stance.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up, old man,” I retorted. “I’d hate for you to break a hip doing all that Kung-Fu fighting.”

“My bones are fuckin’ fine, and so are my eyes. The order says glossy. It’s candy apple red for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m fully aware of the client’s color and finish choice. I’m also aware the order sheet is incorrect. If you want to call Jeff and look like a disorganized, unprofessional jackass, be my fuckin’ guest. Here I’ll dial his number for you,” I said, picking up the shop phone, just as Minus walked in.

“Hey, it’s my favorite show,” he said excitedly. “The Real Housewives of Portland. What are you two bitches fighting about now?”

“Nothing a phone call can’t solve,” I said, waiving the receiver in front of Elwood.

“Fine,” he said, taking the receiver from me and slamming down. “But who the hell ever heard of candy apple red in satin?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Wood.”

“I barely fuckin’ liked the twentieth,” he grumbled, before returning to the paint booth, slamming the door behind him.

“Nice to see Elwood in a good mood for a change,” Minus said, before handing me a plain white envelope. “This came for you.”

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