Page 39 of Walk on the Wilde Side
Hoffman is still on his tense phone call. Jameson stops just before the steps. "Should we wait till he finishes?"
I slide past him. "Fuck no, I want my money. Planning on eating an entire tray of Harry's pizza bites tonight."
"Wow, Z, always with the big, dreamy future aspirations," Jameson teases.
"I was planning to buy you a tray too, but since you made fun of me, you can fuck off and buy your own pizza bites." I yank open the door. My work boots carry in plenty of dirt and noise as I stomp inside. The entire trailer rattles with each footstep.
Hoffman's face is red, and it gets redder when he sees the two of us inside his tidy little office.
"I'll call you back," he says angrily and smacks his phone down hard on the desk. "What the fuck are you guys doing? Look at the dirt you're tracking in."
"Yeah, okay, Ma," I say. "Just needed to remind you that it's payday, although we shouldn't have to remind you."
"What? That can't be." He rips through a day calendar on his desk until he reaches today's date. "We'll need to hold off until next week. I'm having trouble with some investors."
Jameson touches my arm to let me know he's handling this. Probably best for everyone because I'm ready to pick the asshole up right out of his expensive loafers and toss him through one of the closed windows.
Jameson steps forward. Hoffman flinches and scoots back. "See, the business between you and your investors has got nothing to do with us. The payment dates are in the contract. We're two thirds of the way done out there. We've held up our side of the contract, and we expect you to do the same." Jameson takes out his phone. "So send the money, and we'll be on our way."
"I can't send it today. I'll try and get it Monday."
Jameson shakes his head. "Nope. Not good enough. Our workers are waiting for their paychecks, and so are we."
Hoffman moves so that his very neat and clean desk is between him and his two angry subcontractors. "Can't give you something I don't have. Besides, I'm not all that pleased with your work. That dust cloud I drove through for starters. I'll get fined if the dust from this site reaches the neighborhoods below. And your two workers are always taking fucking coffee breaks."
I step forward. "We told you that they are taking the legally required number of breaks, and the only reason the dust kicked up was because you flew up here in that race car of yours like you're fucking sixteen and trying to show off to your friends. Seriously, just drive up like normal. None of us are fucking impressed." I knew if I didn't get my two bits in I'd be regretting it the rest of the night. "Now send us the money, please."
"That sounds like a threat." Hoffman is flustered enough that he's shuffling through things on his mostly empty desk.
I laugh. "I said please. Where's the threat in that?"
"Look, I don't have the money. Maybe we should just end our contract here. I'm looking at a few other excavation companies who are cheaper and have far less attitude."
Jameson crosses his arms. "Fine. Then pay us what you owe us, and we'll take our equipment out of here tonight. And good luck with the cheaper company. If it's the one I'm thinking of they have no liability coverage, so if one of their workers gets hurt, then you'll be saying goodbye to this whole fucking development."
"I told you I don't have the money!" Hoffman's face is red.
Jameson shrugs at me. "Let's go fill in some holes. Trust me, it's much easier to fill 'em than to dig 'em."
I turn. "My pleasure."
"No, wait. Don't fill them in. Look, just give me till Monday. I'll have the money then. I promise."
"Monday by noon or we start taking this site back to the way it started," Jameson agrees. Personally, I'm leaning more toward the throwing the asshole out the window scenario but then he seems like one of those pricks with a lawyer on speed dial. I do have one more comment before we leave.
"If you're counting on getting that money from Chug, then you're blowing air up your own ass cuz Chug has never been an honest businessman."
The red in his face fades to a weird pink. "What—what do you mean? I don't know anyone named Chug." Judging by the way his feet are fidgeting underneath him and the color in his face, he knows exactly who Chug is.
"Right. Well, Monday it is then," I say.
We walk out, and I make sure to yank the door to the trailer hard enough to make it shake on its temporary foundation.
"Fucking weasel. Should have packed shit up when we saw Chug stop by," Jameson says.
"Yep, do we have enough to pay the guys?" I ask.
"Yeah, I'll send them their money right now, and Monday at noon, no money and we'll start chucking the dirt back in the holes. Those pizza bites still on or are you too broke?" Jameson asks.
