by Pat Simmons
A few minutes later, his brother returned, telling Chess, “We’ll handle it.”
Demetrius cleared his throat and leaned on his desk. “As we expected, Chess said Victor was a no-show on Friday.”
Marcus figured as much, but when he’d left the office on Friday, he didn’t want to think about it until he came back today. Marcus reached for his phone and flipped through the employee directory for Victor’s cell number. His live-in girlfriend, also an employee, Latrice, answered. He could hear one of the babies crying in the background.
After a short greeting, he asked for Victor. She was quiet for a moment. “He’s not here, Mr. Whittington,” she said softly.
Did Victor have Latrice lying for him? Not only did Marcus not believe her, but he also suspected Victor was probably in the same room with her.
“You’re going to fire him, aren’t you?” Her voice trembled.
Mm-hmm. Even she recognized her boyfriend’s behavior wasn’t favorable in the workplace. “I’m sorry, Latrice, but you know I can’t discuss personnel matters.” Her sniffles tore at his conscience. Yet, as the boss, even a pushover—according to his brother—he had to stand his ground. “It’s going to be all right. God will help you.”
Whoa. What made him say that? He had always been a firm believer that God helps those who help themselves. He later learned, to his shame, the phrase wasn’t even biblical. It was coined in the late 1600s by an English politician, Algernon Sidney, then Ben Franklin had written it in a 1757 issue of Poor Richard’s Almanac.
After that blunder was brought to his attention, he tried to keep God out of the conversation, since he wasn’t a scripture scholar. His connection with God was limited to nightly prayers and blessing his food. Marcus rarely stepped foot in church unless a special occasion called for it—weddings and funerals. Neither was his favorite. He was getting off track. The bottom line was Victor needed to man up.
“Am I being let go too?” The panic in Latrice’s voice was real.
“No,” he assured her. “Your work ethic is good. I wish it had rubbed off on your boyfriend. You show up on time and work overtime when we need you.”
Marcus didn’t know what God’s plans were for Victor, or himself for that matter. “Please ask him to call me.” I want to save him a trip to the warehouse in case he’s in the mood to work. He disconnected, then bowed his head. He had no choice but to fire the man.
“I know this is hard for you.”
“Yeah.” Marcus exhaled. “It’s a good feeling, putting someone on the payroll… It’s terrible and nothing to celebrate when we’re forced to remove them.” He thought about his company’s success stories they had posted on a corkboard in the employee lounge to motivate everyone. Some of their former employees had gone on to college, two working toward master’s degrees in social work.
“I know, Bro.” Demetrius stood, walked over to his desk, and gripped Marcus’s shoulder. “You gave Victor one more chance than I would have.”
That didn’t make Marcus feel any better. Although he and Demetrius provided their employees the best working conditions they could to avoid high turnover rates, Whittington Janitorial Services wasn’t created to be a career job for employees but a step toward helping them pursue their dreams. Until Victor had other options, Whittington Janitorial Services had been his best thing going.
As expected, Victor didn’t call back by four thirty, so Marcus decided to stick around to make sure there wouldn’t be any fireworks in case Victor showed up. Chess and Victor never hit it off, so it wouldn’t take long before an exchange of words would set them off. His supervisor had had brushes with the law too, which included two assault charges. He didn’t want Victor’s bad attitude to make it three.
Since Demetrius had already left for the day, Marcus locked the office, strolled into the warehouse, and settled in the employee lounge. He waved at a handful of workers who had returned from their day shifts. When his stomach growled, he realized he had skipped lunch. He ordered ten large pizzas so there would be enough for his staff, plus the little ones in the second-shift child care.
While waiting for the delivery, he stretched out in the spacious room. The acrylic wall allowed him a view into the warehouse on one side and the adjacent childcare room.
Chess strolled into the lounge. “What’s up with your mystery lady?” He opened the refrigerator and reached for two bottled waters.
