Page 15 of Property of Thrasher
Pinky laughed, “Aunt Nancy named herself the damn manager.”
Tiny shook his head. “Ma stood up to the task. Says she needs to stay busy since Pops died.”
It was my turn to shake my head. “Your mom is good people, Tiny, but she can’t be on the night shift alone.”
He nodded. “I’ve been getting coverage at night. Though the call outs are ridiculous so I end up working it myself.”
“We need to get this place up and running, legit ways to turn a profit. It’s draining resources which we got, but for how long?”
I nodded agreeing with DK’s point. “Make a list, Tiny. What jobs you need filled.”
He laughed sarcastically. “All of them. Unless you wanna see Crank behind the counter offering wake up calls, we need available people now.”
We all laughed thinking of Crank behind a counter with his split tongue and body covered in a geometric designed tattoo that fucks with your eyes simply looking at him.
“We’ve been using the bottom floor back side for transfers. It’s helped cushion the costs on the place. Moving product through there is cleaner than the garage. The upstairs has to remain for actual guests to keep the legal side of this going. For that, we need front desk staff, maintenance, and housekeeping.
Tiny put up his hand, “well, I hired two bitches last night. They rolled in late, looked lost as fuck. They needed a place to crash and jobs. Both of them made it downstairs ready to scrub toilets at seven am.”
“Fresh meat?” K-9 asked knowing Tiny wasn’t big on repeat pussy.
Tiny smirked, “fresh enough not to have a credit card.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, are they legal?”
Tiny nodded, “both gave ID cards showing they were nineteen. Well, one showed her license from Montana. The other one had her birth certificate and a recent marriage license, also from Montana. Apparently, that one doesn’t drive.”
I rubbed my jaw thinking. It wasn’t just about making a profit. This was about image too. We didn’t let our shit run down and rot. Anything we stood behind had to be quality. Period.
“Alright, give me some options.”
“Hire local, put out some feelers,” Guru injected himself into the conversation. “Can put some shit out online.”
“You bring in civvies you ask for loose lips. One wrong word to the wrong set of ears, it’s over. We need a pool of people we can trust.”
“Bring in bunnies for now. Cash bonus for not making it a brothel. They keep their legs closed during shift there and open them when they come to the clubhouse.” Hacksaw proposed.
“We aren’t hosting a whore house,” DK chimed in. “But we have a few club girls that are reliable and know the life. They can handle the front desk or cleaning.”
“Faye’s good with numbers,” Sweeper piped up. “She ain’t got a problem with the bunnies. Half of them look at her like their older sister anyway.”
“Jonesy’s looking for something steady.” Widower added, “She doesn’t scare easy. I work night shift with her for security, she’ll be down to work some shifts.”
Tiny relaxed. “This could work. Start with our own, keep it in the family, but get my mom off the night shift.”
“Alright, we do that. But we aren’t closed off to an outsider if they have hotel experience, but also are quiet.” I told the group. “Gotta balance the chaos.”
“Always level the scales,” everyone said in unison.
A lean operation, nothing flashy, a quick crash pad off the highway for travelers, I could envision it already. A place people didn’t question, but also didn’t linger too long.
I lifted the gavel and brought it down once. “Item closed. We move forward with that. Tiny, you’ll oversee staffing from the bunnies and old ladies. Sweeper, Pinky, help him with the interviews. Crank and Widower map out how to use the bottom floor for storage and product transfers. We keep the legit floors legit, and the club business working in the designated area only.”
Everyone nodded.
“Anything else?”
No one added another word.
