“That’s sweet. I’m glad it worked out for you, but from my experience, family is way overrated,” she replied morosely. I could hear in her voice that there was way more to that story.
“Vegas, can you turn some music on? These two are trying to bore me to death,” Danielle yelled out of nowhere, interrupting our conversation. A few seconds later, the sound of hip-hop music came through the speakers.
Kia and I stared at each other, but neither of us said a word. Fifteen minutes later, we were both asleep.
LC
2
“Sign here and there,” I said, marking an X next to the two places I wanted Davis Taft’s signature. He scribbled his name by both, smiling like he’d just won the damn lottery. And why shouldn’t he? He’d just signed the paperwork to purchase a $600,000 Lamborghini Hurricane.
“Congratulations.” I extended my hand, and Davis took it with a firm grip. “Young man, you just bought yourself one of the finest cars a man can own, and in the process, scratched off one of the bucket list items of half the men in America. How does it feel?”
“Amazing,” he replied. The man looked like he was going to soil himself from excitement.
“Good. Let’s get you into that car.” I spotted Phil, our sales manager, and waved him over. “Phil, this is Davis Taft. He’s here to pick up the yellow Hurricane we’ve got down in service.”
“Nice. That’s a beautiful car. Congratulations.” Phil shook Davis’s hand.
Davis couldn’t get rid of the shit-eating grin on his face. “Thanks.”
“Why don’t you take Davis down to service and get him acquainted with his new car?” I tossed Davis a set of keys and shook his hand again before the two of them exited. When they were both out of sight, I leaned back into my plush leather chair and pumped my fist in the air. Other than my family, there was nothing that I loved more than selling an expensive car. It was like a drug. God, it felt good to be back at work.
“Mr. Duncan?” I was startled out of my personal moment by a light tap on my office door and a female voice. I looked up, and there was Sherry, one of our administrative assistants.
“Yes?” I answered.
“There’s a Mr. Brooks here to see you. He was here earlier to see Vegas, but he wasn’t in, and now he’s back asking for you,” she said.
“Brooks? Is that a first or a last name?” I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes.
“I assumed it was his last name, but I can go—”
I shook my head. “No, send him in. If he’s looking for Vegas, I probably know him.”
A few minutes later, Johnny Brooks was standing in my office doorway. I recognized him right away.
“Hey there, Mr. Duncan,” Johnny said humbly, his smile revealing a shiny gold tooth.
Johnny was a long and lanky two-bit hustler with an unkempt beard. He used to drive trucks for us a few years back, and he wasn’t a bad guy when he was sober. Johnny had a drinking problem, and the only person who could keep him on the straight and narrow was Vegas. When Vegas went to jail five years ago, Johnny damn near fell in the bottle, and regrettably, I had to let him go. This was the first time I’d seen him since.
“Johnny Brooks! It’s been a long time, son.” I stood and offered my hand, wondering what he could possibly want with me or Vegas after all these years. I knew one thing was for sure—he wasn’t there to buy a car. “What brings you down to Duncan Motors?”
“Well, I’d heard Vegas was home, and I needed to see him. It’s kinda important.” He had an uneasiness to him, and I couldn’t tell if he was intimidated by me, was drunk, or both. Whatever it was, he was nervous as hell.
“It must be for you to stop by twice. But Vegas isn’t here on the weekends. Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.
He scratched his head, looking around like someone might walk in the room and kill him right then and there. “Nah, I probably should just speak to him about it. No disrespect.”
“None taken.” I had a pretty good feeling why he was looking for my son. “Johnny, you looking for a loan? You need a few bucks?”
“I ain’t gonna lie. I could always use a few bucks, but I’m not here to borrow money. I’ve got a job . . . or at least I think I do. What I need is to get in touch with your son. You think I could leave you a number? It’s real important.”
He’d piqued my curiosity. “Why don’t I do one better? Why don’t I give him a call?”
Johnny looked hopeful for the first time since he’d walked in my office. “Could you, sir? This is really important.” There was that “important” word again, the third time he’d said it since he walked into my office.
“Sure.” I pulled out my phone and made the call. When it began ringing, I handed Johnny the phone and waited. I would ear hustle to satisfy my curiosity.
“Hey, Vegas,” Johnny said, covering the phone. “It’s Johnny Brooks, man. Listen, I need to talk to you real bad, brother. Can you give me a call?” He left his number, and then finished up with, “It’s important!” There was that word again.
He hung up the phone and handed it back, frowning. “Voicemail.”
“Yeah, he’s out with his son today. I’m sure he’ll call you when he finishes.” I tried to play it off, but as hopeless as Johnny was, he was starting to make my Spidey senses tingle. “So, Johnny, how about a drink?”
“Sure, that sounds good. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day,” he said.
I
