Charlie threw open the doors to Fred Bentleigh’s office. The man bolted upright, instantly alert as if she hadn’t just caught him napping at his desk. He wore a crisp suit, befitting a man of his lofty position. It was the loftiest position, she supposed, now that he was the boss.
“Charlie!” he said, standing. “It’s great to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t come to chat yet. Very busy, you know. I wasn’t expecting to be voted in as the new leader of the Ivory Skull, that’s for sure.”
“Busy napping, I see,” Charlie said, crossing her arms. “Good to see you’ve got your priorities straight.”
Fred brushed some dust off his suit and adjusted his sleeve. “Well, you know, sleep is very important. I don’t get much of it these days. Anyway, come, sit down. Although if you wanted to roleplay being a Hobart auto mechanic with me like the good old days, I’m afraid I simply don’t have time anymore.”
They walked over to a small table by the window, overlooking the expansive oval. Charlie had many great memories at this stadium, watching the occasional football match that made it there, back before the missile fell. Ever since, the Ivory Skull had used it for their Hobart base. Several large tents and shacks were set up on the grass, complete with auto mechanics, cooks and just about everything else the Ivory Skull could need.
“That’s not why I’m here, Fred. I’m not a kid playing pretend anymore. So no need to pretend I have to find a mechanic for brake repair close to Hobart. What I want to know is how we are planning to deal with the Little Men. You must have some sort of plan, right?”
Fred picked up an empty coffee mug and toyed with it in his hands. “Well, actually, my plan was to do nothing.”
Nothing? How could he be planning on doing nothing? Charlie dug nails into her palm and bit back her tongue. Fred was the boss now. If that was his decision, there was nothing she could do about it.