Grumpy Boss

by Hamel, B. B.

  I smiled at her. That was my little punishment: I refused to say where we were flying to. “We’re going to meet with Kirk,” I said. “That’s all you need to know, honey.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on. You haven’t even told me who Kirk is. You showed up in the office, sent me home to pack, then picked me up an hour later. Does Jack know about this trip?”

  “Jack knows everything,” I said, somewhat proud of myself for hustling her out so fast and knocking her off balance. “Kirk’s not important, not really.”

  “Well that’s straight up not true,” she said, leaning toward me. “Come on. No more games. You annoyed me, I annoyed you. We’re even.”

  I touched my chin thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll accept your apology.” She gave me a look, but I kept going. “Kirk is an old friend of Desmond’s. He was around back when me and Desmond first started together. They knew each other from home, I guess they grew up together. Kirk was a sort of handyman, not really good with computers, but when something physical broke, or we needed some quick fix, he did what he could to help out. When Des left the computer, Kirk left with him, and I haven’t seen the guy in a long time.”

  I remembered late nights in my garage, writing the code that would eventually become the heart of my computer with Desmond’s constant input while Kirk put together the physical mainframes. Back then, building computers was a little more complicated than it is now. We had a lot of issues with getting enough power and managing all that heat in those days, but Kirk was clever and industrious. He was a lanky guy, wore his dirty-blond hair long, and thought Rage Against the Machine was the best band ever.

  “Are you on speaking terms with him?” she asked

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t think we left things on bad terms, not between us anyway. I always treated him with respect and paid him better than anywhere else, so I assume he only walked out of loyalty. I doubt that worked out well for him though.”

  “Here’s what I don’t get,” she said, looking up at the ceiling of the plane. “If Desmond’s rich and stuff now, and this all happened a long time ago, what does he even care? And why would he bother bringing Kirk into the mix? He admitted everything in a damn letter. Why would he do that?”

  I shook my head and didn’t answer. I didn’t know what Desmond’s game was or why he was playig it. I thought he wanted to destroy my SPAC—but the letter threw me. It made no sense to say he wanted to wreck me and put it in writing. I could use it to prove that he was behind all my negative press, even if some of it wasn’t from him at all.

  There had to be a reason, and I kept coming back to the same one: Desmond was an egomaniac, and he couldn’t help himself. The man couldn’t do something against me and not take credit. That went against everything he stood for.

  “We’ll find out when we get to San Francisco,” I said, and stretched my legs out, smiling to myself. I could practically feel her staring at me, but I shut my eyes and tried to get some rest before we landed. It was a long flight, and I had a feeling it would be an even longer day out west.

  * * *

  The car dropped us off on the corner of a relatively quiet street at the top of a long hill. The roads in San Francisco were broken up by trolley tracks, and everyone seemed to know how to navigate them except our driver. A biker struggled up the hill nearby, sweating into his dark helmet. The sun was sinking low, glinting off cars parked along the curbs, and sparkling along the brightly colored houses, teetering down the slope.

  “This is the place,” I said, standing outside of what appeared to be a run-down surf shop called Hardshells.

  Millie stood next to me, arms crossed over her chest, frowning around. “I don’t get it,” she said. “He lives here? I mean, San Fran’s expensive as heck, so maybe he’s working for Desmond.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said, glancing at my phone. “Jack said he worked at this address.” I pointed at the shop.

  She squinted and let out a laugh. “Maybe he owns it.”

  “Let’s go find out.” I pushed open the dark orange door with peeling paint set into the corner of the building. Inside smelled like leather polish and musky cologne. Clothes were hung up along the walls, and the decor was mostly light-colored woods and mid-century modern sleek shelving units. Surf boards were staked in long rows, and several pictures of guys hitting the waves were hung and framed all over.

  The place was empty. The cash register sat unguarded to our left. I took a step inside and the floorboards creaked. One table nearby was half covered in folded t-shirts, each of them faded, and half covered in what looked like old radios that were taken apart and left broken down. It was like a workshop vomited all over a Gap outlet.

