Free PI On A Hot Tin Roof by Julie Smith Page B

J-o-b as in w-o-r-k. That means nine-to-five to me, or something close to it—whatever hours Jesse works. What’d
you
think it meant?”
    “Well, I was religious about it for the first month or so. Then, after that, there just wasn’t that much to do—I mean it ain’t shrimp season! So I started going in a little later—I mean, not real late—I just wasn’t all that careful, but I swear to God, I always stayed eight hours. Every day of my life.”
    “How late?”
    Royce shrugged again, looking ever more uncomfortable. “’Bout nine-thirty usually.”
    Maybe sometimes,
Talba thought.
But definitely not yesterday.
    “You know what I think? I think he was trying to get rid of me. I
begged
him for something to do! Swear to God, Daddy. He kept sayin’ I had to learn the business before he could give me any real responsibility. ‘Real responsibility.’ Like that was different from any responsibility at all. I mean, I could have broken heads or shoveled ice, come to that. You know I’m willin’, Daddy. He just wouldn’t give me a damn thing to do.”
    “You tellin’ me the truth, son?”
    “Have I ever lied to you?” Royce’s voice had risen to match his father’s.
    Talba stole a glance at Adele, whose face told her that if he was lying, it wouldn’t be the first time.
    “Are you lying now?”
    “No!” Royce was outright yelling.
    “’Cause I’m gon’ kill ya if ya are.” Buddy’s voice was much lower now, cold and dangerous.
    “Daddy, I swear to God.”
    “Jesse Partee, you are on my enemies list!” the judge roared. “I will ruin the man. I will destroy his business and I will destroy
him.
I can promise ya that, son. No two-bit shrimp seller’s gon’ treat my son like shit. Meanwhile, I’m gon’ do what I shoulda done in the first place. Ya gon’ work for me. Out at Venetian Isles. Ya definitely gon’ shovel some ice. I’m gon’ let Brad teach ya the business.”
    Royce let his shoulders relax. Casually, he drew out a chair and sat on it, drawing it up close to the table across from his father. “Daddy, I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this business.”
    “Well, what the hell
are
ya cut out for? Tell me that, will ya? Every job ya ever had, ya lost. And ya always got some excuse. The boss didn’t like ya, ya didn’t understand the rules. The boss had it in for me, and he was takin’ it out on you. Just what the hell ya think ya gon’ do? Live off ya wife’s fluffer earnin’s?”
    “Feng shui.”
    “Fuck shui! What am I gon’ do with ya, son?”
    “I was thinkin’ I might go to law school.”
    “Law school! With a straight C minus average from one of the worst universities in the country? What law school’s gon’ have ya?”
    “What law school’s gonna turn down Buddy Champagne’s son?”
    Unexpectedly, the judge laughed. Laughed so hard you’d have thought his son was Billy Crystal. “Only every law school in the country. I’m tired of cleanin’ up ya messes, boy. This time ya gon’ stand up and be a man—if I have to tan ya hide to make ya do it.”
    Royce turned as red as his father, got up, and walked out of the room. Talba thought possibly a pattern was forming.
    She cleared the table and busied herself in the living room, having decided to eat an elephant one bite at a time, as Eddie would say. She started at the ceiling, with the cobwebs, chandeliers, and ceiling fans, teasing the dust off with a feather duster, and there was plenty of it. Evidently, Alberta didn’t use Miz Clara’s system.
    Next, she applied herself to the pictures, mirrors, wall sconces, and finally the furniture, to which she also applied the special polish prescribed by Adele, eschewing supermarket products, which, she was assured, left an ugly buildup and ruined the wood.
    She was vacuuming the upholstery when Buddy came down from his office to go back to work. “Hey, Sandra, what’d ya do to my office?”
    “Not nearly as much as I wanted, but I was afraid to move your