Charged (8 page)

I’ve seen the records personally, and this place is more
front
than legit. It’s a double front really. We show the public the body shop up front, complete with a mechanic’s bay, then the illegal chop shop doubles as a launderer. There are more packages coming than going, and I’m sure there’s skimming somewhere, other than what me n’ Jack pull in. Whether it’s the couriers, the cars, or the cash that changes hands, there’s a lot of dough going through here on a daily basis. 

The small town helps to hide it all from prying eyes. We’re so far out of the reach of New York, and any big city police operations, we are hidden right here in plain sight. There are days I wish I didn’t know all I do, but to be honest, I’ve hidden my fair share of the profits over the years. Jack’s taught me more than how to strip a car and fix an engine. He’s taught me to survive on the backs of the profitable dirty men. 

I’ve got no intentions of taking over the business he’s in. I’ve been here long enough to know I’m not cut out for it. I don’t expect to be here much longer, either. Most of my childhood and early adult life has been spent in criminal activity, and from it I learned a great deal about what I want for myself. This crap is definitely not it.

Kate

H
azel was spot on. Tips came to a grand total of twenty-two-seventy-five. That was five hours and sixteen tables of college kids, with not one person over the age of thirty appearing. I gotta admit though, working for Hazel and Gus was awesome. It was probably the first time in a long time that I’ve had fun. She has a way with the students, and those that fish for cougars are far and few between. Most are respectful and nice to her, and each other. The girls ask for the simple ‘get me drunk’ drinks, the boys ask for cheap beer, and not one of them leave even a stray fry on the plate when they’re done. 

I was disappointed that I hadn’t seen nor heard from Ryker throughout the rest of the day. I’m sure that Jack guy had him back on whatever a ‘Bird and Cobra’ were, for the James dude that’s coming to get parts, leaving Ryker zero time to look at Creature, or even think to see me. 

Like he wants to see me anyway. I’m sure there will be nothing more than a professional assessment of my car after the reaction I received when I halted his afternoon interlude, and was shut down by him on my invitation for a break off the bill.

Turning my thoughts from Ryker, his insanely gorgeous body, and what I’m sure would prove to be a very impressive cock, I wipe down the few remaining dirty tables, preparing to close.

“Hey.” Hazel taps me on the shoulder, shaking from my thoughts of Ryker, my car and my lovely predicament. “We have a ritual here at night. You up for a victory shot?” She pulls out a bottle of JD and three shot glasses. 

“Sure.” I pull off the apron, swing a leg around a bar stool to sit, and watch as she pours each of us a heavy shot of the lovely liquid. 

Gus pulls out a rickety folding stool from behind the counter and plops his large ass down. His greyish blue eyes twinkle when he smiles, and the mixed smell of grease traps and charcoal permeate his clothes and skin. He’s at least six feet tall, probably pushing three hundred pounds of pure hillbilly, sporting a proper mousey brown country mullet. 

“To another fuckin’ dollar to the debt. Here’s to you, ya’ prick!” Hazel tips back the glass, downing it quick as Gus and I do the same. 

“Might I ask who the prick is?” 

“My ex. He ’n I inherited this lovely establishment. He stole all the money saved by my parents before leaving me only the debt. Every day is another day closer to owning it free n’ clear. I’m short by a few thousand, and I’m counting down the days.” She pours us each another and sits back against the counter. “To new beginnings, whenever or wherever they may arise.” 

I think that’s a good enough reason. “I’ll toast to that.” I tip back my second shot in so many minutes and think on what I should be grateful for. It’s not as easy to think of grateful things when nothing has been easy.  

Gus raises his glass. “To hysterectomies!” 

Ok, I’m sure there’s a good story there. I look quizzically at Gus and wait for his reasoning as Hazel pours us another. This is working close to my ‘too many’ limit, but it’s more fun to do it with people you know than in a lonely bar with strange — well, let’s just say stranger than strange people. 

“Six kids ’n counting. Next one on the way is the last,” Gus says after accepting the burn from the bourbon.

“Alright, sounds good enough for me.” I tip back my drink, laughing. I have to say it feels so good to laugh and enjoy the company of others. Hazel and Gus are both waiting for me to say something that I’m grateful for as Hazel fills the shot glasses to the brim.

“Ok. Grateful moments…right. Well, I don’t really have that much in the way of things to be —”,  — I pause. “Oh, wait! Yes, I do. To you! Thanks you both for the opportunity to enjoy today. It could have just kept going south, and instead, I’m here after a good day’s work, with nice people and shot glasses of bourbon.” I let the sweet alcohol touch my tongue, sucking it back fast before I think too much on how this is number four. 

Hazel and Gus take my answer as a good reason to drink, each sucking back their shots. We sit in silence for a few minutes, reflecting on our reasons for being happy before Hazel breaks the quiet. 