  Millie gave me a look and started browsing. I tried to picture Desmond coming into a place like this, and couldn’t. He was a buttoned-up kind of guy back then, and his favorite hobbies involved roleplaying games and text adventure simulators. He was the sort of guy that pined for the old internet of the 90s, even though he’d been too young to really experience it.

  “Hello?” I called out. “Kirk Stowe?” I peered around the displays and found another table covered in junk: broken skateboards, a pair of rollerblades missing their wheels.

  There was a noise in the back, then a door at the far side of the shop opened. A man stepped out wearing a white linen button down, sleeves rolled up, with jeans stained in several spots with black oil. He had long, dirty-blond hair pulled back in a messy bun, and deeply tanned skin.

  It was him, all right. He’d aged, and not necessarily gracefully, but he was still thin, and though there were more lines around his eyes, and his hands worked at the hem of his shirt almost nervously, I could still see the young guy that used to hang around, looking up to Desmond like a younger brother, a wizard with a soldering iron.

  “Can I help—“ he started, but then stopped himself and gaped. I smiled a little and held up a hand.

  “I come in peace,” I said.

  “Holy shit, Rees.” He took a step closer. I thought he might bolt—there was a look of surprise, but also of panic. But he surprised me, came forward, and gave me a hug.

  Which I hated, of course. The bastard had always been way too physical. I caught Millie grinning out of the corner of my eye.

  “It’s good to see you, dude,” Kirk said. “Holy shit, brother, what’s it been? Ten years? My god, you got old as fuck.”

  “You did too,” I said, extricating myself from his embrace. “But you look good.”

  “Hey man, living the dream, you know?” He laughed and slapped his hand down on a board next to him. It rattled against the others in its stack. “Can you imagine me out here, man? Last you saw, I was some hardware monkey, you now? Crawling around fixing computer. Did I ever tell you that I lost feeling in the tip of my left index finger from getting shocked so much?”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  He laughed and draped an arm around my shoulder. I regretted doing this.

  “What can I do for you, man? You in town or something?”

  “Something like that,” I said, and he steered me over to the cash register. He went behind the counter, mercifully letting me go, and stooped down to grab a bottle of vodka and two little glasses.

  He poured drinks, held up his glass, and threw it back. Millie walked over, and I took my shot, more out of politeness than anything else. It was cheap and burned all the way down.

  “Who’s this?” he asked, nodding at Millie.

  “Kirk, this is my assistant Millie,” I said. “And Millie, this is an old friend of mine.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, giving him a very good smile. They shook hands and he held up the bottle.

  “You want one?” he asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Your loss.” He poured himself a drink, offered me one, which I declined. He shrugged, drank, poured another, but sipped that one. I got a sudden and intense image of his life for the last decade: living out
in San Fran, barely making ends meet in this rundown surf shop, drinking his days away, single and managing to survive, but not thriving. I wondered how Des fit into all this, but decided to take it slow.

  “I’ve been reliving some old memories lately,” I said. “Let me ask you something. When you left, you went out of loyalty to Desmond, right?”

  “Ah, shit, man,” he said. “I mean, yeah, of course. I knew I wasn’t ever going to make that kind of money anywhere else, and I liked the work. But I couldn’t abandon him when he was the one that brought me in, you know?”

  “That strangely makes me feel better,” I said.

  “Why’s it strange?” Millie asked. “Or is it just strange for you to have human emotions?”

  Kirk laughed at that and I gave her a look. She grinned right back.

  “He’s always been like this,” Kirk said. “Good old Rees. Robot Rees, Des used to say.”

  I flinched and rubbed at my face. “I forgot about that.”

  “Oh my god,” Millie said. “Robot Rees! I’m going to use that.”

  “Please, don’t,” I said.