Tabitha wasn’t his lady, so there was no mystery. After what Demetrius inferred this morning about him dating his neighbor, Marcus had tried hard not to recall the incidents. Why did his employee have to bring her up again? Plus, he didn’t like discussing his personal life, which was nonexistent, with the people who worked for him. But Chess had caught him off guard the other morning when Marcus had haphazardly mentioned the source of his irritation.
Stalling, he gulped from his bottle of water, then glanced over at the childcare area and nodded at the shift supervisor. “Nothing. I found out the old woman is suffering from dementia and wanders the neighborhood. She’s not part of a crime ring. The problem is the woman’s niece can’t handle taking care of her.”
“Sounds like this escapee needs an eight-foot fence.” Chess snickered.
Marcus grunted. “Something tells me she would find a way to climb over it or dig a tunnel.” He paused, then shrugged. “I had to show Victor some tough love. I guess Aunt Tweet is next.”
“First-name basis,” Chess teased.
“The aunt really is a sweetheart, really harmless, but she could be in danger if she meets up with the wrong type of people.” His mind drifted to a few days earlier. “Friday night, the news reported an elderly woman was missing. I was in the other room and I thought the anchor said Tweet. I ran to the flat-screen and rewound the segment. The missing person’s name was Theresa.”
Whew. “No resemblance. While driving to work this morning, I heard on the radio that woman was found okay in Indianapolis last night. She had boarded a Greyhound, thinking it was a MetroBus. That’s two days of being vulnerable.” He paused. “Yeah, so the next time I see Aunt Tweet on my porch, I have no choice but to call the police—for her own protection. Then her niece can deal with the fallout.”
“Wow.” Chess rubbed his bald head. “That’s deep. Most of the old folks in my family passed away when I was small. Well, do what you’ve got to do, Boss.”
Exactly, Marcus thought as the lobby receptionist’s voice came over the intercom and alerted Marcus that his delivery had arrived, then added, “Save me a slice of pepperoni.”
Her humor was a pick-me-up as Marcus stood and walked to the front entrance to pay the driver and get the food.
When he returned, his employees had descended on the break room. One worker pulled out paper plates and napkins from the cabinets, and another set them on the table. About a dozen or so had formed a line.
“You all act like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” he joked, hoping they had food at home and didn’t rely on the fruit and snacks he and Demetrius supplied at work.
The pizza was almost devoured when one of the two shuttle van drivers walked in and snatched a piece. Since many of the employees didn’t have reliable transportation, the vans took them to the job sites. It was another perk to guarantee attendance.
As the last van drove off the lot, Marcus concluded Victor was indeed a no-show. Even though his badge had been deactivated, he could still enter the building with Latrice’s and cause a scene or worse.
Not ready to go home to an empty house, Marcus returned to his office to complete more tasks. After a productive couple of hours, he called it quits and decided to cut through the warehouse to his car. Some of the children were dressed in their pajamas, their school clothes in their backpacks. It was convenient for parents who worked overnight, so they could get them to the bus stops on time the next morning.
“Hi, Mr. Marcus!” Brian, a three-
year-old, shouted from the other side of the glass wall.
He laughed as his childcare worker scolded the boy for yelling. Marcus detoured toward the room. Many of the children, ranging in age from two to eleven, vied for his attention. Brian made a beeline to him, holding up a book. “Can you read me a story?”
“Seems like I have a special request,” he told Gail, a retired schoolteacher, who wore her gray hair in short twists. “Get the children settled and I’ll read just one.” He lifted up a finger to their screams of delight.
She chuckled, then instructed them to sit in a circle on a colorful floor mat while Marcus dragged one of the rockers toward them. Taking a seat, he observed their wide eyes and attentive faces. He opened Brian’s book, Darius Goes on a Field Trip, and began reading. “Darius climbed Mr. Funnybone’s bus. He was excited to go to the zoo and see the animals. He’d never seen a giraffe before…”
Brian yawned when Marcus got to the last page, but the older children wanted more—a stall tactic to keep from going to sleep. “Sorry, the end.” Marcus grinned and stood. After telling his staff good night, he headed out.