“Ok, time to clear up and get out of here. Kate,” she turns to me. “Ryk, told me you don’t have anywhere to stay while he fixes ya’ car. I have a spare room at my place, and even though it’s not much, you’re welcome to it, if you’d like. There’s no a/c, but the fan works well enough.” 

“That would be great,” I say with a grin. “Thank you. How much?”

“Nothin’. Just consider I know where you are, so ya’ can’t be late for work.” She winks, gathering our dirty shot glasses and stowing the bottle behind the bar. 

“Thanks Hazel. I really,
really
appreciate it.” It’s been a long time since someone was genuinely nice. It’s both refreshing and scary. 

“It’s all good sugar, now let’s get going. Morning rush comes early with a hangover.” 

Hazel’s place happens to be closer than I expect. It’s a little bungalow out back of the kitchen’s rear door, with the same quaint decorating as the Harvester. It has two little bedrooms, a bathroom, the galley kitchen, and a small den. I’d gnaw off my right arm to have a place like this. Even without trying, Hazel is giving me something so memorable, I’d never be able to repay her in a thousand years. Comfort and peace have always come at a high price, and she’s just given it to me for free. 

I gaze around the petite space, daydreaming of having something so amazing until Hazel pops around the corner, dressed in bright pink Hello Kitty PJ’s.  

“There’s fresh towels in the bathroom cupboard, a spare toothbrush, little travel soaps, and a set of jammies on the counter for ya. I noticed that the garage was locked up, and ya couldn’t get to yer' car for things. If you need anything else don’t worry about it; just ask.” 

“This is more than great. Thanks Hazel.”

“Don’t fret. It’s nothin’. Now the doors open at five, so get some rest,” she says as she turns back towards her room. “Oh, n’ by the way, you did good. I really appreciate the help, even if it’s just for a day or two.” 

Wow, what a sweet lady. I should be the one thanking her for everything, and she’s thanking me for working where she pays me. “It was a lovely day, and I’m more than glad to be doing anything. It’s way better than standing around waiting on my car.” 

With a wink and a bright smile, she’s headed off down the hall to bed. 

Wow. It’s gonna feel good to get a solid night’s rest on a bed where I’m not watching over my shoulder for someone to jump me in my sleep, or someone to tap my window saying I can’t park there. I’m feeling a bit woozy from the bourbon and I know it won’t take much to pass out. I change into the borrowed clothes, brush my teeth and head off to bed quickly. The room has paisley blue bedding, striped steel grey curtains and black throw pillows. They don’t sound like they’d go together but it fits. 

I toss the throws to a chair in the corner, pull back the covers, and let my head rest back on the plush pillows, thinking about how this day went from hell in a hand basket to amazing.

I’m out in seconds.

Kate

D
ing, ding goes that damn counter bell of Gus’s. I swear since five am, that thing has rang more than a thousand times. 

The college kids stream in steadily, one after another, stacking themselves up in the tables inside and out, without arguments or bitchin’. They line up at the counter, they line up for seats, heck, they even steal each other’s seats and plates, just to get sustenance before classes start. 

There has been countless pounds of bacon, steak n’ eggs, scrambled or poached eggs by the tray, smoothies, shakes, hotcakes, waffles, and gallons of orange juice being consumed. And damn, I gotta hand it to him. Gus is faster than I thought anyone on a griddle could be. The man is a machine. I was impressed last night, but now I’m just in awe of his godlike speed and precision. 

Hazel has this place running like a well-oiled engine, and the students seem to follow her every command. If she says don’t sit there, pay your bill or get out, they not only listen like a trained pet, they assist by clearing their own plates too. It’s just like home would be; she’s mom, and they do their dishes or else. 

On the way over this morning, she gave me the heads up on this phenomenon. When she took over years ago, and found that it was too hard for one person to be all to everyone, she bitched to someone that it was like being their mother. From then on, this is how it became during the breakfast and lunch run. They get served, she gets paid, and they clear their own tables. If they don’t follow the drill, their friends inform them, do it for them and then expect it from them the next time in turn. It’s fucking beautiful.

It’s nine am, now and because the college classes start early, the students are all gone as the local crowd slowly trickled in.

“I’ll take a black cat with a dog’s breakfast, please,” Horny asks politely as he passes me back the menu.

“Gimme a crystal goblet with berries, pig’s in sauce, with double juggled chicks,” the portly man to Horny’s right states as he hands me
his
menu. Turning to the next gentleman at the table, who’s obviously a Sheriff from the look of his pressed green shirt, walkie-talkie clipped high up on his collar, and the gun holster resting naturally against his hip. “Flattened cow, two prickled kids with a creamy cup please, sugar.”