Page 3 of Cash

“What the fucking fuck?” he shouted, coming across his yard and stalking toward the truck. He angrily waved the flamingo. “Uh, hello? Do you see what you assholes have done to my yard?”

The man in the coveralls held up his hands, stammering, “Hey! L-look, sir, it was an accident—”

“An accident?” Brick snapped. “Where exactly was he trying to park? My living room?”

After poking his head out, the driver argued, “Hey! That prick right there—” He jabbed his finger toward the man in the coveralls. “—was supposed to be guiding me! He told me to keep going!”

“No!” the man in coveralls protested. “I was twirlin’ my finger to tell your stupid ass to turn around! We’re unloading over there!” He pointed at the townhouses.

“Look.” Brick took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He held out the damaged flamingo, saying as evenly as he could, “Someone is going to pay for this. Okay? I don’t care who. I don’t care how, but this is an absolute disaster.”

“We can file with the insurance—”

“And how long is that going to take?” Brick looked at the state of his yard and once again resisted the urge to scream. He whirled back around, shaking the flamingo wildly. “Huh? How long?”

“I got it,” a rough voice said.

Brick froze.

It was the big man he’d been checking out, here in all of his beefy glory. He was walking around the front of the truck—no, he was lumbering like a giant beast—and he made a face as he looked over Brick’s yard.

Brick was very glad he had changed clothes now and not stayed in his pajamas for the day. He felt a little silly holding the flamingo, so he tried to tuck it under his arm and did his best to look cool.

“Damn.” The big man approached Brick, saying, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s, uh, you know, not great.” Brick cleared his throat.

“Here.” The big man had his wallet out, thumbing through a wad of hundred dollar bills. He counted out a thick stack and offered it to Brick.

Brick stared at the money. He’d never seen that much cash in his life. It had to be thousands that this giant was carrying around. He was so stunned that he didn’t understand what the man was trying to do. “Huh?”

“I told you, I got it.” The big man offered the money again. “For the damages.”

“Oh! Wow!” Brick took the cash, holding it dumbly. “This… this is a lot.”

“It’s enough, right?”

“Yeah, for sure. Thank you. Thank you very much.” Brick bowed his head and then quickly shoved it all in his pocket. He had no idea how much the man had just given him, but his immediate guess was that it was more than enough to buy plenty of new rainbow flamingos.

“Hey. Dumbasses.” The big man addressed the driver and the man in coveralls. “Can we try this shit again, please?”

“You got it, Mr. Price!” the driver yelped before ducking back into the cab of the truck. He pulled off toward Saint Mary’s Street to turn around.

The man in coveralls zoomed up the sidewalk to help direct him, leaving Brick and the big man alone.

“Mr. Price?” Brick asked politely.

“Call me Jules.” The big man offered one of those lusciously thick hands.

Brick shook it, loving right away how warm and strong it felt around his own.

Jules was big. Way big. There weren’t many people Brick had met that he had to tilt his head up to meet their eyes. Jules was easily six foot seven, maybe even taller, and he was twice as wide as Brick.

God, Brick wanted to climb him like a damn tree.

“Cho Brixton,” he said. “My friends call me Brick.”

“Cho?” Jules echoed.

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