by Trixie More
“Leaving?”
“Yeah, leaving Debra, the kids, the shop, everything.”
“Why not just sell the shop?”
“Second mortgage.”
“Damn,” Derrick said.
“Right.” Ben seemed to deflate just before he flopped back onto the couch.
“So even if we get him the cash, pay off these thugs, he’s still not earning a living.”
“Right.”
“But the bank wouldn’t mortgage the garage for more than it was worth, so he should be able to sell the garage and start at zero there.”
Ben just looked at him.
“So, if he could pay the loan, he could put the garage up for sale, close the business. Get a job, find a way forward from there.”
Ben shook his head.
“Why not?” Derrick asked.
“Because he’s already left.”
Chapter 16
The following Friday, Derrick walked out on the beam, his trusty boots steady on the bar, thirty-eight stories up. The wind was a harridan today, the downdrafts gathering and retreating, never fully gusting. It was the kind of slow tease that made a man forgetful, made him take the retreating wind for granted. Ben had been after him during the ride in, trying to convince him that if they could get a good working bot, one that could make the job safer, he might be able to sell it to the union and help George. On top of that, tugging at Derrick’s conscious was a boatload of guilt. Derrick knew he had a chunk of cash saved that he could give to George, but it wasn’t enough. They would still need more money plus the thirty-five hundred that would be added on by next week. The fact was, Derrick couldn’t decide what the right thing to do was. George had done something dumb, and Derrick didn’t have enough to save him. Allison was working her ass off, and he could probably bail her out with only a portion of his money. His guts twisted. He wanted to help them both, but he didn’t want to waste his money, and he didn’t want to have to tell either one that he’d only helped one of them. He would rather build a hundred buildings with no harness than try to make a decision like this.
At the intersection of four beams, Derrick crouched. His lanyard, the lifeline that was supposed to save him if he slipped off the steel girder framing out this building, was clipped to a wire rope that ran along the beam at his feet. He crouched with unhurried grace, unclipped his tether, moved around the corner join, clipping onto the steel wire as he made the turn. Moving easily, he rose and continued across to the next intersection, the steel decking dully gleaming, one story below. At the next intersection, only three beams met because he was now standing on what would be the outer wall of the building. At this juncture, a column rose perpendicular, pointing toward the clouds. Derrick saw Ben moving toward a matching upright column about twenty feet to his left. Derrick crouched, unclipped. He hated to use a column climber, it only gave him a couple of feet of freedom, so instead, both men climbed without fall protection and tied off at the top. Connectors could go thirty feet without a tie off, and with the deck below, they were close enough. He reached up, grabbing the narrow edge of the I beam, feeling his biceps flex and his abs contract as he brought the soles of his feet to the steel. He pulled down with his arms, pushed up with his quads and started to climb straight up toward God and heaven. Bolts rattled in his bag, his pry bar gleaming as he climbed. Fingers of a breeze caressed his face, shadows flickered, and he knew that the crane was hauling the new beam upward. He and Ben would connect the beam to the columns, starting to create the supports for the next floor. He pulled again and climbed another ten feet along the beam, putting his palm over the top, gripping with his feet and thighs, able to let go with one hand and tie off to the top of the column and then help guide the beam into place.
The sun was strong, even though the air was frigid, and the two, the hot and the cold, conspired wickedly, trying to build the sudden downward rush of wind between the buildings on this street, the way the men conspired to build towers out of nothing but cement and steel. His jacket started to flap in the wind.
Ben was talking to him, his gravely voice coming over the radio attached to Derrick’s harness. “Are you feeling that?”
Derrick shook his head. Negative. Steve had been trying to get Derrick to drag up, basically quit, since the incident with the bot. He’d be damned if he went down without connecting the girder. They dealt with wind every day. This was just another day.
“Fuck the G.C.,” Ben said, years of friendship making him a mind reader. “I don’t want to get hospital side of this beam. Stop jerking off over there. You felt that.”
Derrick almost laughed at that. His friend knew him too well. His pride would never let him come down before he got the thing bolted. Funny thing, pride. He seemed to be able to live without it just fine when he was around his father, but here, with the crew, never. He never backed down on the job.
“Fine, Ricky-boy. We’ll bolt ’er,” Ben’s voice came over the radio in a soothing tone, the name calling a familiar taunt. Derrick sighed and waited for the steel to swing around.
He heard Ben blow out a breath. From below, a couple of men shouted up to them. Derrick concentrated on the arc of the hundreds of pounds of metal as it moved gracefully toward him, hanging from the steel cinch. The bar would come to him first, he would grab it and secure it, and the other side would be swinging in toward Ben. Together, they would connect it.
The wind picked up, making the sweat on Derrick’s face turn cold. He flexed his fingers in his gloves. His hard hat was securely on his head. If the wind changed, and he slipped, at least he was tied off. He probably wouldn’t die but he’d have a hell of a jerk as he hit the end of the tether, and having the webbing around his groin and chest bring him to a stop would hurt like a mother. That was if the legs of his harness were aligned correctly. If they were too loose and he fell? His testicles would pop like over-ripe grapes. And it wasn’t a question of if he would start to swing, only of whether he’d bash his head into a girder. Idiot. Why the fuck hadn’t he just admitted they needed to wait for a better time? The sun was sliding to the west, and the beam was high enough to be even with him now. The wind picked up, and the beam swung past him. He missed the grab. He had to get this done.
