Rough Company

by R. A. McGee

  Badway stepped to the receptionist’s window, leaning in to start his conversation. Porter followed behind his cousin and tried not to touch anything.

  “Sandra,” Badway said. “How’s my best girl?”

  The receptionist was an old woman with short white hair and a colorful sweater. Porter felt the artificial warmth of a space heater blasting through the window.

  “I haven’t been anyone’s best girl since the nineties,” Sandra said. “Don’t tease me like that.” She pointed to Badway’s face. “That’s new.”

  Badway pulled at his mustache. “Like it?”

  “Very dapper,” Sandra with the space heater said.

  “Good. I was thinking of you when I grew it.”

  “I’m a tiny bit out of your age range, Bobby. But if I were about five years younger, you’d be in trouble,” Sandra said.

  Porter laughed to himself.

  “Don’t you laugh, you big drink of water. You wouldn’t be safe either.”

  “I think you’re too much woman for me,” Porter said.

  “Damn right I am.” Sandra hacked a dry cough into her sleeve.

  Badway flashed a grin. “Cat ready for us?”

  “She’s been ready, and you know she doesn’t like to wait. You two go on back.”

  Porter followed Badway through a small door, down a hallway with a waist-high chair rail and original wooden floors that creaked and groaned as he walked across them. The hallway dead-ended at a wooden door. Badway rapped twice and opened it after a faint call to enter emerged from the room.

  Porter pulled the door open and then followed his cousin in. In the middle of the room was a small, wooden table with chairs arranged around it and, sitting at the head of the table, an attractive woman wearing a smart pantsuit and a scowl. He didn’t even notice the other occupant until he saw a quick movement out of the corner of his eye.

  A thin black man stood at full attention, salute plastered to his forehead. He was nicely dressed, proof that going to his lawyer's office was important to him. A jagged scar ran down the side of his face.

  Porter looked at the man, then at Badway, who hustled over to the saluting man.

  “Come on, Kev, you don’t have to do that. Knock it off.”

  The man held the salute, thousand-yard stare fixed on the wall.

  Badway stood straight in front of the man. “At ease, corporal.”

  The man lowered his hand, placed both hands behind his back for a moment, then adopted a less formal posture.

  “Neither of us are active anymore, man. Saluting looks weird now,” Badway said.

  “So? You know I don’t care. I salute my commanding officers, and that will always include you.”

  Badway clapped the man on the shoulder and turned him toward Porter. “Kevon Brown, this is my cousin, Porter. Porter, this is Kevon.”

  Porter shook the man’s hand, as much to feel him out as observing the pleasantries. It had long been Porter’s opinion that a handshake could tell you almost everything you needed to know about a person, man and woman alike.

  Kevon’s handshake was decent, although Porter thought it was clammy.

  “Is Porter your first or last name?” The woman at the end of the table, forgotten in all the saluting and handshaking, spoke up.

  “Usually,” Porter said.

  “What does… what does that even mean?” The woman squinted her light brown eyes. Her brunette hair and bangs framed her face in an attractive way.

  If she’d stop scowling, Porter thought.

  “Cat, this is my cousin, Porter. Porter, this is Catherine Castonguay, Kevon’s lawyer,” Badway said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Porter said, and extended his hand.

  Cat shook his hand with surprising firmness. “So it’s just Porter? Like you’re a singer or something?”

  “I don’t sing much anymore, but I’m sure I can belt something out if it will make you feel better.”

  “Spare me,” Cat said, boxing papers on their short end to even them up.

  “What did we miss?” Badway said.

  “Ms. Castonguay was just walking me through what might happen tomorrow at court. With the subpoenas and motions and stuff. It’s looking good, right?” Kevon said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I filed a motion with the courts to have Judge Hastings recuse himself. He and Stacy’s lawyer went to law school together. It’s a clear conflict of interest, and it’s the reason Stacy is getting away with so much crap. Judge Hastings is taking it easy on her. She hasn’t even responded to any of the subpoenas yet. There’s no guarantee she will tomorrow, either,” Cat said.

