It's Not Easy Being Green: Working For The Man

In the meetings he’d had with the PPD rep before his first day on the Re-Start Program, the rep had talked with Dom about his ‘anger problem’.  Dom thought the guy was full of shit; his anger wasn’t a problem for anyone except whoever he was angry at.  However, he kinda liked the rep.  The guy was nice for a cop, and always had Jolly Ranchers with him.

One of the things the rep had told him was, when Dom was feeling really angry, to take deep breaths and count to ten.  He was counting to ten a lot this week.  Dom dimly wondered if accountants counted this much.

When the mariachi-looking guy and the ex-ninja chick at the D gave him the idea to find work as a security guard somewhere, he’d thought it was a kick-ass idea.  Get paid to stand around and run off punks?  Fuck yeah.  He knew he’d be great at it.  Problem was, no one else was buying it.

 Dom left yet another employment office, and jammed his hands in his pant pockets.  He’d made it to ten a few times over by the time he got to the Skyway tram.  He muttered sourly as he made his way up the ramp, counting how many places had laughed him out of the building, how many had called the cops because they thought he was there to rob them, and the less said about the fourth place, the better.  He didn’t know the gun wasn’t loaded, and that fat dipshit shouldn’t have pointed it at him in the first place.

 He did feel bad, though.  Dom had even signed both the guy’s casts.

 After a lot of thinking followed by a couple aspirin, Dom supposed he got it.  He probably wouldn’t buy it either if some homeless Troll walked up on him and said he wanted a job.  He sighed.  It really wasn’t easy being green.  That Kermit was a smart motherfucker.

Dom squeezed himself into the last seat on the tram, and tried to ignore everyone’s stares.  After a few minutes, though, he gave up and flashed everyone what he thought was a good ‘hey I’m your buddy everything’s cool’ smile.  Four people went for their cell phones, and he thought he saw one reaching in her purse for her mace.  Ah, fuck it.  Dom sighed again, and got off on the next stop.  He’d walk the rest of the way.  Again.  No big, it was only like four miles.

By now, it was late afternoon, and he had one more place to go today.  Sal’s Salvage over in the Gish ‘hood of Kings’ Row was hiring a night watchman on the weekends.  One more stop, and he’d find a nice dumpster to curl up behind for the night.  If it went too badly, maybe he’d drop some Dyne first.  He could use the boost.

 Dom dimly considered that maybe he ought to cut back on the stuff.  Jase had seemed pretty pissed about him still doing it.  Dom didn’t really give a shit what the others thought about him, but it was either work with them or go to prison.  Besides, from the little bit he could understand from Legs’ memo, he wasn’t supposed to be on the Dyne at all.  He shuddered a little.  He’d worry about that later.  For now, he’d reached the iron gate at the entrance to Sal’s Salvage and rang the buzzer.  A surly, unmistakably Italian accent greeted him over the intercom.  “Yeah, whaddaya want?”

Dom cleared his throat, “Uh, I’m here about the guard job.”

There was a brief pause, and the gate unlocked.  “C’mon in, pal.  Hands where I c’n see ‘em, capice?”

Dom frowned, mulling this over.  For a couple minutes.  The intercom barked, “While we’re still young, pal.”

What the hell.  Dom swung the gate open, making his way across the lot.  The office door across the way, swung open, and he laid eyes on the shortest man he’d ever seen.  Like, this guy had to be one of those ‘little people’…people.  He was balding, with olive skin, and a bushy black mustache.

The guy was carrying a piece, though.

The man squinted up…and up….and up at Dom, and grinned.  “Whaddaya know?  It’s the Jolly Green Motherfucking Giant.”

Dom started inwardly counting to ten again.

The man motioned to the ground.  “’ave a seat, pal.  It’s killin’ my neck to look up at ya.”  Dom obliged and sat cross-legged on the ground.

The man grinned again, “Tha’s better.   I’m Sal.  So, you looking for work, huh? First Troll I ever heard of that wanted a job.”

Dom shrugged, “Makes two of us.  Name’s Dom. Look, I know you probably don’t buy this, but I…”

Sal cut him off.  “You’re hired.  When c’n ya start, Dom?”

Dom blinked.  Gaped.  Blinked again.  Started to open his mouth to speak, then closed it.  Blinked a third time.

Sal watched all this warily.  “Say, Dom…uh, you ain’t having a stroke on me, are ya?”

Dom’s brain finally managed to wrap itself around this idea and he grinned.  “Uh, no sir, uh, Sal, I mean, Mr. Sal.”

“Just ‘Sal’ is fine, buddy.  Lemme tell you what I want outta you.  First off, we sometimes get Skulls who want to jump the fence and drink, fight, and fuck in my yard.  And I don’t pay taxes so someone else can drink, fight, and fuck on my property, capice?”

Dom had no idea what ‘capice’ meant, but he was following the rest well enough.  He nodded.

“Great.  So, I need someone to throw their asses out of here.  Second, I get stuff coming in and outta here, and I need someone who can open the gate, load trucks and unload trucks while I’m not here.  You with me so far?”

Dom was with him.

Sal nodded.  “Fine.  Job pays eight an hour, no bennies.  You show up at midnight, you clear out at eight.  You don’t touch nothin’, and you don’t ask questions.  We have a deal?”

Dom dimly wondered what questions he would ask, but decided that asking what he’d ask would be a question he shouldn’t ask.  Fuck, this was starting to make his brain hurt.  He shook it off, and said, “Yeah, no problem.  I’m your guy.”

Sal grinned, “Fantastic.  Swing by Thursday night early so I can show ya around.”

Dom nodded, “Okay, Sal.”  He stood up and waved to his tiny new boss, who was already walking away.  Dom figured that meant they were done.  He headed to the gate, and let himself out.

He figured he’d have to leave right after Zenith’s deal, but it was worth it.  He wondered briefly if he should tell Sal about his hero gig, but decided if Sal had wanted to know if he was a cape, he’d have asked.  There was something about the whole situation that didn’t quite seem right for Dom, but he was too excited to want to strain his brain over it.

With a loud whoop, he pumped his fist in the air, and yelled, “I GOT A JOB, BITCHES!!!”