Once Upon A Half-Time 2(105)
Luann bristled. “Look here, Mr. Maddox, Mayor Rhys asked me to deliver these signs—”
“Get them off her property before—”
“Before you set them on fire too?”
If she thought I was an arsonist why the hell would she piss me off? “They don’t belong here.”
Luann got the point. She hoisted the signs. Nolan Rhys probably spent thousands on the damn canvassing, and another fifty grand on the rest of the campaign. He’d out-spend his opponent just like he did everyone in the damn town and think of himself some sort of noble champion of the people.
At least he had money. I thought times were tough before. Being on parole meant I couldn’t risk my normal work on the streets in Ironfield. I called to Luann once she escaped to a distance where she felt safe enough to do me a favor.
“Need a job.” I let the implication hang. “Who’s hiring?”
Luann turned, her eyebrow arched in a perverse amusement. “A job for you?”
I didn’t need her attitude. I knew I was trash. Everyone was better than me, but only one woman had the right to judge, and it wasn’t Luann McMannis with her fire engine red hair, two pack a day habit, and third husband waiting at home.
“Try Freddie’s Auto,” she said. “He’s looking for a mechanic. I figure that’s…your type of work.”
It wasn’t. I’d trained to be an electrician, but I could work cars. Luann bolted away, pulling out her cell phone. Probably to call Freddie, to warn him or to prepare others for the fireworks.
Screw her. I’d work. Hard. Do what needed to be done to get money and support Josie—if she’d take me back. I had to think about the future. It was impossible in a town obsessed with the past.
Luann didn’t lie. The mechanic’s shop had a busted bay door, but Freddie managed enough brake repairs and oil changes—as long as his customers drove domestic cars. A hand-written sign in the window read Help Wanted. Good enough for me.
Not for him.
Freddie Baulder didn’t welcome me into his grease-coated garage. Surrounded by too many flammable oils to feel comfortable, probably. He hitched up his jeans and leaned over the counter, eying me with a face so wrinkled I’d have thought he spent his years in the sun, not under a hood.
“You back in town?” Freddie sucked on a toothpick.
“Just got in.”
“Out of trouble?”
“Out of jail.”
His expression pinched. Freddie was a good friend of Matthias Davis. I hadn’t seen Josie’s granddad yet, but, judging by his reception, Matt wouldn’t welcome me with open arms either. Not that he did before, but at least he’d understood that I loved Josie and wanted to take care of her.
“I know cars,” I said. “Willing to work whatever hours you got.”
Freddie eyed the sign in the window. He set his jaw. “Spot’s filled.”
The calendar behind him was scrawled with more cars and appointments than he could handle. The phone rang twice while I stared him down.
“Doesn’t look filled.”
“The Kennen’s boy is helping on weekends.”
A man could only take so much bullshit before breakfast. “Donny or Nate?”
“Nate. Donny’s off in Ironfield, running his poor parents ragged.” Freddie snorted. “Thought he was one of your…acquaintances.”
A polite word for gang. “Haven’t been in Ironfield for a long time. Wouldn’t know.”
“Thought Donny was involved with Chelsea. Last I saw them at least.”
“Not for a while.”
Freddie’s eyebrow arched. “A couple weeks back.”
Motherfucking liar. My sister didn’t have much in the way of dignity, but I scraped what remained of mine to give to her. She owed nothing to any man anymore—not debts, not her body. If he wanted to insult me, he should have insulted me. My sister was no one’s punching bag.
I stared, hard. “No job?”
Freddie shrank away. “Nothing here.”
“Fine.”
I slammed the door on the way out. The sign fell from the window. Fuck it. Had a feeling a lot of Help Wanted signs would get stuffed in the trash when I came around.
Had my day not already turned to shit, I would have been surprised to find the black Escalade waiting for me on the corner, blinkers on. I considered ignoring the ride…
But my job prospects were thin enough.
His driver opened the back door for me.
Nolan Rhys greeted me with a devil’s grin. I offered him a martyr’s silence. Blood could boil and bones break, but nothing would tempt me to jeopardize my vengeance. Nolan was the true criminal—a man who bought my muscle and shuffled his dirty work onto others. Money bought power and a form of innocence. I lost mine long ago. The least I could do was get a couple grand for my trouble.