  “If she doesn’t, won't the judge issue a bench warrant for her arrest?” Porter said.

  Cat gave him a confused look. “Porter, are you a lawyer?”

  “No, but I do watch a bunch of television,” Porter said.

  “Then let’s leave the lawyer work to me. I assume you can lift heavy things, right? Maybe you should just stick to that.”

  Porter couldn’t suppress his smile.

  “Having a bad day, Cat?” Badway said.

  “I was fine until Kevon told me why he was here,” Cat said, motioning with her head toward Porter.

  “What’d I do?” Porter said. “Sarge drove, I just hitched a ride.”

  “Did you bring Porter here to find Trey in an extrajudicial manner?” Cat said, pointing at Badway.

  “You know I don’t like big words,” Badway said.

  “Vigilante stuff. Are you two planning on beating down doors until you find Kevon’s son?”

  “I never said that,” Kevon said, shifting in his chair. “I just said that Major Badway told me his cousin knew how to find people that were lost, that’s all. How could I not be excited? I haven't seen my boy in a year.”

  “I know, Kevon. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. I’m only saying, as an officer of the court, that I don’t approve of any sort of activities that are outside the law. Even if they are trying to find Trey.”

  “Your boy’s name is Trey?” Porter said, ignoring Cat and her frustration.

  “Yeah, my little man. See?”

  Porter took the phone Kevon handed him and looked at the cracked screen. An adorable little boy with light brown skin and a full head of curly hair smiled from behind an enormous pair of sunglasses.

  “That’s him,” Kevon said. “I miss that little dude.”

  “Good-looking kid, right?” Badway looked at Porter, eyebrows raised.

  “Of course. He’s one of my people,” Porter said.

  “Here we go,” Badway said, leaning back in his chair.

  “What do you mean, ‘your people’?” Cat Castonguay said.

  “Your wife is white? Trey’s mixed?” Porter said.

  Kevon nodded.

  “See? Mixed kids are the best-looking. No real competition,” Porter said with a smile.

  “Just a shame you grew up so ugly,” Badway said.

  Porter nodded. “Maybe if I trim my beard into a mustache like yours, it’ll help my looks. What do you think, counselor?”

  Cat was listening to the exchange with an annoyed look on her face. “I’m not sure anything could help, quite frankly.”

  “Burn,” Badway said.

  “If there aren’t any more questions, we can wrap this up. Kevon, remember what we talked about before the circus showed up. Hopefully, we’ll have a judge who’s more fair. If not, we’ll try to convince Judge Hastings to see things our way. Get you some time with Trey.”

  “That’s all I want,” Kevon said. “Thank you for helping me.”

  “Of course,” Cat said, shaking the man’s hand.

  The group rose and Porter followed Kevon out the wooden door and into the hallway.

  “I’ll catch up in a minute,” Badway said, staying behind with Cat.

  The two men stepped into the lobby and Porter looked for Sandra the receptionist, but didn’t see her.

  “How long were you in?” Porter said, moving pa
st Kevon to hold the front door open for him.

  “Only four years. Not too long.”

  “Glad you’re out?”

  “Not at all. I loved everything about my job. But once Stacy left, things went sideways. She disappeared, took Trey to God knows where. She won’t return my calls or anything.”

  Porter leaned on Badway’s truck. “Sounds rough.”

  “It is. The worst thing is, I don’t even understand why she left. I never cheated, never hurt her. I just went to work and came home and loved those two. I know I ain’t perfect, but I thought we were perfect together.”

  “It’s been this hard just to see your boy? I figured the courts would have made that happen a long time ago,” Porter said.

  “Me too. It turns out that fathers’ rights are pretty much a joke in Virginia. Mom has all the power. I wasn’t even getting anywhere until Ms. Castonguay agreed to take me on pro bono and help me out. We started seeing some results the last couple months. At least we know Trey is alive. That picture I showed you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Her lawyer sent it to Ms. Castonguay as a proof-of-life sort of thing. I can’t believe he’s so big.”

