Five Minutes Late
Authors: Rich Amooi
Five Minutes Late
Copyright 2014 © Rich Amooi
This book is a work of fiction. Seriously. References to real people, dead people, unconscious people, events, products, services, businesses, corporations, inanimate objects, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. Characters, story, incidents, and dialogue come from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Please keep your hands and feet inside the roller coaster at all times until it has come to a complete stop. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, recorded, or distributed in printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
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FIVE MINUTES LATE
Rich Amooi
I dedicate this book to my wife, my love, my kiss monster, Silvi, who makes me laugh and smile every day. You’re the one who encouraged me to write. You’re the one who told me I could expand my short story about Cedric and Ellie into my debut novel.
Thank you for your support and your love. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you so much I want to scream.
Ahhhhhhhhh!
There.
I feel better.
Chapter One
“For the last time, I’m not possessed by demons,” said Cedric Johnson.
“Could have fooled me,” said Tony. “I need to perform a circumcision on you.”
“Okay, number one, you know it’s an exorcism, so quit trying to steer the conversation back to body parts and sex. Number two, it was just a dream about death. Everybody has them.”
“Not me.”
Cedric loved him like a brother, but Tony Garcia’s imagination didn’t have an off switch.
“I’m going to wear garlic around my neck.”
Cedric rolled his eyes. “Great, now I’m a vampire.” He pressed the speaker button on his cell phone, set it on the kitchen counter, and prepared his morning coffee. “And why are you calling? I’m going to see you in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m having a light bulb moment.”
“Of course you are.”
Tony was his best friend and general manager of Cedric’s company, Papa George’s Heirloom Garlic. He liked to brainstorm on expanding the company, and although he was the smartest guy Cedric knew, some of his ideas were out there.
“How’s this?” Tony continued, “We could sell garlic necklaces at the midnight showing of
Twilight
at theaters across the country.”
“And
why would that appeal to teenagers?”
“You’re right, you’re right.”
Cedric added sugar to his coffee and took a sip as he waited for Tony to continue. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long.
“Okay, got it,” said Tony. “Perfect for teenagers. Condoms. Garlic-scented condoms.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait, I need to tell you—”
“Tell me when you get here.”
Cedric disconnected and reached down to scratch Tofu between the ears. The West Highland Terrier dropped to the floor and rolled over on his back, his short white legs shooting to the ceiling in an obvious effort to give Cedric more area to work on.
Smart dog.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang, followed by a Phil Collins drum solo on the door.
Tofu went nuts—as usual—sprinting toward the door. “Arf. Arf, arf, arf.”
“Tofu, it’s Tony. You should be used to him by now. Relax.” Cedric opened the door to Tony, who sported his usual jeans and rocker T-shirt: Maroon 5 plastered across his broad chest. Cedric gave him the why-the-hell-do-you-do-that look.
Tony shrugged and tucked some of his long black hair behind one ear. “I can’t help it if I like to hear the little guy bark.” He ran his hand along the length of Tofu’s back, stopping at his butt to scratch it. Tofu leaned into the scratch and moaned as his body shook from the power of Tony’s hand. “Dude, he’s having an orgasm.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“And that’s why you don’t have a woman in your life. You think orgasms are disgusting.”
“No. I think
dog
orgasms are disgusting. And the reason I don’t have a woman in my life is I choose not to.”
“Pansy-ass.”
“Scumbag.”
“Dickweed.”
“Numbnuts.”
The exchange may have sounded immature coming from a couple of guys in their thirties, but Cedric enjoyed the occasional silly verbal sparring with Tony. Plus, life was too short to be serious all the time.
Cedric held up his index finger. “Hang on, I’m not ready.”
“What a surprise.”
Cedric ran to the family room, put on his shoes, grabbed his coffee cup from the kitchen counter, and returned to the front door, where Tony was still petting Tofu.
Cedric grabbed Tofu and tucked him under his arm. “Come on …” He closed the door behind them.
Tony slapped Cedric’s arm with the back of his hand. “I almost called you at two in the morning. You won’t believe the news.”
“Get in first.”
They piled into Cedric’s SUV and took off on their weekly trek to the farm in Gilroy. He loved the early-morning drive from San Jose, and never got tired of watching the sun come up over the mountains to the east as they passed through Morgan Hill on Highway 101.
“I hope your news has to do with our numbers and not with the latest woman you’ve fallen for.”
As the general manager, Tony handled the marketing as well as Internet sales of the products on their website.
Tony did a drum roll on the dashboard. “We tripled our normal monthly sales.”
“No way.”
“… in two days.”
Cedric gritted his teeth. “Very funny.” He glanced over to Tony who had a dead-serious look on his face.
Tony had built the company website from the ground up and maintained it. It included an online store, recipes with garlic, company history, and a secure payment system. His degree in Web Programming and Graphic Design at San Jose State came in handy.
But what Tony just told him was insane.
