Chapter Twenty-Two
Boyd was getting pretty tired of his uncle treating him like a squished patch of dog shit that he'd found on the bottom of his expensive shoe. It took plenty of thinking about it, but he finally resolved to confront the old fucker. He decided to go give the old guy a piece of his mind, then thought it would be best for everyone if he just left it alone. That went on, back and forth, anger and turning the other cheek, for a good hour. In the end, it was thinking about what Felicia had said about Carl keeping tabs on Opal, even though they'd only just met, which made up his mind for sure.
That's what lead him to the busy warehouse owned by Carl. "I need to see him," he told the grumpy little woman behind the front desk. "And don't give me any of that crap about him not being here, or him being too busy. I don't give a fuck, you hear me?" He was trying to sound as pissed off as he felt, without losing his sense of control.
"Do you have an appointment to see your uncle, Boyd?" That was right, she remembered him. "Or are you here to see me?"
"What? Why the fuck would I be here to see you? Now, tell me, is he in that office or not? I'll just go see for myself, shall I? Might give the greedy cunt a heart attack to see me unexpected.
"Are you serious? You're kidding me, right?"
"What, you think I wouldn't enter a room without permission? I'm not eight years old, sweetheart."
"Yeah, that's what you called me on our so-called date. I think that was when your uncle still hadn't figured out what kind of a person you really are." That face, those lips, such pretty eyes even full of resentment, that chest, those hips. Boyd remembered why he should have recognized her.
"Oh, boy. You're probably wondering why I didn't call you back, right? Look, I was just barely over being a kid then."
"Yeah, and I still had some hope in men before then too. Don't worry, you're not the first guy who's messed me around. You probably won't be the last either, as much as I hate to admit that. Tell you what, just go through and talk your lies to your uncle, okay? I don't have the time and I don't get paid enough to deal with this right now. Excuse me." She got up and headed for a door that was marked as the employee's bathroom.
"Bravo," said Carl from the door that was slightly ajar. "That was quite a show. So, you and Tabitha hey? You were a dog even back then. My, how your mother would be proud of you. Get in here before you cost me a lawsuit." Boyd followed Carl into the office, and his uncle locked the door behind them. "I don't want any more of my female employees throwing a tantrum because you had your way with them and tossed them aside. God damn it, Boyd, don't you know what prostitutes are for? I thought I had a better influence than that. Lord knows I tried to fill in after my brother and your mother passed away. And look at you. You're a disgrace to the Houston family name, for fucksakes!" He went and sat behind his enormous desk, picked up a half smoked cigar from a green glass ashtray that was on top of it.
"You still smoke? Oh, that's right, you moved on to much harder stuff than tobacco, didn't you? But you still drink whiskey, if I'm not mistaken."
"It's good to know you're keeping tabs on me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to have a relative who cares." Boyd had lost a lot of his steam after being put on the spot like that. Yeah, Carl had a way of doing that to people. He'd work an angle they weren't expecting, making things more personal than they were comfortable with. That's when he'd shift things to be in his own favor; one of the things Boyd used to admire, but now something he hated about the man.
"I didn't come here to deal with your underhanded shit, Carl. Don't pretend you're any better than me. You've just had longer to learn how to avoid getting caught."
"Yes, exactly. I don't go around throwing money at every tight skirt and set of fake tits I see. I don't waste my mind on drugs and cheap bars. You were given an advantage so you could have the best. People like us don't have run-ins with the law. We don't wind up in lock up for drinking and vandalism."
"That's what I came to say, mostly. Well, first, I came to tell you to stay the fuck away from my new girl. I know you started watching her. She's not into anything illegal so you might as well give up right away. If you give a shit about our family name so much, just let me have this."
"Is that so?" Carl's smile made Boyd sick to his stomach. There was too much spiteful pleasure in it. "And what's the other thing you came to tell me all about?"
"You don't need to worry about me ruining your 'good' name any more. I've decided to stop making trouble."
"Oh, why's that? You're not worried about losing all that money you didn't earn, are you?"
"We both know the deal, so cut the shit, Carl. I'll pass that interview, because I'm smarter than you, and I've got a better lawyer than you, despite your efforts to get her to change sides through the years."
"You got the part about having a good lawyer right at least. But I've been at this game for much longer than you, Boyd. That's one loyal bitch though, I'll give her that."
"Don't call Felicia a bitch."
"Oh, why? Because she cleans up your messes, you think she gives a damn about what happens to you? Once your money's gone, and hopefully once you're in prison for a long time, you're not going to see her face again as long as you live."
Boyd kicked an antique looking wooden chair so hard it almost fell over. The thing was heavy as five regular chairs as well, but he was strong and trying to manage his bubbling emotions; mostly anger. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because you're a fucking punk, Boyd. You used to be one of my favorite people, right up until you became a man. But that man turned out to be the kind of scumbag I really hate. You've got no honor, no self-respect, and you waste money that you didn't earn. I'm sorry, I truly am, but you're a piece of shit in my mind.
"Wow, what a nice way to speak to your only nephew, your only living relative."
"I don't have a nephew. There's just this punk my brother gave birth to one day, and he's been nothing but trouble ever since. The worst part is, no one else ever realized it but me. Me and all the poor schmucks you screwed over. Well, you're the one getting screwed over this time--you have no idea. You're going to lose that money, be sure of that."
"Yeah, we'll see. Just be sure your secretary lets me know when you finally keel over. I wouldn't want to miss that funeral." He stormed out of there, avoiding eye contact with Tabitha, who'd returned to her station behind the desk.