Given the chance, one day, he planned to be a good father—give baths, read bedtime stories, then tuck his son or daughter under the covers, even change diapers. He scrunched his nose as if he could smell it now.
Once inside his car, he sat there. Yeah, it was time for him to settle down. All he needed was the perfect woman for him.
Chapter 8
Tuesday morning, Marcus left home earlier than usual to spot-check behind his employees at a client located at the Westport Business Park. He was cruising on Roland Drive when a flash of green caused him to do a double take. “It couldn’t be.” The infamous Aunt Tweet was on the loose again. “Unbelievable.”
Either she was heading to his house or to another unsuspecting neighbor’s. Gritting his teeth, Marcus made a U-turn. The elderly woman was not his problem, yet he was concerned. He parked at the curb, hurried out, and walked up to her. “Remember me, Aunt Tweet?”
She squinted, scanning his face for familiarity. “Can’t say I do.”
He was about to explain why she would know him when her niece almost pushed him out of the way from behind. His reflexes were too quick, and his body mass was too conditioned to be intimidated, but he stepped aside anyway.
“Aunt Tweet,” Tabitha said out of breath, shaking her head. “You have to stop doing this—please.”
Briefly distracted by her presence, Marcus noticed the lone curler dangling from her long mane. That was the extent of his perusal as he folded his arms and frowned. “If you know she becomes confused, why don’t you keep track of her? Enough is enough.” He removed his phone from its case on his belt slowly punched in 91, then glanced at the distress plastered on Tabitha’s pretty face. Her eyes were glossed over. Great.
Press the last button, he told himself, but he couldn’t as his shoulders slumped. He was a sucker for sniffs, tears, and looks of defeat. But it was the helplessness he saw, as if she were throwing in the towel, that kept his finger hovering midair instead of making a landing on the last digit. Was he reading her right?
“I wasn’t lost, young man. I knew exactly where I was going,” Aunt Tweet snapped. The determination on the elderly woman’s face made a quick believer out of him. “Home.”
“You mean my house,” he corrected and eyed Tabitha.
“We sold your house. You don’t remember, but you’re staying with me for a while,” Tabitha said softly, trying unsuccessfully to appease Aunt Tweet and steer her back inside, but her aunt stiffened.
“I know where I live!” the older woman snapped and balled her fist. Apparently, her aggression surprised Tabitha too.
Oh boy, now Marcus had to intervene. The situation had escalated into a standoff. If he pressed the last 1, it would be for an assault in progress. Lowering his voice, he vied for Aunt Tweet’s attention. “I would love for you to see the house. How about later, when I return from work?” Did he just put himself in the middle of their chaos? What was he doing, and what was Tabitha thinking about his interference?
Her response was a mixture of shock, confusion, then annoyance. That was the thanks he got?
“Thanks, but I have this under con—”
“Control?” He balked. “Trust me, lady, you don’t.”
Before she had a comeback, Aunt Tweet accepted his offer. “All right, but you come right home after school,” she said, scolding him.
“Great,” Tabitha mumbled as she wrapped her arm around Aunt Tweet’s shoulders and guided her home, but not without giving Marcus a final glance. “I don’t need you to encourage her,” she said softly.
Jingling the car keys in his hand, Marcus stared. “I stopped to help.”
“How is calling the police a truce? I don’t need your kind of help,” she said indignantly.
He nodded. “Okay, you want a truce. Deal with me or the authorities. Right now, I think I’m your best option.”
If looks could kill, he would be a dead man. “Fine!”
To him, her irritated state was comical and cute. “Good choice.” He turned to her aunt. “See you later, Aunt Tweet…and Miss Knicely.”
