Page 30 of Fight or Flight
“Yeah, I know. I remember your testimony. And I remember your file.” He taps the cane on the floor two times to get my attention and then slowly asks. “You were never given a chance, did you, kid?”
I’m not exactly sure what he means by that, and I frown, unable to answer, but I guess he’s not waiting for one because he starts speaking again, this time, his tone getting even more wistful.
“You see, I didn’t have a stable childhood. And my parents weren’t so great at taking care of me, but still, I was given a chance. I was taken in by my aunt and uncle, who were good people. Then I almost died, but still, the universe gave me a chance to try to fix it all. I lost someone very important, and yet I received another shot when I found her. Last year, we both almost died, which would be equal to leaving our son. And we’re lucky to still have people in our lives who would take care of him, but it got me thinking. What if we didn’t? What if there was no one to give him the same chances that I seem to be receiving again and again? What happens to young people that literally have no one to offer them the help when they need it the most?”
“So, what, I’m some kind of project for you just so you can feel like the scales are more even ‘cause you’re giving back what you received?” I mock, trying to navigate quickly through the things he told me. That sounds nice and all. But it’s too nice. No one does anything without the possibility of gain. “Am I to believe that you are actually helping me from the goodness of your heart?”
“I don’t care what you believe in, Aidan,” Brody says sharply, done with the storytelling act. “I expect you to be on time, do your job, and not get into trouble. That’s the chance I am willing to give you. It’s up to you what you decide to do with it.”
With that, he stands up with way more agility than you could expect from someone of that posture and with a fucked up leg at that.
“Sandra will give you my company address and my phone number. I expect to see you at eight in the morning sharp. Don’t worry about clothes or tools; you’ll get that when you show up.”
“But I don’t know anything about construction...” I mutter toward his retreating back. I can see the inhale he takes before he throws over his shoulder.
“See you tomorrow,” and then he limps away, darting between the cubicles.
I frown at my knees, mulling over everything, when Sandra enters, balancing two cups of coffee in both hands. She looks around the small office before her lips downturn.
“Oh, is he gone already?” She asks in disappointment, and I jump to help her with one of the cups. “Oh! Aren’t you a gentleman? You can have the coffee then.”
“Um, thank you,” I sit back down and take a small sip.
Sandra takes back her seat and rests both of her elbows on the desk, her attention fully on my face again now that the target of her worship is absent.
“Now, let’s talk about housing...”
CHAPTER XI
CLAIRE
My head bobs to the sultry song that fills my eardrums, and I do a little swirl behind the counter before asking yet another sleazy-looking guy in his obvious midlife crisis stage what is his poison of choice for tonight.
I get his order done and deliver it with a flirty smile, even though I cringe inwardly at the way he licks his lips and eyes my cleavage.
It always baffles me that some men coming to the Pink Panther would rather hit on the bartending girl dressed modestly compared to the waitresses and dancers all around them. I mean, just now, my friend Trixy is taking off her bra and shaking the goods in some guy’s face before swaying around the pole set in the middle of the stage.