  “Cat a good lawyer?” Porter said.

  “Yeah, she’s good. She doesn’t like you for some reason,” Kevon said with a laugh.

  “She’s not the first,” Porter said. “I hope everything goes well for you in court tomorrow.” Porter shook the man’s hand. It was still clammy.

  “Me too. And if it doesn’t?” There was a cautious lilt in Kevon’s voice.

  “Let’s cross that bridge if we get to it.”

  “Fair enough,” Kevon said. He walked across the weathered asphalt of the parking lot and got into a small, old Honda with a donut on the rear, then drove slowly away.

  “I guess not all of us military guys have awesome cars,” Badway said from behind Porter.

  “Guess not.”

  “Food?” Badway said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You buying or me?” Badway said.

  “I get the feeling you’ve spent enough today. Where can we get a good burger?” Porter said.

  Badway looked at Porter for a moment but said nothing. He started the car and backtracked to the highway. But instead of heading south, back toward the Bali Bump House, Badway turned the truck north on the highway.

  Porter watched as the route grew more suburban.

  The drive wasn’t long, and the two men rode in silence.

  Badway parked in the back of a strip mall parking lot, turned the car off, and sat for a moment. “Porter, the thing is—”

  “Food first. I can’t keep up with this whole soap opera right now. I’m starving.”

  The two men placed their orders, which were nearly identical. Both men had double cheeseburgers with extra bacon. Porter got fries and a water, and Badway skipped the fries for a milkshake.

  The man behind the counter placed everything in one bag, which had a grease stain on the bottom. Badway carried it to a table, and the cousins assaulted their food.

  “You paying that lawyer lady?” Porter said, pulling his bun off.

  “I have to. The kid doesn’t have anything else,” Badway said, mouth full of milkshake.

  “She looks like the type that does pro bono. Why not for Kevon?” Porter said.

  “She would if she had to. I pay her because I want her to work hard for him, you know? Really try to get his son back. Sometimes money changes people’s motivation. Besides, she has enough pro bono clients—I mean, look at her office. She deserves to make a living, too.”

  “Kevon doesn’t know you’re paying for his lawyer?” Porter said. “Why not tell him? Why have both of you lie to him and tell him it’s free?”

  “Would you accept charity?”

  Porter didn’t answer.

  “Exactly. The guy’s already working two shitty jobs to make ends meet. He refuses to sell the house he bought for Stacy and the baby. He still hopes they’ll come home someday, and when they do, he wants them to have their home. If he had to pay a lawyer, he’d just get another job. Work himself right into the ground. That’s the type of kid he is. Hardworking as they come—there just aren’t enough opportunities out there right now for a veteran whose only real skill was shooting people.”

  Porter dabbed his fries in the ketchup and mayonnaise mixture he favored. “That why you haven’t fixed up your apartment yet?”

  “Partially. I mean, I didn’t have that much money saved up when I separated from the service. I used a good chunk of it on the building and paying for the liquor license. I want to keep some of it so I have a nest egg, and not be broke.”

  “Your money is your business, Sarge. But, if you want me to help out, I need to know the whole story. I don’t like surprises. Don’t make me unravel things like it’s an onion. Feel me?”

  “I got you, man. Full disclosure? I still hate it when you call me Sarge.”

  “That’s why I do it,” Porter said.

  “More disclosure?”

  “Hit me,” Porter said.

  “I think Cat has the hots for you.”

  Five

  The cousins finished up and Badway drove back toward the club.

  “What’s the plan for tonight?” Porter asked, well aware of the answer.

  “We're working.”

  “How much are you paying me? I’m not cheap,” Porter said.

  “I have a couple of extra beers in the cooler. You can have them. I’ll bring more upstairs from the club.”

  “No deal. I can buy my own booze. I need something else.”

  “Name it,” Badway said.

  “You sleep outside tonight. I can’t deal with you snoring.”

