The sound of soft moaning emanates from his computer, followed by the fleshy sound of skin slapping against skin, and Eli begins to turn a very dark shade of purple. ‘Oh, yeah, daddy. That’s it. Fuck me, daddy. Fuck my pussy so hard,’ a female voice says, much louder than the moaning. Yeah. No doubt about it. We’ve busted the fat bastard watching porn.
“Jesus, man. It isn’t even nine in the morning yet and you’re jerking it? What’s wrong with you?” Jamie asks, grinning. His humor is edged with a hostility that surprises me. Jamie’s always had a hot temper, but there’s an edge to him, now. A change. He’s not the same man he was the last time I saw him. Maybe being in Afghanistan hardened him to the outside world. Maybe being Louis James Aubertin II’s son finally got to him. Either way, Eli senses the cold malice in his voice and shrinks back into his seat, scrambling to close down the hard-core fucking he was watching on his computer.
“It’s not early for me, asshole. It’s late,” he says. “I’ve been working all night. And what does it matter to you, anyway? It’s none of your goddamn business if I want to jerk off.”
“It is if you have your fat little chode out underneath that desk and you were just about to stand up,” Jay says. “No one wants to see that shit.”
Cade snickers, and I have to bite my tongue. I’m unbelievably good at that. I make it my business to be deadpan in almost every situation I find myself in. Better that the other guy never knows what you’re thinking. Right now, I’m thinking that Jamie isn’t exactly ingratiating himself with Eli, but fuck it. The guy is the worst scum of the earth. He hardly deserves Jamie’s respect.
“Do you like to fuck little girls?” Jay continues.
Eli’s head nearly pops off his shoulders. “No! What the fuck? What kind of question is that?”
“I was just wondering. You’re watching porn with some chick asking her daddy to fuck her. I’ve never understood that. I wouldn’t wanna feel like I was fucking my own daughter. Seems kind of sick to me. Are you sick in the head, Eli?”
Eli’s double chin wobbles as he smashes his meaty hand down onto his desk, sending a carton of food toppling to the floor, along with a stack of papers, all stuck together and marked with coffee rings. “Michael, I thought you were a smart guy. We’ve always had a solid professional relationship. And now you’re bringing thugs into my workplace? Thugs who insult me? The three of you need to get the fuck out.”
Cade has been notably silent since we walked through the door, but now he steps forward and leans across Eli’s desk, his expression thunderous. “Close. Your. Ridiculous. Mouth. And. Listen.”
The man across from him looks like he’s about to have a fit. His jowls start shaking as he vibrates with rage. “Micha—”
Cade moves without warning, lunging for Eli and grabbing hold of him by the collar of his slightly yellowing shirt. He slams Eli’s head down onto the cluttered desk so that his cheek is pressing down on a chewed Bic biro and a paper plate, which still has a half-eaten slice of pizza, covered in mold, sitting on top of it. Jamie clears his throat. Whether he’s warning Cade not to go too far or he’s trying not to laugh, I can’t quite figure out.
“Best listen to this one when he tells you to do something,” he says. “He’s got a pretty short fuse at the moment.”
“I can’t…even…fucking…breathe!”
Jamie pulls a face, looking sideways at me. “That’s very unfortunate. How long do you think a guy like him can survive with taking a proper lungful of air, Michael?”
“Not long. Thirty seconds. Forty maybe? With a body that size, oxygen doesn’t go very far.”
“Fuck you!” Eli wheezes.
Cade grabs a handful of his hair and picks his head up, only to slam it back down into the table. “That’s not very polite,” he growls. “I have another idea. How about you keep quiet for a moment and we tell you why we’re here. After that, you can tell us what we want to know and we’ll leave. And you can go back to tugging on your pathetic excuse for a dick and forget we were even here. What do you think?”
“My dick…isn’t…”
Cade picks his head up and smashes it down again. “What. Do. You. Think?”
Eli’s hands scramble at the desk, disrupting more dog-eared papers and paper cups, spilling the dregs of long forgotten coffee everywhere and sending a cloud of mold spores billowing into the air. “All right. All right. Jesus Christ!”