“Wait,” Charlotte started, “is that the same guy who had a land spill last summer?”
“Same filthy man.” Shaking my head, I didn’t have anything else to add. There wasn’t anyone greedier than him. He clearly did anything he could to make more money for himself, without a care in the world for what he was doing to the planet. I closed out my internet browser as I couldn’t stomach it. “If Ebenezer Scrooge had a twin, it’d be Beau Tucker. He’d be calledBeaunezer Scrooge. I’m just relieved I can close him out of my browser.”
I tucked my phone into my bag, not able to say anything about this current event. It seemed to be the icing on my-week-stinks calendar. Picking up Poppy’s favorite hemp-crocheted purse, I handed it to her, and helped her off the floor while saying to Charlotte, “I’ll deal with this tomorrow. Right now, I need to go home to spend some quality time with Poppy.”
two
Beau
Iwasbusyasa cat on a hot tin roof as I flew my helicopter back to my shop. I had returned from checkin' my well, and the sight of the oil on the beach, and the poor birds left me physically weak. It wasn’t the first time I’d had this kind of mess. The silver lining I clung to today was, all my guys were safe. In this job, I’d learned to put things into perspective, and people—my people—were the first and only thing that mattered.
This wasn’t the best place to land—a mere clearin' in a field out by my shop—but in times like these, I couldn’t waste time in traffic. Angling my helicopter’s nose into the wind, I scanned the field, and saw clearly what I had already figured. Protesters around my shop. I wasn’t at all surprised, but the sight of them sent a wave of jitters to my gut. They were unavoidable since I was 'bout out of fuel. I was careful about my ground effect. The wind was blowin' so hard that I reckoned I’d bounce, and I sure didn’t want to hit anyone. I turned the throttle down to an even idle, and I sat there ’bout a foot above ground, not wantin' to land. I could see their screaming faces, and their painted protect-the-earth signs, and they were comin' for me. I definitely needed to get a private landing dock, something with a high gate and security. Some of these hippies would get violent, and all I wanted was to do my job. I didn’t plan any of this disaster. It came with the gig. Gulping down my anxiety, I closed the gap of air, safely landing my copter.
Now the hard part. People.
Mad people, swarmin' like fire ants who’d had their hill demolished. It was like they had blinders on, and didn’t fear for their safety as they plowed toward my copter while the blades were still turning. One guy stepped up to my door, pressed his face against the glass, and pounded a fist at me.This was out of control!I had to do something before someone got hurt. I didn’t even know how I could open my door with the people crowding in, pushin’ and shovin’. I could sleep in the helicopter, but something told me they'd still be here in the mornin'. Defeated, I did the only thing I could do. I panicked and called the cops for help.
It’d been years since I got hauled home in the backseat of a cop car, and it brought back so many memories of my rowdier high school days. I liked to think I’d learned a little since those humble beginnings. Now, it was well past midnight, and the street was quiet. The only sound was Bandit’s paws bouncin' off my screen door, as he jumped around waitin’ for my arrival.
“Sorry, Boy.” I carefully opened the door, so it didn’t smack him. “I got caught up at work again. I bet you’re hungry as a horse.”
Runnin' in circles, he followed me to the kitchen where I filled his bowl with dog food and set it on the floor. It was a rare night he didn’t share some cooked meat with me, but it was too late for this ol’ dog to hunt. As tired as I was, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I didn’t even risk closing my eyes, as the images of my crew having to endure this disaster chewed at my stomach. Not to mention the colossal cost of cleanup I’d have to fund—I wasn’t complaining about that part because I got lucky and nobody’d died—but I still owed it to my investors to somehow turn a profit. I couldn’t imagine having to lay off people after this. That would kill me, because most my guys had families and they were the ones out there riskin' their lives.
