“Jackson’s a good guy, Doug. If you’re not happy here, then go somewhere else, but don’t poison the crew with your opinions.” Hank smashed the sledgehammer into the wall again. “Shut it or I’m going to have to warn Jackson about your bad attitude.”
Doug’s smug expression seemed downright evil. He fired up his drill again and yelled, “If Jackson shows up at all this morning, he’ll be too hungover to pay much attention to you, anyway. He’s gonna end up losing his business and then it’ll be easy pickings for some other builder to come in and take over.”
“I told you to shut—”
“What the fuck, Doug?” Jackson barked from the doorway connecting the kitchen and mudroom. Hank snapped his head toward Jackson, whose disheveled clothing and hair only proved Doug’s point. Dark circles underscored his eyes, standing out against the ever-reddening flush of his face. “What did you just say about me?”
Hank lowered the hammer and held his breath. Two hotheads readying for a cockfight. Jim looked shell-shocked.
Shit.
“Jackson,” Hank began. Jackson threw his hand out to silence him, then strode over to Doug’s step stool. Anger rippled off his broad shoulders in waves.
“You’re fired, asshole.” He picked up Doug’s screwdrivers off the counter and tossed them on the floor. “Pick up your shit and get the fuck out. Now!”
Doug jumped off the stool and jabbed his finger in Jackson’s face. “You’re the asshole!”
“I’m done talking to you.” Jackson bared his gritted teeth. “Get the fuck out before I knock you into the next room.”
“Hey, guys, calm down.” Hank crossed the kitchen. “Separate corners.”
Too little, too late. Both men were jacked up and ready to rumble. Doug spit into the sink.
“Fine. I’m outta here, Jackass.” Doug squatted to pick up his tools. He looked up defiantly. “Don’t get too comfy with all your power. As soon as word spreads about your drinking, we’ll see how many new projects you land.”
A quick glance at Jim told Hank he might already be regretting taking this job. Jackson didn’t help matters when he kicked Doug’s toolbox out of his reach and yanked the man up to his feet.
Gripping him by his shirt, Jackson bellowed, “You’re threatening me? Open your mouth and I’ll slap you with a slander suit and anything else I can think of. I’ve got a six-year string of successful projects and happy clients. What the hell have you got?”
Doug shoved at Jackson. When Hank noticed Jackson form a fist, he grabbed Doug from behind to get him out of harm’s way and spare Jackson a lawsuit. Doug twisted and elbowed Hank, sending him stumbling backward. He tripped over the old cabinets Doug had left scattered across the floor.
Hank threw his hands out to break his fall, but his left hand took the full brunt of his weight, sending shattering pain through his wrist.
“Holy hell!” He sat up, clutching his forearm above the throbbing wrist, which began swelling up like a balloon. “Dammit, I can’t move it.”
Jackson and Doug turned, stunned. Ray ran into the room, having heard the shouting and crash from the master bathroom where he’d been working, and nearly knocked Jim over. “Everything okay in here?”
“Oh, shit!” Jackson hustled to Hank’s side. “That’s fucked up. We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
“I told you sticking with him would lead to no good,” Doug said to Hank, standing apart from them, arms crossed. “Now you won’t be able to work anywhere with your lame hand.”
“Wipe the shit-eating grin off your face.” Jackson’s menacing tone caused Doug and Ray to back up. “You have two minutes to gather your shit before I personally toss you off the property.” Jackson stood. “Clock’s ticking.” He looked at Ray. “You got something to say?”
Ray shook his head. “You need help, Hank?”
“I’ll get Hank the help he needs. You can keep working today . . . please. Jim, can you finish the kitchen demolition while I get Hank to the doctor?” Jackson looked at Doug, who’d gathered his things and then flipped the bird before storming out of the house. “Ray, if he comes back, call the cops to report trespassing.”
Ray winced, but nodded. Hank hobbled to his feet and started walking toward the door.
Doug was right about one thing. The injury would sideline him for weeks or longer. How would he find work without the use of his hand?
Could things get any worse?
Jackson opened his car door for Hank before walking around to the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “Can you believe Doug?”