“Well? Having a last meal or something Ricky? If the fall doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will. Might as well get to it or get down,” Ben said. Derrick looked over at the crane. He raised his arm in a signal and spoke into the microphone on his shoulder.
“Bring it in,” he let go of the button on the speaker. The beam was moving, he knew it was coming, could tell by the subtle changes around him, a shadow moving, a disruption in the wind. He resisted the impulse to back down the column. Everything was fine.
“Steady,” Derrick crooned to the iron. He held onto the top of the girder he was clinging to and reached out his hand behind him to guide the beam back in, as the wind selected that moment to turn into a full-on squall. The beam swung toward him, the rushing wind taking it from his hand. The iron swept away hit the end of the cable and jerked back toward them like a pendulum. The speed was alarming. Below them, men were shouting, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Ben, dropping down the column, getting his head lower than the returning beam, which had now slid past Derrick a second time. Only this time, it was going to swing as far as it could and then come back even faster. Derrick was straddling the column, the beam coming back toward him from behind.
Caught between, alive from the waist up. Fear clamped around him like a vise. Did it all end now?
No time to think, he clenched the column between his thighs, leaned way back and did a reverse sit up. The beam past over him, he could see the mud flaking off the steel before it slammed into the column and ricocheted away. With the column climber, he wouldn’t have been able to lay that far back. He felt the sting in his armpits as sweat broke out over his body. The crane operator was starting to lower the beam, not understanding that Derrick was still clinging to the column. He couldn’t sit up any
farther without risking being hit, and with his long torso, couldn’t reach the column with his hands. His hard hat fell. He didn’t hear it land. The shadow of the beam returned, the sun behind the steel, the shadow passing across his face. Below men hollered to the crane operator. Derrick pushed off with his feet and let himself fall.
Holy Fuck. Too late, realized his pry bar was going to slide out of its holder and bash his face in. He twisted to the left in free fall, his obliques screaming, the pry bar speeding past him. More shouts rose from below him, then he hit the end of the tie off, the deceleration and shock absorption proving laughable. Pain sang in his chest and groin, his neck, still sore, exploded into sheer agony. He was able to keep from crying out right up until the moment he swung back and smacked into the column.
Where was the time going? Allison needed more time to prepare for her big job, an elaborate extravaganza of food to be delivered to friends of Dorothy’s mother. Friends that Allison suspected had been strong-armed since they had miraculously appeared to need catering just when Allison’s Kitchen needed a new client the most. Even though the job smelled like it might be charity, excitement surged through her when she thought about the delicate hors d’oeuvres, extravagant dishes, and elaborate decorations. It was the kind of catering she’d dreamed of doing, and it might lead to other jobs if she was able to pull it off. Panic chased over her skin as she looked at the clock. She wasn’t sure how she was going to pull it off, she’d spent the morning selling a hundred dollars’ worth of bread and coffee. Local shop owners and residents had started to use Allison’s Kitchen as their morning coffee stop. While she hoped that would lead to more business of catering nature, she’d lost ground on her two-thousand-dollar job. Just as unnerving, for this job she needed to pay for extra help. Marley couldn’t work around the clock, and Allison had wanted someone clean and dressed in black and whites, so she’d called the temp agency, telling herself to think of it as an investment.
At noon, the doorbells tinkled, and Allison headed out to greet her customer. Except instead of a customer, Angelo stood there. Allison remembered Rose saying Angelo had fallen a little in love with her when she told Spencer off. From the look on his face, he was over it now.
“Hi, Angelo,” she tried out. “How’ya doin’?”
“I’m doing fine,” he said. “The better question is, how are you doing?”
“Not great yet, but I’m working on it,” she responded, straightening her posture and widening her stance. She was keeping this business if she had to die right here, behind the counter, holding onto the kitchen door handle. “I have some more money for you.”
“How far behind are you now?”
She lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to make this easy. She didn’t want to fight with him, but there was no way she was backing down. If she lost this business, she would be going down fighting and clawing.
“I’m not behind at all,” she stated, daring him to contradict her.
“The hell …” Angelo started, but she held up her hand to stop him.
“I owe you money, but I’ve paid every month. I’ve accumulated some debt each month, which …”
Angelo opened his mouth, his dull brown eyes narrow and his hook nose reddening.
Allison raised her voice a bit, “which, I am working to pay back every week, and you know it. I’ve given you a check to defray those costs every week since the first time I was a bit short. I’m making every effort to pay you in full as soon as possible, I think we can agree on that.”
Color rose on his cheeks as he figured out what she’d done. They both knew how hard it was to get a judge to evict a tenant who was making good faith attempts to pay. Landlords often had to show three or more months of non-payment. By paying something every month, and catch up payments every week, Allison had made it that much harder to prove she was in default. “Young lady, you are two and a half months behind. If you fall another month behind, I’m going to start the proceedings to reclaim this business.”