“A hundred and twenty thousand?” said Cedric.
“Yup.”
“In two days?”
“Yup again.”
“What caused the spike?”
“The fresh heirloom garlic. There was also a huge jump in the fresh peeled. The shallots kicked ass too.”
Initially, Cedric only sold fresh garlic, like his grandfather. Tony had convinced him a few years back to expand their online presence by offering roasted garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh ginger and shallots, and many other specialty items. Tony’s instincts paid off as regular garlic customers began adding other items to their online shopping carts before checking out. The business doubled within a year and has steadily grown ever since.
Cedric glanced over to Tony and then got his eyes back on the road. “Where are the hits coming from?”
Tony laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“Martha Stewart.”
Cedric’s mouth dropped open as he turned to Tony in disbelief.
“Hey!” Tony grabbed the steering wheel and straightened the car after Cedric had veered off into the other lane. “You trying to kill us?”
“It’s your fault! You got me excited!”
“If you expect me to believe you had an explosive erection that hit the steering wheel, knocking us into—”
“Focus! Back to Martha Stewart. How the hell did that happen?”
“Remember when I sent samples of our garlic to some of the top restaurants in California?”
Cedric nodded. “We got like ten contracts from that.”
“Twelve.”
“Okay, how does Martha Stewart fit into the equation?”
“So! I had the brilliant idea of also sending our garlic to Rachael Ray, Mario Batali, José Andrés, Bobby Flay, The Barefoot Contessa, Wolfgang Puck, and Martha Stewart. Not exactly in that order.”
“You’re a genius!”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Anyway, Martha was talking on her television show yesterday about the quality of garlic available in the United States, that most of it comes from China, yadda yadda yadda. Get this … then she said ‘if you want to kick up your recipes a notch, you can always use Papa George’s Heirloom Garlic.’”
“Holy crap.”
“Holy crap is correct. I went into our client database and saw her name right there, Martha Fucking Stewart. She purchased garlic from us four times over the last year. She’s got a million people who like her on Facebook. We hit the jackpot.”
“We’re going to run out of garlic.”
“That’s a good problem to have.”
Cedric chuckled. “Have you told your dad yet?”
“Yeah, I called him on the way to your house.”
Tony’s father, Antonio, managed everything on the garlic farm: the workers, soil preparation, planting, mulching, harvesting, cleaning, grating, packaging—everything. The farm was a well-oiled machine that produced some of the finest garlic in the country, year after year.
“Speaking of my dad … you know we don’t have to do these weekly meetings with him anymore. If you need to talk with him, just pick up the phone. It’s a lot easier.”
Cedric knew that. Their weekly jaunt to Gilroy wasn’t about the business—hell, they probably only talked about garlic five percent of the time. For Cedric, it was about being with good people. The Garcias were the closest thing he had to family.
“You know how much your family means to me,” said Cedric.
“I know. You spoil my parents.”
“Anyone else in my position would do the same.”
Cedric appointed Tony’s parents, Antonio and Ana, co-proprietors of the company and moved them to live on the farm, free of charge.
“No way,” said Tony.
Cedric felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed it. “We take care of each other. That’s what families do.”
“Well, Mamá says you need to come over more often and eat more.”
Tony’s mother, Ana, was always cooking something. Chilaquiles was a typical breakfast in their home—corn tortillas, scrambled eggs, cheese, and green chili. It was Cedric’s favorite Mexican dish.
“She’s trying to fatten me up.”
Tony laughed and rubbed his belly. “I know the feeling.”
Thirty-five minutes after leaving San Jose, Cedric exited Highway 101 and drove through Gilroy, along one of the rural county roads toward the farm.
“What the hell?” muttered Cedric. He slammed on the brakes and pulled off to the shoulder. Tony grabbed Tofu before he fell off his lap, as the car slid on the gravel, coming to a stop slightly sideways.
“I’m pretty sure I shit my pants.” Tony looked down at Tofu. “What about you?” He lifted Tofu’s tail and looked underneath. “All clean.”
Cedric didn’t say a word. He just stared at the farm across the street, Papa George’s old property.
“You see dead people? Do I need to drive a stake through your heart?”
Cedric kept his eyes on the property and didn’t respond.
Papa George started the garlic revolution in that house. It had history, not only in the garlic industry, in Cedric’s family as well. His grandfather sold the property back in the fifties and bought a much larger property—where they’ve been ever since. Cedric drove by the place every week, but it seemed different today.
Cedric cocked his head to the side and continued to study the farm. “Something’s not right.”
Tony squinted. “The driveway is chained off.”
“And the farm equipment is gone.”
“You think the Abbotts sold the place and moved?”
“I’d be surprised. Mr. Abbott swore he’d sell it to me if they ever decided to move. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m going to find out.”
Cedric made a promise to his mom on her deathbed he’d acquire the land when it became available, to build a garlic museum there and keep the family history alive.