  “That’s all? Hell, I’ve slept in worse. Much worse. I once slept in a river of shit. I mean actual excrement. See, what happened was—”

  “I swear I don’t want to know,” Porter said.

  “Fine. It’s a deal. I’ll slide my sleeping bag outside. It’ll be like a vacation.”

  “Yeah, a vacation for my ears.”

  Badway navigated the roads until he was back in front of his club. He swung Porter by the empty lot opposite the club to retrieve his car and park it next to Badway’s behind the club.

  As they got closer, Porter was the first to notice it—a foreign paint job along the side of his vehicle.

  Someone had graffitied a realistic-looking penis along the whole side of the Yukon. It didn’t appear to have been a rush job. The artist had even signed his name, an illegible scrawl of a mark.

  Badway laughed until his eyes teared.

  Porter nodded. “At least they did a good job,” he said. He looked around the area to see if there was a straggler he could pin the vandalism on, but there was no one. The area was empty; Porter assumed it wouldn’t flood with people until several hours later in the evening.

  “This is the universe telling you it’s time for a new ride. Won't you listen to it?” Badway said.

  “Nope. I’ll get it repainted. Or I’ll ride around with a dick on my truck. Either way, the Yukon stays.”

  “My man, sticking to his guns,” Badway said.

  Porter pulled behind the club, hopped out, and locked his truck. He paused, looking at the new artwork again. Then he followed Badway through the alley toward the upstairs apartment.

  Badway jogged up the stairs and Porter followed, grumbling.

  “What’s the matter, man, you don’t like the exercise?”

  “Exercise I can get behind; stairs I can't. I have this knee that always bothers me,” Porter said.

  “I take the stairs everywhere. I love it. Keeps me nice and tight. Girls say I have a great ass,” Badway said.

  “More than I wanted to know, Sarge,” Porter said.

  The pair sat, Porter on the couch and Badway on his chair.

  “We’ll open up around eight tonight, so we have a little time,” Badway said.

  “I need a nap. Some jerk was landing a plane in h
ere last night.”

  “That’s fair. I’ll try to give you a couple hours’ peace.”

  Porter closed his eyes.

  When he opened them, three hours had passed. Badway was walking around the apartment, wearing khaki pants and no shirt, his powerfully built torso covered with tattoos.

  “You got a bunch more since the last time I saw you,” Porter said, stretching as he stood.

  “I figure why not? I like them, and I’m not doing anything else with my skin.”

  “Aren't you a little old for tattoos?” Porter said.

  “Aren't you a little old to drive a penis-mobile?” Badway said.

  “Good point.” Porter brushed his teeth, pulled on a fresh T-shirt over his jeans, and pronounced himself ready for work.

  “You’re gonna dress like that?” Badway said.

  “I’m comfortable.”

  “That’s fine, I guess…”

  “You own the club. I don’t tell you how to greet people and schmooze and kiss babies, do I? Don’t tell me how to be a bouncer. I already have that part down,” Porter said.

  “Your call. I just thought if you looked a little nicer, you might be able to get lucky tonight.”

  “Lucky? You want me to bounce, or hit on your customers?” Porter said.

  Badway held the door open as Porter exited the apartment, and they started down the stairs. “What I’m saying is, if you find someone, it wouldn’t be all that bad. I mean, how long has it been since you and Trisha…? You know, since Trisha left.”

  “It’s been a while,” Porter said.

  “You have to get back on the horse sometime.” Badway unlocked the back door to the club.

  “I’ve been on a couple of horses. My horse-riding is fine. All I want to do tonight is bounce. With you running around like a politician, somebody has to keep an eye on things,” Porter said.

  “Your call.”

  The pair went into the club and started basic prep work for the evening. Porter retrieved ice from a large machine in the back and used it to fill the four beer tubs on the floor. Badway brought several bottles of liquor to restock the bar and rolled out the mats that the bartenders stood on. Porter carried several cases of beer out of the cooler in the back, tore them open, and plunged them into the beer tubs.