Southern Justice, Part Five

I’m Fixin’ To present part five of Southern Justice:

Of the modern day Three Musketeers, Jones, who insisted on going by his last name only, was the brainy one, and did a brilliant job of running the marketing and advertising department. Rick Junior observed that as usual he was wearing a starched Polo dress shirt and that his blond hair was jelled to perfection. He was just over six feet tall and fair complexioned with a handsome face behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

Chris Adams was his usual self, slightly rumpled, but not to the point of being untidy. He was almost two inches taller than Jones, with tousled, slightly curly dark brown hair, and a chiseled handsome face and demeanor that drove the ladies crazy. He also had a way about him which put people, even total strangers, immediately at ease. Chris ran the company’s sales department.

Rick Junior ran the day-to-day operations of the company, and even though his father was still the sole owner, he, Jones and Chris ran the business with an equal vote on all decisions.

As he approached the two of them he noticed that Jones gave Chris a slight nudge and they ended their conversation before he came within earshot.

“Good morning, brothers,” Rick Junior said. “Are we keeping secrets from each other these days?”

Jones pretended to be startled and said, “What you talking about?”

“Come on, it was pretty obvious that you two clammed up when you saw me coming. Now, what gives?”

Jones looked at Chris and said, “What the hell, go ahead and tell him. He probably needs to know anyway.”

Chris made a painful face before he finally blurted out, “It’s about your pop.”

“What about him?” Rick Junior asked with trepidation.

“Well—it’s just that he was in the Gold Club the other night,” Chris told him.

“So what’s the big deal about that?” Rick Junior asked. “As far as I know you two go there quite often, and I can’t say that I blame you for wanting to be in the same room with two or three hundred half-naked beautiful women.”

Jones took his turn and reported, “Yeah, we do hang out at the club some, but you see, the thing is, your pop dropped about four thousand dollars while we were there.”

Rick Junior grimaced and said, “Wow! Sounds like he was completely out of control.”

Other employees were beginning to trickle into work which prompted Rich Junior to say, “Let’s get this conversation out of the hallway. Come on into my office, fellows.”

Once the three of them were settled in Rick Junior’s office behind closed doors he said, “I’m really worried about pop. He stays out all night, and as you know, very seldom comes to work. Last weekend he came over to the house all liquored up and had some young honey with him, probably one of those strippers from the Gold Club. My wife was a little upset and I was embarrassed.”

Neither Jones or Chris said a word, so Rick Junior continued by asking, “Do y’all think that shelling out four grand might be some kind of record at the Gold Club?”

Chris answered his question. “No, it ain’t. I thought it might be too, but when I did some checking I found out that one night the late and great Lewis Grizzard dropped $16 thousand and gave his Mercedes to one of the strippers.”

“Wow!” Rick Junior exclaimed. “You mind telling me how you came by that information.”

Jones didn’t give Chris the opportunity to answer Rick Junior and immediately blurted out, “He got it from his little twenty-two-year-old stripper girlfriend, who works there—at the Gold Club.”

“Whatever,” Rick Junior declared. “We’re discussing my old man’s problems and not someone else’s girlfriend. Do either of you have any suggestions or ideas of what we can do about him?”

There were a few moments of silence in the office as if each of them was searching their mind for a solution to Rick Junior’s father’s problems.

Finally Jones volunteered, “I don’t see as there is much of anything we can do. Maybe he’s just going through a stage and sooner or later he’ll find a woman, discover golf, or maybe both.”

Rick Junior let out a sigh and said wistfully, almost to himself, “I hope so, I really do hope so.”

(www.teddunagan.com)

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