  “Oh no, do it, he loved it back then. Really leaned into the robotic thing. I mean, we were a tech start up before those were a thing.” Kirk finished his drink, but didn’t pour another. “Those were good days, man. I’ve got some stories if you want to hear them, Millie.”

  “Yes, please,” she said. “Absolutely, yes. Take another drink then start talking.”

  He grinned at her and shook his head. “I don’t need to get drink to tell embarrassing stories about this guy.”

  “How about you talk about what you’ve been doing since then instead,” I said, and rapped my knuckles on the counter. “Is this your shop?”

  “Oh, yeah, man. I bought it a while back, before prices got insane out here. I own the whole building. It’s pretty wild.” He leaned back against the wall behind him, arms over his chest. “I live in the back, and rent out a couple units up top. They bring in all the money, honestly. The shop’s more like a hobby.”

  “Good for you,” Millie said. “I always wanted to surf.”

  “If you’re gonna be around, I can take you both out,” Kirk said, gesturing toward the boards. “I got plenty of stuff we can use.”

  “Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you,” I said before Millie could take him up. There was no way in hell I was going surfing—although I wouldn’t mind seeing her in a wet suit.

  “Sure, man, sure,” Kirk said, glancing toward the entrance like he expected someone. “What’s up?”

  “Desmond,” I said, watching his face for any tell. He glanced down at the ground, and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I need to talk to him. Do you know how I can get in touch?”

  “Oh man,” Kirk said. “Uh, I wish I could help, I really do, but I haven’t seen Des in ages. I mean, we left together, but we lost touch over the years, you know?”

  “Really?” Millie asked. “Then how come there’s a picture of you and him on your wall over there?” She pointed at the framed photographs, and I had the sudden urge to kiss her on the mouth and make her my wife.

  “Uh,” Kirk said, face turning red. “It’s an old one. Years ago.”

  “It’s dated,” she said. “Last year.”

  “Come on, Kirk,” I said. “You’re lying and that makes me very suspicious.”

  “Don’t do this to me,” he said, holding his hands up. “Des is—you know how Des can be. I don’t want to get involved.”

  “We know you’ve been feeding stories to the press,” Millie said, leaning toward him. “And we know you’re doing to for Des. We just want to know why.”

  “Fuck,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He reached forward, grabbed the bottle, and poured another drink. He offered me one, and I accepted. Maybe I felt bad for him, or maybe I wanted to try and soften him up, I wasn’t sure. I took the shot and felt it burn all the way down.

  “I’m not going to make this hard,” I said, speaking slow and even. “All I want is a number. I’ll even take an email address.”

  He wouldn’t look at me. He kept staring down at his hands, then the floor, then the door, and I knew he was thinking about running. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t comfortable with it, and I bet Des was behind it all. Kirk wasn’t such a bad guy, and he was living a quiet, simple life. I was ready to accept that he wanted nothing to do with this situation, and Des had bullied him into it.

  “I can’t,” he said, almost pleading. “Look, I sort of lied. I don’t really own this place, Des does, and he lets me live here and collect rent. But everything’s in his name.”

  I sighed and glanced at Millie. She clearly felt bad for him—I could see the pity in her eyes. But Kirk wasn’t an idiot, even if he pretended to be one. He knew what it meant, letting Des own him like this.

  “Maybe we can help with that,” Millie said, and I frowned at her.

  “How?” Kirk asked. “It’s not like Des is about to sell the shop to you.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “But there’s other real estate in this town.”

  He laughed and looked at me like I was insane. “Dude, that’s, like, millions of dollars. Shit’s not cheap out here anymore. I know you’re rich, but come on.”

  I leaned closer to him and tried on my best smirk. “Trust me Kirk, I’m rich enough that even San Fran real estate doesn’t bother my bottom line.”

  He let out an uncomfortable laughed and looked up at the ceiling again. “Ah shit,” he said, running his hands through his hair, sending strays all around. He tugged out the hair tie, then redid the bun twice in a row, almost obsessively. Finally, he said, “I can give you a phone number, okay? But if Des asks, you got it from someone else, okay?”

