“Fine,” Bastien conceded. “You’ll have it on your desk when you get into the office in the morning.”
“I don’t think you heard me,” Remy said. “I want it tonight. And I want it done right.” Remy paused, giving Bastien a humorless smile by forcing up the corners of his mouth. “Whatcha eyeballing me for, cuz? It’s not my fault we’re a couple men short and have to jump through hoops to make up for lost time. Your screwup. You fix it.”
Bastien couldn’t argue with that. One of the reasons he was taking his crew off-site was to discuss a rash of accidents that had put one of his employees in the hospital, another on administrative leave. But he didn’t need Remy throwing that fact in his face. Bastien was all too aware of the problems his workers had.
“Fine,” Bastien repeated, turning his back on Remy. He called out to the group, still waiting for him, and waved them on.
“You boys go on and get the party started without me,” he said. “I won’t be long.” He hustled inside and wondered if all his extra efforts could truly turn his accident-plagued division around.
Chapter 2
B y the time Bastien pulled into the parking lot at the Fast Lanz bowling alley four hours later than he’d planned, it was almost closing time. The parking lot was close to empty with a scattering of vehicles that he didn’t recognize. None of the cars that remained belonged to his employees. So he pulled into a spot near the side entrance, waving at Solly’s son Samuel, who was hauling trash out to the Dumpster.
“They’re all gone, Mr. T,” Samuel said in greeting as he struggled to lift the heavy plastic lid on the huge, industrial Dumpster and toss in two overstuffed garbage bags.
“I figured that,” Bastien said, grabbing a couple bags himself and flinging them into the bin. One by one, as each of his employees had left the bowling alley, they’d called while he was still in his office finishing Remy’s schedule or left messages on his cell phone.
“Dad is still inside,” Samuel said, pointing with his thumb back over his shoulder.
Bastien went inside and found his friend sitting at one of the tables across from the snack bar.
Solomon Greenwood looked up and pulled out a chair.
“You’re late,” he said in greeting. “The others waited as long as they could then had to cut out.”
Bastien flopped down in a chair, a sudden weariness dragging his shoulders in a slump. “I know. I saw Samuel outside and he told me.” Bastien paused and asked, “What did he do that you’ve got him on trash detail?”
Samuel was only five feet tall, small for a fifteen year old. He suffered from asthma and looked as though one of those trash bags would crush him if they fell on him. Solly usually kept him on light cleanup detail: straightening the shoe rack, wiping down the lane keypads with disinfectant wipes, restocking the restrooms.
“Sammy brought home a D in algebra,” Solly growled. “Got his head twisted around by some little gal in his English class so he’s lost his focus.”
“Give him a break, Solly. Samuel’s a good kid.”
“And he needs good grades to get into a good college. I ain’t playin’ with that boy, Bastien. He’s got two weeks to bring that D up or I swear I’m gonna kill him.”
“You’re not gonna hurt your only son,” Bastien contradicted. He rose from his seat, walked around to the snack bar and started to help himself to whatever wasn’t put away. He made himself a heaping tray of corn chips and drowned it with two ladles of melted cheese and chili sauce.
He pulled a bottled soda out of the cooler for himself and a beer for Solly, then rejoined him at the table.
“You missed out,” Solly told Bastien. “Without you at the table tonight, it was all ragging and no resolutions. What are you going to do about the gripe this month?” Solly initiated the conversation. “The crew said no raises this year. Salaries are frozen. Is that right?”
“Not much I can do, now. My budget’s busted. You know what that fool Remy did?”
Solly threw back his head, laughing so loud that it echoed through the entire bowling alley. “Yeah, I heard. You should have been here to hear Jayden scheming about how he was gonna take the keys from Remy. Remy had better watch his back. That young blood’s got some creative ideas for jacking your cousin for that van.”
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Bastien was not amused. “Thanks to Remy, my advertising budget is gone. No advertising, no new customers. No new customers, no contracts. No contracts, no bonus payouts.”
“Yeah, I understand. Though I can’t complain myself. This economy’s kicking our tails, but my business is up fifteen percent.” He shook a handful of receipts at Bastien. “Will you look at this? You know what they’re calling staying close to home to have fun? Staycations! This is the best month I’ve had all year, and it’s only May.”
“Glad to hear business is good for you,” Bastien said with a wry smile. “I’ve got G-Paw on my back about those lost time accidents. Folks that I hired on and I vouched for are messin’ up—got Chas to convince G-Paw to pay for their transfer and moving expenses from the Louisiana office. Now they’re all messing up! I’ve had one slip and fall. One serious cut on the hand. Sliced a nerve so that I don’t know if he’ll ever be back to work. One railcar loaded with the wrong product. I nearly lost us a major account by the time we figured that one out. And one fool nearly took a tumble off a walkway when I warned him, warned him, to keep his hands on the rails and to secure his tie line.”
“I heard them talking about it. But I didn’t know it was that bad for you, B. What have you done to take care of it?”
“Maybe you should ask what I haven’t tried! I tried talking to my crew. I’ve tried yellin’ at them and threatenin’—no promisin’—to dock their pay if they didn’t straighten themselves out. I’ve tried random drug tests to make sure they weren’t passin’ something around. I’ve tried making extra meetings to talk about safety concerns. Nothing seems to work, Solly. I can’t get those guys to follow a few simple rules. What am I supposed to do about that? If I don’t get those lost time accidents under control…”
Bastien didn’t have to finish the sentence. Solly already knew. That crusty old owner of CT Inspectorate was well into his nineties, but he could still swing a big stick. He made sure everybody around there knew it, too. He didn’t let anything come between him and his ability to make money. That included his own family.
Solly leaned forward, clasped his hands in front of him, tapping his mouth in concentration.
“What kind of a budget do you have left?”
“Not much. I’ve got to go back and crunch the numbers. It’s almost the end of the quarter. Nobody’s spending any money. Nobody but Remy that is. I’m looking for creative ways to do more with less, and Remy’s out there blowin’ it as fast as I can bring it in.”
“What’s he doing with it? Besides tricking out your van, that is?”
Bastien shrugged. “I don’t see most of the invoices for the company. But I heard through the grapevine that over half of my operations budget is being spent on entertainment. Remy’s supposedly been wining and dining potential clients. Not much left for me to work with.”
“Why does that old man let him get away with it?”
“I think the old man is slowing down. He’s sick and he’s tired. It’s either that or Remy is drugging him to keep him out of his hair.”
Solly grunted in agreement. He toyed with his beer bottle, peeling off the label in slow strips. He then set the bottle down on the table with a thump and said, “I might know somebody who could help you.”
“Who?” Bastien