Page 19 of Naked Coffee Guy
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I sigh when I see the number light up on the car dash. No name, but I recognize the number from the dozens of times I’ve taken this call before.
“Yeah.”
“Dermot. Jay Abbot here. I was hoping we could go over some of those missing details before we head to print.”
I grip the phone so hard, it could break in my hand.
“Listen, dipshit. We had a deal. This doesn’t print until the old man’s dead. You hear me?” This fucking reporter has been hounding my ass for weeks now, ever since he got wind of some of Benji’s rapid sales along with the debt. When Abbot learned Benji was at death’s door, the guy was practically salivating.
Benji has fucked over a lot of people. There will be plenty of people who are waiting to dance on his grave. But his name is still worth something in this region, and while he’s alive, I’m the keeper of his reputation. All this hotshot reporter sees is a chance to elevate his name with a breaking news story. But Benji isn’t a news story, he’s the reason I’m still alive.
“Relax,” Abbot says, but I hear the nervousness in his voice, “I don’t mean now.”
“No, you mean when he’s dead. Have a betting pool going there, Abbot? Any guesses for when the old man keels over?”
Abbot clears his throat and mumbles an apology.
“Look,” I continue, “I’ll get you the rest of the information once Benji has passed, not a minute sooner. I can’t have you breaking this story while Benji is still alive.”
“But you’ll call, right?”
I can hear the desperation in his voice. I wonder how old Abbot is, how long he’s been reporting. Is this his first break? Does he have an editor riding his cock for this story?
I don’t really care about him. If he loses his job over this, fuck it. Not my problem. Who I care about are all the people who will never be paid back for what Benji has done to them.
I don’t want to do this. If I could, I’d let Benji’s sins die with him. I couldn’t give two shits about this fucking story.
But for them? This is the least I can do.
“I’ll call.”
I hang up, toss my phone on the passenger seat, then peel away from the curb.
The phone rings again, and I’m about to send it to voicemail but stop when I see the name on the dash. It’s not Abbot like I thought, but Benji. I push the button to answer.
“Hey.”
Benji’s breathing is labored, and it takes him a moment to say anything.
“This woman…” He wheezes, and I wait for his fit to stop, “she’s stealing…my food. She gives me…shit. Rancid shit.”
I sigh, realizing it’s going to be one of those days. I hear muffled talking in the background, and I know it’s Anna, today’s day nurse.
“That’s terrible, Benji. Want to put Anna on the phone for me?”
“Who the hell…is Anna,” he forces out.
“Your nurse. That woman. Can you put her on please?”
He has another coughing fit, and I feel my body tensing up. Benji has his lucid moments, but they’re getting further apart. Every time he slips into the shadows of his mind, I wonder if he’ll come back from it.
“Who…is this?” he finally rasps.
“Benji, can you put Anna on the phone.” I bark the words, regretting my choice to leave the phone within his reach. But Benji isn’t a prisoner, despite the soft foods diet he’s on since he chokes on anything larger than a grape. There’s so little he can do on his own anymore, and using the phone is one of them. Which makes me feel terrible when I hear more muffled noises, and then Benji yelling in the background.
“Sorry about that.” It’s not Anna like I expected, but Hattie.
“What are you doing there? Where’s Anna?”