  “Sure, Kirk,” I said, nodding. “I’ll tell him I got it from a reporter.”

  He gave me a look. “Think of a better lie. He’s going to be pissed.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said, and held my phone out. “Type it in.”

  “Fuck,” he said, but he did it, and saved it under the name Desmond Cell. “That’s all I can do for you, okay? And I’m only helping because I feel bad about the way shit went down, back in the day.”

  “But you don’t feel bad about all the slander and lies you’ve been feeding to the press for Des?” I asked, cocking my head, and putting my phone away.

  He held his hands out to either side of him and looked at Millie. “It’s just the way things are, you know? What am I supposed to do? He owns the house.”

  “I understand,” she said, then touched my arm. “We’ll leave you alone. Thanks for helping, Kirk. Maybe one day I’ll take you up on that surfing.”

  He nodded and tugged at his hair. “Yeah, yeah, sure. That’ll be fun.”

  He smiled again and pulled me along behind her. I glanced back at Kirk and he stared after us, a haunted look in his eyes. I tried to imagine what life was like over the last decade, living under the thumb of Desmond, worried that someday his friend might have a mood swing and kick him out of his house. It must’ve been hard, playing along with Desmond’s whims, and this was probably the last straw for him.

  If Kirk ever reached out, I’d help him. Hell, I had the money. And maybe I owed him. It’d be cheaper than if he’d stuck with me from the start, that was for sure.

  “How do you feel about all that?” Millie asked me, back out on the sidewalk.

  I shook my head. “It was like seeing a ghost,” I said.

  She reached out and touched my face. It was impulsive, and I could tell it surprised even her, but I reached up and held her hand there. I liked the warmth of her palm against my cheek, and I pressed harder against it. I knew there were articles online about our fake relationship, and more posted every day, but none of it mattered in that strange, focused second. I went closer to her and bent down, kissed her on the cheek, and hugged her tight.

  “What’s next?” she asked, whispering in my ear. It felt good, to pull her so close.

  “Next
, we get more money,” I said. “And then we call Des and straighten some things out.”

  She let out a little laugh, and let me lead her back into the car.

  15

  Millie

  Instead of flying back home, Rees took us on a little detour to Houston, Texas.

  It was a strange contrast to San Francisco. The bay was a rolling mess of hills and ocean scent, while Texas was flat and rocky, a desert expanse. Houston was a newer city, more of an urban sprawl than a concentrated downtown. There was more green space, and more single-family homes.

  “You know, the last eccentric rich guy you took me to forced me to eat some bird he killed in his yard,” I said as the driver navigated along a highway that bent away from the airport, and curved gracefully around the skyscrapers that made up the central downtown area.

  “That’s true,” Rees said, smiling a little, like that was a fond memory. “But I don’t think we have to worry about that with this guy.” He hesitated, his smile faltering. “Probably not anyway.”

  “He doesn’t own a bunch of guns, does he?”

  Rees glanced at me. “It’s Texas, Millie. Everyone owns a bunch of guns here.”

  I sighed and leaned my head back against the seat as we slowly left the main city, and entered a more suburban expanse, bordering on the rural. I thought about looking at my phone, just to check texts and emails, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Taking my fake relationship with Rees public was an easy decision. In the moment, I wanted something, and I knew I could get it if I was willing to play that card. But I hadn’t really thought about all the ramifications, and I wasn’t enjoying it.

  I had maybe thirty emails from friends clogging my inbox, plus another fifty messages on Facebook, and more on Twitter and Instagram. Anyone I ever spoke with back in law school wanted to ask about my relationship with Rees, and I couldn’t bring myself to lie to them, not directly at least. Every time I opened social media, I was bombarded with people wanting to know something, wanting a piece of me, worried about my relationship as if they had anything to do with it at all.