Page 25 of Givin' Me Fitz!
He’d just started working with us the previous day, and I didn’t know him well. It was about an hour and a half, so it would be a good chance to see what the guy was all about.
“What’s going on?” I glanced in Greeley’s direction, taking in his red face and the scowl that didn’t seem at home there.
When he and Keats got back to the office, Greeley got out of Keats’ Jeep and stormed over to where I stood finishing an energy drink next to my truck while I waited for Hardy to come out with the information we’d need when we got to Laughlin. Keats stormed into the office and came out a minute later with Jagger behind him.
They got into Keats’ Jeep and pulled over to where I stood, handing me one of the two envelopes in his fist before he drove off without a word. I got into the truck and handed the envelope to Greeley for him to navigate.
“Keats is on his period, I guess.”
Greeley opened the envelope and unfolded the papers. “Okay, we’re staying at the Tropicana. Ever been?”
“Nope. Never been anywhere in Nevada. You from here?”
“Yep. Grew up in Vegas.”
I nodded. “What blew up between you guys earlier?”
I merged onto I-95 South, noticing Greeley hadn’t answered me. I guessed it wasn’t my business, but I was still curious just the same.
We drove along for about ten miles before Greeley said, “Why do people have to complicate shit? See, I went out with that deputy at the lockup that you met the other week, and when I didn’t want to hit it again, the guy got a grudge. He quit giving out our business cards and even tore the fucking page out of the phone book at the jail. That’s why things were sorta slow a couple of weeks ago.
“So, Keats goes to the jail without me on a call this past weekend. I went to Palm Springs to see my dad and had the weekend off. Deputy Marin asks Keats to tell me to call him. Keats gets all pissed off at me for no fucking reason. Tells me he’s not my personal messenger and I need to take care of my fucking business and keep him out of it. I had no control over that shit!”
His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he pulled it out and answered it. “Hi, Ma. What’s up?”
I could hear a woman’s voice but wasn’t able to make out what she was saying, so I concentrated on the road. I tried to give him as much privacy as I could with the two of us stuck in the cab of a pickup truck.
A few minutes later, he finished his call and tossed his phone in the console. “Do I look like a fucking bank?”
I turned to him and tried to hide the smirk as he picked up his phone and punched the keyboard so hard I thought he was going to break it. “Son, can I get your rent early? I’m going to The Strip with Rhonda and Brenda tonight.” His tone was high as if he was mocking his mother’s voice.
“You share a house with your mother?” I didn’t really mean anything by it. It just surprised me.
My mom and dad lived in a small house on the ranch back home. My brother Clinton—named after William Jefferson Clinton—and his wife Paige moved into the large ranch house when Clint took over running things.
When I went back to visit, I stayed with Mom and Dad and I helped my father with things, doing my best to keep my “queer ass” away from my homophobic brother. I felt sorry for any kids that were born into his life. My brother was a judgmental prick.
“Yeah. She’s a great mom, but she can be a pain in the ass. I’m afraid she might be developing a gambling problem. She blows through money like I wishI could.”
“Have you talked to her about it?” Hell, I had no advice about anything like that.
My parents were in their seventies. They went to church twice on Sunday, taught Bible study on Wednesday, and went out for lunch on Friday. Other than that, they didn’t step a toe off the ranch.
“No. I didn’t think it was a problem until she started running with these women she befriended at the VFW in Henderson where she goes to play Bingo. They’re all retired and they go from casino to casino. I’m worried they’ll get jumped when they’re out late at night.” Greeley picked up his phone again and sighed.
“I need to call her. Sorry about my little bitch session, Fitz. Nobody deserves to hear this shit.”
The phone rang twice before it was answered. “Hi, Ma. Are you driving yourself to The Strip? Take an Uber. I put that app on your— I’m not saying you’re a bad driver, Ma. I worry about you. Someone could follow you to the parking garage and bash you in the head. Yes, Ma. I’d be lost without you, too. Just take an Uber and be careful when you cash in your tickets at the big cash machine. If someone looks too interested in what you’re doing, walk away and cash the ticket at the window. Okay. Love you, too. See you later in the week.”
After the call ended, he tossed the phone in the cupholder and chuckled. “I really hope she hangs around for a long time. She’s a funny broad, and if I didn’t have her to worry about, I don’t know what I’d do.”
We both had a laugh and traded stories from our childhoods for the rest of the ride. Greeley was a funny guy, and I was happier to have him riding with me than struggling through a conversation with Jagger Hansen.
“We’re here to see Silas Drell. Jesse Sparks sent us.”
The older lady at the desk didn’t seem to be paying attention to the Greeley’s words because she was staring at his broad shoulders. Keats stood behind him and chuckled. I was smirking, too. Jagger huffed and puffed, staring at the ceiling as if what we were doing was too far beneath his station. He was a real joy to be around.
“I’m Delores. Let me go see if Silas is done with his lunch. Would you boys like something to drink?”