No, sleep was not on the menu. Instead, I went to my garage, to tinker on my new-to-me pinball machine. A1947 Humpty Dumpty pinball machine, with all original flippers and fittin’s. Runnin’ my hand along the wood, I remembered the vintage green, red and gold color pattern. I played this same model of pinball machine all through middle school, while I waited at the diner for my mom to get off work. Another scan over the body, and I determined all she needed was a new rubber kit and some bulbs and she’d be ready to play again. I loved restoring these things. What most people thought was old and ugly, I saw as well-loved and worth it. They were easy to fix too.
Not at all like people. Ugh, now I was thinking about people again. Mad and upset people who hated me. I’d been a loner my whole life. Teased for being ugly, I stopped tryin' to belong. Maybe that’s why I was able to tolerate people hatin’ me for the job I did? It made me a billionaire but, it didn’t make me all that happy. In the beginning, I loved what I did because I was good at it, but now, it made me a prisoner.
Backing away from the pinball machine, I shut off the overhead garage light, and went into the house to find my bottle of Mylanta, all while promising to myself something had to change. I couldn’t let this get so out of hand that people get hurt, nor could I rely on the police to give me a ride home every night. I had an obligation to do the best I could for my company—my guys—and for myself. Tomorrow, I was gonna do something different. Somethin’ I hated doing. I was gonna to ask someone for help.
three
Clover
Mybrowsskyrocketedandmy words sputtered resembling an old carburetor that wouldn’t turn over. “I-I know you! You’re th-that horrible man from the news! You’re—”
“Beau Tucker.” He extended his burly arm, offering a handshake, and held it there in pause while I stared at it like it was covered in snake venom. I triple-blinked, trying to find the connection. For the life of me, I couldn’t fathom why this scum would land in my office.
Not wanting to show weakness, I swallowed my distaste, and briefly gripped his hand, and held my breath. He was such a filthy mess, you’d think a billionaire could at least shower and put on clothes that didn’t look slept in. I struggled to keep my polite composure when I asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I need your help—”
I pushed my hand out in the perfect stop signal. “Not a chance.”
“Hold your little hippie horses,” his thick Texas drawl rolled out. “The oil and gas industry has gotten a bad reputation for being environmentally unfriendly, but I really do think it’s a media problem, more than anything. The media has gone all cattywampus and I want my company to be a leader in changing the image of the entire industry. I know you specialize in greenin' things up, and you can help me out of this predicament.”
I was still so stunned he would show up in my office uninvited, I started acting out of character, and not at all like my normal, welcoming self. I didn’t have any desire to be nice to him. I haughtily tossed a lock of my golden hair over my shoulder and forced my face into a neutral expression, like I was clearing a slate. “Flattery won’t work with me.”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to flatter ya.” He went stone-faced, steeling his chin. “I was tryin’ to pay ya.”
“I have a full client load right now.” I motioned to the digital calendar on my computer screen, doing my best to sound bored with him, and used the opportunity to take a step back, away from the rig-pig stench emanating from his aura. “If I took you on, I wouldn’t be able to give you the time your account would need.” I stared at him, biting back the truth, which was I’d rather clean up dog poop all day than even have to look at this man.
One of his greasy locks of hair dropped down onto this forehead, dangling there like its sole purpose was to gross me out. I was so utterly repulsed by this man, I barely heard his firm rebuttal, “I’ll give ya a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Wait a second.” I nervously tugged my hair back over my shoulder, doubting I had heard him correctly. “What amount was that?”
His eyes shifted, like he suspected he had hit mylet’s-make-a-dealnerve. “I’ll sign a contract for one-hundred thousand dollars if you agree to make all this drama disappear.”
I tried to avoid choking as I swallowed. I dropped my eyes to the floor, noticing his worn steel-toed boots, and the trail of mud they’d left on my newly installed bamboo floor. One side of my brain was begging me to ask, if he had that much money to throw around, why he didn’t invest in at least one clean pair of shoes for those days he showed up in people’s offices? He was clearly loaded. I worked on a fifty percent commission rate, and I quickly did the math, confirming he was offering me as much money as I made with all my other clients combined.
