Page 85 of Big Britches
He’s trying to provoke me into attacking him.
A violent employee would be much easier to deport.
Pedro backed toward the door. “I’m very sorry you feel that way,” he said. “I enjoyed working here.”
“Which one of you is the man?” Silas asked, coming around the desk. “Does Titus like to bend you over, or does he prefer lifting his legs and letting you slip your hot little tamale in?”
Pedro did not know how to respond to this. His first instinct was to say you sure have given this a fair amount of thought for a straight man. But he knew better than that. Instead, he said, “That’s none of your business. And since I don’t work here anymore, I should go.”
“Did you ever want to suck my cock, Pedro? How about it? You wanna taste? I’m sure Titus won’t mind. You queers are pretty free about that stuff, right? Maybe I’ll keep you on if you do a good job.”
So many lines were being crossed, and Pedro was bewildered by it all. Silas was obviously trying to provoke him, but was he serious about sex? Would he go that far to accuse Pedro of sexual harassment as potential grounds for deportation? Or was this the real Silas, the Silas that Titus knew, the one that bullied the meek as recompense for some deep-seated self-loathing?
Knowing that he shouldn’t say anything, that he should just leave, Pedro was compelled to say, “Where does that kind of request fall with this being a Christian operation?”
Silas stopped where he stood, leering lecherously. “Oh, you’re a smart one. Don’t see many of those from south of the border. Carlos certainly wasn’t.”
“What happened to Carlos, Silas? What really happened?”
Silas gestured to the disheveled pile of papers on his desk. “I’m a little behind on my documentation. It’s a lot of work keeping you guys over here. Sometimes, I just don’t feel like filling out all these papers.”
“Did Carlos have to leave because of you?”
“Stop changing the subject, Pedro. Fight or fuck, what’s it going to be? I’m happy with either.”
Pedro realized at that moment that working for Compton Greenscapes had never been safe, no matter how well he had done his job. He wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired with Carlos, but he would not stick around any longer to find out.
He ran out the door and down the hallway.
“You can’t run from me, Pedro. I’m everywhere. Big Britches may think he owns this town, but I’ve got some pull, too. Your queer ass is going down. No matter what he’s promised you. This is America—my country, not yours.”
Pedro walked briskly away from both buildings, heading across the parking lot and straight for his truck. He was leaving his belongings in the company vehicle, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get away from there fast.
The fog was dissipating, the sun now burning through the haze. The air was thick, moist, and heavy.
Once inside his vehicle, he checked the rear-view mirror, fully expecting to see Silas stalking toward him like some masked killer in a slasher movie. Instead, he saw Silas standing behind the glass entry door of Compton’s Greenscapes, just watching him. His glare was sinister, both cold and manipulative.
Evil.
Pedro felt beyond uneasy, like he was playing into a game he had no control over, cast in a play without a script. He wanted Titus—no, needed Titus—to help regain any sense of safety.
He put the truck in reverse and glanced once more at the office door.
Silas was still standing there, and now he was smiling.
Nineteen
He headed for the Hawthorne House first. The plan had been to move into Titus’s the following weekend, but his sudden termination had ramped things up. Pedro wanted to be with Titus, out of town, and as far away from Compton’s Greenscapes as possible. He would swing by Barb’s first, grab his stuff, and then head out to T’s and safety behind the gate. Titus would know what to do. Gathering his belongings first would also allow some time for Pedro to collect himself. If Titus saw how upset he was, Silas may not live to see the afternoon.
Pedro pulled into the boardinghouse’s parking lot, braking in the gravel with a roaring crunch. He sprang from the truck and ran up the steps. When he opened the door, he was startled to find Barb standing there on her way out. Her eyes went wide with concern. “What happened?” she said, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind them.
Pedro’s face cracked, and the tears came. The sound and privacy of a closed door had triggered an emotional eruption he hadn’t realized he was suppressing. He was terrified, confused, and paranoid, unable to shake that last image of Silas in the doorway.
“Are you hurt?” Barb asked. “What’s going on?”
“Silas fired me,” he gibbered. “No paperwork. They’re coming, Barb. Just like Carlos. He’s sending me back. He sends us all back.”
The ramble was near impossible for Barb to decipher, but she could see how frightened he was. And the name Silas was all she needed to hear.