Referencing that mobster movie, John went on and on about how he would be promoted, make more money, and finally be able to leave the People Now labor hall.
Dewey, on the other hand, relished the thought that this asshat was going to get what he deserved. John would surely be in debt to ABCs for the lost drugs. He’d probably get a good beating before getting fired, or better yet, be forced to work off the debt. Dewey didn’t say another word as they turned onto the small dirt road that led to ABCs’ warehouse.
Heavily overgrown shrubs and small trees crowded the sides of the road, giving the warehouse a modicum of privacy. They pulled around to an open double gate manned by a guy in boots and camo sitting under a small shade canopy. Dewey didn’t notice the sidearm he had clipped to his belt and concealed under his untucked shirt. The guard looked through his mirrored aviator glasses and into the shot-out S10.
“Dewey and John, here to see the boss,” Dewey said to him. The guard looked in the window to see John digging down between his legs, searching for lost fries. Dewey just shook his head.
Without responding, the guard spoke hushed tones into a small walkie-talkie, then looked up and waved them through. Dewey pulled up and parked to the side of one of the open bay doors. The warehouse was not busy. A few men lounged on cheap plastic chairs scattered around a small table set up in a dusty corner. They all wore the same camo and mirrored aviator sunglasses as the gate guard.
“Weird,” Dewey mumbled.
John let out another burp, which echoed in the building.
“Up here,” growled a deep booming voice from above. John dusted food debris from his shirt and pants as they paused at a set of stairs. Dewey looked up and then back over at the men in the corner once more. They gave him a blank stare from behind their shades.
“Hurry up,” ABCs demanded.
Once ABCs made eye contact, the pair made for the stairs at once. An angry smile curled on ABCs’ lips as he headed back into his office with Dewey and John scampering up the steps behind him.
𓂓
The Alphabet King sat in his director’s chair behind the expansive military desk. Barely able to conceal his aggravation, he put out a hand inviting Dewey and John the driver to sit across from him in the cheap monobloc chairs. Dewey—a small framed skinny man—settled into one easily. John, on the other hand, had to push his bulging figure down in between the plastic arms. He continued to squirm uncomfortably as The Alphabet King regarded him.
ABCs silently glared at them both with a wide stare, Dewey on his left and John the driver on his right. Somehow, Dewey felt he wasn’t looking at them directly but nonetheless had his full attention on both of them at the same time. John looked down at this shirt again to make sure he’d cleaned all the crumbs off. Much of the bravado he demonstrated in the truck had melted away.
“Did you enjoy your lunch?” ABCs asked nonchalantly.
John’s head shot up as if he’d been pinpricked. Dewey sat fidgeting with his pockets as if searching for something. Out of habit, the pack appeared in his hand. He took out a cigarette.
“No smoking in here.”
Apparently devastated, Dewey nodded meekly, then put them away.
John looked over with a grin, seizing the moment. “Lunch was great, we had—” ABCs turned his glare to fully focus on John, which caused him to stumble on his words. Half a thought behind, he tried to continue, “How did you know we—”
“Shut up!” ABCs barked. The pair flinched at the rebuke. “I can smell your rancid burger breath all the way over here.” ABCs pulled out a drawer to extract a pack of mint gum. He threw it at John, striking him dead center in his chest. John flinched backward so forcefully, one of the chair legs bent under his weight, sending him crashing to the floor. He floundered on his back for a moment before he managed to roll over onto his hands and knees. After several grunts and much effort, he finally stood up.
“These chairs suck,” he blurted out as he picked it up and set it right.
ABCs shot up out of his director’s chair, which slid smoothly behind him. “Shut up and sit down.”
“Alright, alright,” John said as he reinserted himself into the plastic chair. Emboldened by the endorphin rush from his physical exertions, he shot back, “What are you so mad about anyway? I saved your ass.”
Dewey glanced over and shrunk in his chair, a horrified look on his face.
“You think so?” ABCs growled with an edge of condescension, not missing a beat.
John started to speak, but ABCs put a hand up to stop him. “You’re going to tell me everything that happened, from the beginning.”
The Alphabet King turned to pull his seat toward him, sat back in his director’s chair, and listened intently as John recounted the morning’s events leading up to his arrest. ABCs stopped him there. “You mean to tell me that two landscapers suddenly decided to carjack your piece of shit truck?”
“I think so,” John replied, not daring to defend his truck’s honor.
“That doesn’t make sense. From what the lawyer tells me, they were talking about bringing up attempted vehicular manslaughter charges against you,” ABCs replied.
John shrank back in his monobloc chair, careful not to fall again.
“Are you telling me everything?” ABCs asked with an intensity that made John squirm.
The pressure finally got to John and he spilled his beans. “Look, Hines told me they tried to say I almost hit a little girl and that this landscaper ran out and saved her. They’re saying I hit him and then tried to leave the scene.”
“Did you?”
“Well, yeah, I tried, but the other landscaper, some black guy, and the meddling mother, got in my face. They kept me from leaving. I knew I needed to get out of there because I had the merch in the truck. It’s their fault, not mine,” John blurted out. He seemed somewhat relieved after getting that off his chest.
“Then why didn’t you tell me that? Why did you give me a bullshit story about carjacking?”
“Because the lawyer said that’s the story we’re sticking with,” John replied.
“You can lie to the cops all you want.” The volume in ABCs’ voice went up with every word. “But you don’t lie to me!” Smacking the desk on the last word.
Dewey and John jumped a few inches. John’s seat went up with him and he nearly fell over again as the back legs landed on the floor and buckled. Reaching down for his last shred of confidence, John spoke up, “Look, like I said, I took the arrest like a man. I didn’t talk. You owe me!”
Dewey looked over again, aghast, shuffling his feet as if he were trying to push his chair farther away from John. ABCs stood up and scowled down at this imbecile before him, practically breathing fire as he yelled, “I owe you!?!”
John looked up at him, raised his eyebrows and shifted his eyes side to side. “Yeah?” He squeaked the word out like a question.
“Hardly. You owe me,” ABCs replied. “You got my shipment confiscated and exposed me to the police. Then you lied to me about what happened.”
