Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 9

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Dave leaned into my office about an hour later, a grin on his face. Every orc in the eastern desert had prolly heard about yesterday. With all the crud I’d gotten in my inbox, I didn’t need his attitude.

“Oh, I didn’t lock myself out.” He drew my cardkey out of his breast pocket, waved it in the air. “Then you probably don’t need this.”

“Gimmie, before I break ya in two.”

This was makin’ his day. He strode in, no, danced in, no, waltzed in, flipped the card across my desk. “So very sorry you were inconvenienced.” His smirk denied any sorrow existed.

I told him he was the first person I would lay off with Black Thursday.

His smirk washed away. “That was rude.”

I gave him a good glare. “We’ll get one of yar interns to run yar group.”

“I’m indispensable, and you know it.”

I snorted. “Which of ya ingrates are in line to sit in for me?”

“Not me,” he said. “I’ve got enough headaches.”

I was feelin’ better now. “I’m pretty sure it’s yar turn.”

“Yesterday was your first day out since I joined OW, I think,” Dave said. “So nobody’s gonna know whose turn it is. But it certainly isn’t mine.”

Why did I ever let them force me into management? I just wanted to design databases and help developers tune their code for lightnin’ fast access. Kriz and I started the stinkin’ business. Tagged with a VP title, how could that have even happened, with a dozen stinkin’ directors under me. How did I let them force me onto the OI board on top of that?

Papa called me chicken, if I didn't accept my responsibilities. What ogre can stand being called a chicken?

“Is this a good time for you to take vacation?” Dave asked.

I glared. He withered just a tad, to make my irritation worthwhile. “Have clan business. Not a stinkin’ vacation.”

“Black Lake?” His face turned sunny. “Can I go with you?”

“No.” I growled, the low decibel variety that sends a shiver through all humans.

“You may need someone to watch your back,” he dared to say. If I had a guy, I’d take him.

I tipped my head forward. The man can hit a ten-foot jump shot with a hand in his face, but the idea of him watchin’ my back among a congress of ogres almost made me laugh. If I laughed much. If any ogre laughs much.

“Ya got vacation?” I asked. “If ya can get reservations, go for it.”

He grimaced.

The limited rooms available at Black Lake are hard to snag. I’ve been told folk get their reservations two years in advance. Makes it tough the council banned any new commercial enterprise there a hundred and fifty years ago.

I would be stayin’ with my most favorite cousin. Took me five calls to find family that could put up Darshee and Wizper. Helps I’m expected to one day replace the council leader. Runs in the Ike line.

Why did I have to be named Ike?

We ogres like our tradition. Papa always said he was blessed to be named Bliar, being the second bull in the family. Much less expectation that way.

“You can’t spot a friend?” Dave asked.

I tilted my head.

“Darshee and Wizper beat me, huh?”

I massaged my right tusk with a grin. Then told him to get the shell out of my office. “I got emails up to my fuzzy butt and one day to prepare for next week.”

“You’re gonna be out all week?”

I couldn’t see the council gettin’ much done Tuesday. And the beer would flow that night. And we’d meet late on Wednesday because of that. And really, what were we gonna accomplish sittin’ in the woods hundreds of miles away from the idjits that resent our accomplishments won by workin’ our tushes off?

The only decision I foresee, is how many millions of shares of OI we would buy off the open market while the stock is depressed. That would give humans another reason to resent us.

Dave’s mouth was workin’. I pointed at the door, figgerin’ he’d figger out that he needed to close it with him on the other side. Maybe a guy to escort sorts like Dave out of my office.

After he played all-hurt for a double-beat, Dave stormed out. Really need to lay him off. I picked up my phone and speed dialed. Papa picked up on the fifth ring. Normally Mama would have picked up before that, but she would have checked caller ID, and knew I would be callin’ for his advice.

I asked him how he was doing, to be polite. He grunted. Of course he was workin’ with his roses. That’s what he did every afternoon. Mornings he worked on the two hundred square feet of garden he had hangin’ off the back of the condo. The bull never should have retired.

“Ya catch any news?” I asked.

“Ya were smarter than me by the time ya were ten,” he said. “What can this old bull tell ya?”

“Ya know that pat expression ticks off my siblings.”

“They’re overly emotional, and weak minded.”

“They’re ogres,” I said. “What do ya expect?”

“I’ve always figgered that’s why humans resent us so much.”

That stumped me. He’d never said anything like that before. Hmm. “I always thought it was because we can work forty hours on three hours of sleep, and slap them through a concrete wall if they give us any lip.”

“That too,” he said. “Plus the whole thing about us not lookin’ very bright. Being beasts and all.”

I had never heard my papa use the B word before. Maybe he’s allowed to finally let some of his old frustrations free in retirement.

“How did yar call with Zug go?” Papa asked.

“He sounded serious about movin’ his troll clan South.”

The sound of Papa’s rose clippers clacked for a ten-count, while I waited. “As he should be. Maybe it’s time.”

“Time?” I blurted.

“Time to put a little space between the races.”

“Ya don’t mean that.” I wasn’t sure if I stated, or asked that.

“Them humans—” I could imagine Papa shakin’ his head slowly. “They’ve always resented us for one thing or another. It’s never ended, and this old ogre is gettin’ tired of it.”

I believe I broke into a cold sweat. My papa. Said that out loud. Bliar, son of Klow, lives a level of moderation and kindness that’s rare among us. Though to hear him speak, he’s a mass murderer. All bluff. He's a real bull ogre. An ogre's ogre.

“Is that what ya’d have me take to the council?” I asked.

“Politics is yar business. I’m just a retired rancher.”

“Ya’re an entrepreneur with yar fingers in five industries. Don’t go actin’ modest on me.” I may have snarled a little.

“Modest?” His snort sounded more like a sneeze. “Never met a modest ogre.”

True enough. Maybe that’s part of our problem with humans.

“No it isn’t,” Papa said, readin’ my mind, maybe. “We’re proud. Should act accordin’ to our beliefs and feelings. Livin’ otherwise would be a fraud.”

“So we should just start poundin’ into the ground every human who insults us?”

“Believe that would be considered assault.” His tone edged on the humorous.

“Are ya sharin’ the emotions of yar coconspirators?”

He growled hard, what we call a chuckle, echoed “coconspirators” back at me. “My better friends and associates may be of a mind.”

That didn’t bode well, if our kind is pushed much harder.

~ Nuel ~

“You did what?”

A bit of guilt tinged Silva’s face. “I might have mentioned to a couple sorority sisters in your office that I maybe, if you liked him, maybe might try to set you up with a big pooh bah from Ogre Industries.”

I stretched my fists in the air, a little left, a little right. I could bam, send her to the moon. Sorority sisters share half a brain, a zillion mouths.

~