This was it, the thing she had feared. The reality of it had her holding her breath for a moment. If you added up everything she owned, she was certainly behind by that many months. She’d done everything she could to spread the loss over the whole of her time in business so that she could honestly say she’d paid every month and never missed. That was the story she had to stick with.
“That’s bunk and malarkey, Angelo, and you know that. If you total up all that I still owe you, it might by some coincidence add up to something like a monthly payment …”
“Two and a half monthly payments!”
“I wouldn’t know Angelo,” she stalled.
“The hell you don’t know! It’s math, girl!”
“But all of that is coincidental. I was a little bit short some of the months,” Allison started.
“Every month, girl.” He was shaking his finger at her now. “Try every month!”
“But I’m completing those payments quickly and have a track record of paying you additional money every week because I’m on a regular plan to get myself caught up!”
“A plan of your own making! It’s a plan in your mind!” Angelo pointed to his own head as he widened his eyes at her in incredulity.
“And it’s a good one!”
“It’s not my plan!” he shouted.
“But it works in your favor,” she retorted.
“How is that? You fall farther behind every month!”
“Angelo, I’ve been telling you, I’m not falling behind every month. I’m paying you not only every month but every week!”
The old man grew very still then, putting his bony hands on his narrow hips. He squinted at her, breathing a bit hard. She hoped he wasn’t going to have a heart attack. That would be no way for her to endear herself to Derrick. Killing his beloved Poppie, was right out as a course of action. Allison’s thoughts turned to how to keep the old fart alive. Damn all these old men. And young men. And men in general. She dragged her stool out around to the other side of the counter.
“Do you want to sit down, Angelo?” She left the stool near him and retreated behind her counter. “Do you need some water? Or maybe a coffee?”
“I’m not about to keel over, girl,” he groused. Nevertheless, he sat on the stool. He was still scowling at her. “You’re a bit smarter than I thought. Very clever it seems.” He brushed imaginary lint from his pants. “Did you plan this all along? To not pay?”
Allison was shocked. She wanted him to respect her and to know he couldn’t push her around, but she never expected for him to think her deceitful, or manipulative. “I didn’t plan anything. I did exactly what I said, for the reasons anyone would. I wanted to pay it all, every month and at the very least, I am going to give you everything I can, every month, until I figure out a way to make money.
“Hmm,” he said. “What about my grandson?”
Allison blinked. “I don’t owe him anything.” Not quite true, no woman could ever be even with a man who gave her an O that turned her into a sobbing mess.
Angelo rolled his eyes. “Don’ mess with me, girl. Are you trying to con my grandson into helping you get this business for pennies on the dollar? He won’t help you, you know.”
Allison was stunned. Is this what his family thought of her? That she was using Derrick to get a leg up on her business? She couldn’t deny she wanted to get a leg up on him, but … not this catering espionage Angelo was accusing her of.
“You can’t seriously be thinking that I’d put him over the coals so I could have two more months to peddle baked ziti and cupcakes?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Angelo said. “Derrick’s never brought a woman to dinner before.”
Again, she was stunned. Through the window she could see Tony, a neighborhood man, loitering by the door. He wandered away. What was that about? And did she care? Tony kept asking if she sold sandwiches. She didn’t want to start making the man lunch. Allison pinched the bridge of her nose, her head starting to throb.
> “Angelo, I like you. I’m so glad you sold me this business, and I don’t want to fight,” she tried. “I am trying to pay you back, I just need more time. I’m catering breakfast every day now for a realtor. I still have the parties I’ve had since day one, and now, I have a friend trying to find me some rich people to market to, and I swear, my top priority is getting caught up with you.” She watched as Tony wandered past her window again. “I’m not using Derrick to put one over on you. If anything, I’m trying to get in good with you so that Derrick will like me more.” Allison watched the old man carefully, trying to gauge his reaction despite the sweat sliding down her back and the nervous clutching of her gut. He didn’t seem actually angry, but she couldn’t quite tell what was going on behind those cloudy brown eyes.
The front door rattled as Tony tugged on the handle.
“Angelo?”
“What?”
“Did you lock my front door?”
He swiveled his head, looking behind him.
Marley came out of the kitchen. “Hi, Angelo,” she said. She walked to the front door. “Why’s this locked?” She let Tony in. “Do you want a sandwich, Tony?”
Allison rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be running the show, right now it seemed like the show was running her.
“Do you want the check I have for you, Angelo?” she asked.
The old man held out his hand, and she opened the cash register, taking out the check she’d written that morning.
“You get any more behind, girl,” he said quietly so Tony and Marley couldn’t hear him, “I will take this business back, grandson or no. So don’t bother trying to use him. It won’t help.” He folded the check and tucked it into the pocket of his white short sleeve button-down. Allison just shook her head.
“I think you should go now, Angelo,” she replied. “Apparently, I’m going to have a lunch rush.” She nodded behind him, where two teenage girls stood, looking around in confusion.
“Do you sell lunch here?” they asked.
