It turns out, my strange and sudden promotion was ordered by someone very high up (I won’t name him here) who felt I had been held back too long. He’s right, I suppose, and I thank him. Nice to know I have friends in high places.
Still, other than this man, I wasn’t the favorite for the job by any stretch. More popular guys had been passed over for me, guys with cleaner records. Seems I’ll have to prove myself all over again. Bon. Bring it on.
I spent my first full day in my new position stuck on a double shift, largely covering for the two assholes who transferred out. Mahmoud Haddad, the lieutenant who has been leading the movement to oust me, shared the shift with me. He's such a scrappy bulldog. Didn't even try to hide his hostility toward me. I should dislike him, but the more he barks, the more I want to scratch him behind the ears. Our long shift together gave us time to size each other up. The icebreaker was football. We like the same team so that’s a good start (PSG).
About eight hours into our twelve-hour shift, Haddad, or "Moudie" as they call him, started to open up a little—his life in Marseille, his hobbies, his many lovers (he's a handsome man, lucky bastard). I like him very much; he's an honest guy, the sort who is as he seems. We weren't great friends by the end of the shift, but he stopped growling at me, and we even laughed a little. The best part: he told me he would stay on the team.
I may not be the favorite, but now at least I got my number-two guy. All you need is a good right hand man, no?