Barely containing his amusement, Marcus jumped in his car and drove off. “Women!” He didn’t make it to the streetlight before he second-guessed his decision to get involved. He was supposed to be discouraging visits, not the other way around.
He had to switch gears. Their confrontation had caused him to be stuck in rush-hour traffic, which he had hoped to avoid. It was imperative he get to Bristol-Combs today to see if his employees were as meticulous as they were trained and paid to be. Demetrius had negotiated the two-year contract for Whittington Janitorial. They both hoped the company would renew the contract before it expired.
Making an early, unexpected appearance would let his client see that he and Demetrius were hands-on businessmen they could trust. The brothers wore tan pants and the company’s blue polos with their logo embroidered across the upper left pocket instead of suits and ties.
While he and other motorists inched along I-170 toward Highway 64, his interaction with Tabitha resurfaced. Even without makeup, she had the wow factor to get any man’s attention. He was not exempt. Still, regardless of what was going on in her life, her aunt should be her priority.
And what was it about her that kept him from calling the authorities? What kind of invisible headlock did she have on this former wrestler? Maybe he would get answers to his questions later.
And his mother wanted answers from him too about his neighbor. When he’d reached Sylvia by phone late last night, she’d fired off questions based on the nuggets Demetrius had planted. Though he’d tried to convince her that his brother was delusional about the incidents, she had dismissed his comments to remind him of the chance meeting that brought his father and her together.
“I’ll take my chances waiting for the one I’m meant to be with,” Marcus had told her. “I’m not enthralled with irresponsible people.” What would his mother say about this morning’s incident? It wasn’t attraction that made him invite his neighbors to his house out of the blue. His offer was purely in hopes of putting an end to Aunt Tweet’s attraction to his house.
Changing the subject, he asked about her and his dad’s sailing trip. That was an hour-long play-by-play of Governors Island’s beauty and scenery.
Marcus chuckled as he recalled the conversation before arriving at his destination and verifying the client was satisfied with the services provided by Marcus’s company. A few hours later, he and Demetrius arrived at the office at the same time. Both had made morning business calls in the field.
“Everything satisfactory at Bristol-Combs?” his brother asked.
“Yep.” He grinned. “Bathrooms, carpets, and floors are spotless and smelling good.”
After resting his laptop on the desk, De
metrius sat on the edge and folded his arms. “But we have one unhappy ex-employee.”
Marcus flopped in his seat and linked his hands together. “Let me guess: Victor.” That man was no longer his concern.
“According to Chess, Latrice came in and said she has to quit too, spewing Victor’s mantra that if he wasn’t welcome to work here, then we were disrespecting both of them.” Demetrius huffed. “Does he think up this foolishness in his sleep?” He stood and walked around to his chair. “Interestingly though, Chess said she sounded like she didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. Why do women let no-good men brainwash them?”
Closing his eyes, Marcus rubbed his face. “I could strangle that dude. He won’t work and doesn’t want the mother of his two small babies to have a job either. She’s hardworking and trying to do something positive with her life. What a waste of a relationship.”
Demetrius shrugged. “I know you tried, but you can’t save the world, even one by one. She’s going to let him bring her down, the loser. I would throw the bum out.”
Growing up and even now, Demetrius was always the no-nonsense son who called it like he saw it. Marcus tried to take a wait-and-see attitude before making judgment calls, but he had to agree with his brother on this one. “I second that. Since Latrice quit, she can’t collect unemployment, and Victor’s unemployment checks won’t be much. Without two incomes, they’ll both be out on the streets.” How sad. “We’re clueless to what’s going on at their home.”
Do you know what’s going on inside your neighbor’s home?
Huh? The voice was so loud in his head, Marcus was surprised Demetrius didn’t hear it too. He swallowed and looked around the room. Was that God talking to him? He shivered. He dismissed whatever he thought he heard and proceeded. “We’ve done all we can. We’ve tried to reach back and pull somebody forward. They—basically, Victor—let go of our grip. I don’t know what else to do.”
