Chapter 7
He didn't wake me before he left. I heard his boots on the hardwood outside the guest room where he'd told me to sleep, heard the front door click and the low rumble of his truck starting in the driveway. It was 5:42 on the microwave clock. He'd said stay inside. Doors locked. Don't answer your phone unless it's me.
I didn't stay inside.
I watched his taillights turn left at the bottom of the hill toward town and I counted to thirty. Then I pulled my shoes on over bare feet, grabbed my phone, and ran. My uniform was still on the chair where I'd folded it. I wore the sweats he'd left outside the door for me. They swallowed my hands. The night air was cold enough to see my breath.
He'd told me where he was going. He hadn't meant to. The night before, when I'd asked what he was going to do about the one hour, he'd said the name. Ray's. The old garage on County Road 9 that sold gas and did tires, where the crew ran out of the back.
I knew it because my brother's bus used to pass it every morning.
His truck was already parked when I got there. Not in the lot, but across the road under the big oak by the church parking lot, like he didn't want to be boxed in. The garage lights were on, harsh white fluorescents buzzing, and two men stood by the open bay door smoking. I stayed in the shadows by the church sign and kept walking until I was close enough to see him.
He stood in the middle of the cracked asphalt lot with his hands at his sides, black satin shirt tucked in, neck tattoos stark under the light. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't posturing. That was what made it worse. The two men came toward him and then stopped.
A third man came out of the bay. Older, heavier, shaved head, a clipboard in one hand like this was a business. This had to be the leader.
I couldn't hear the first words. The wind took them. I moved closer, down the curb, until my sneakers hit the edge of the gas station lot, and then I heard the leader laugh.
"You're the guy from the hill," the leader said. His voice carried. "You think that address scares me? She signed. One hour was last night. Contract's due. We don't do extensions for pretty maids who can't pay."
He tapped the clipboard. I saw white paper clipped there.
The tattooed man didn't look at the paper. He looked at the leader.
"Touch the boy and I'll bury your entire crew," he said.
He said it exactly like he had in the hallway. Low, even, no lift at the end. Not a threat for show. A statement of fact.
The leader's smile thinned. He took a step forward. One of the other guys shifted his weight.
"You know who you're talking to?" the leader said. "You got money, you pay. You don't, we collect. That's the contract. Boy's at Jefferson Middle. My guy sat outside till ten last night. Easy to find again."
My stomach dropped so fast I had to press my hand to my mouth. He'd been at the school. While I'd been locked safe in the mansion, someone had been parked outside my brother's school.
The tattooed man's jaw tightened. For a second I thought he would hit him. Instead he reached into his back pocket slow and pulled out his phone. He held it up, screen out, and tapped it once.
"You sat outside a middle school to collect on an illegal loan," he said. "Interest rate's triple what state allows. You added fees she never signed for. I've got her paperwork. I've got your number logged on her phone with the threat. You want me to call Sheriff Colton right now? He's on my payroll, not yours. Or you want to hear what Judge Mara will do when I bring this to county court Monday?"
The leader didn't move. The younger guy by the bay glanced at the clipboard then back at the leader.
"That's bullshit," the leader said, but quieter now.
"It's not," the tattooed man said. "You know my name. You know what this hill means. You want to try me over three thousand dollars?"
Nobody answered. The fluorescent light buzzed. A car passed on the county road and was gone.
The leader scoffed, but it sounded forced. "So what, you gonna pay it for her?"
"I'm going to audit it," the tattooed man said. "Legal review. Real number. Then it gets paid right. You get your money, clean. You don't touch the girl and you don't go near the boy."
He stepped closer until he was a foot from the leader. I could see his hands, relaxed, but the tattoos on his forearms stood out like they were holding something back.
"You get twenty-four hours," the leader said finally. He jabbed a finger at the tattooed man's chest but didn't touch him. "Twenty-four. Then I want proof of payment coming. Not promises. Wire or cash. You don't show it, we're back at the school. And at your gate. You understand?"
"I understand you have till tomorrow night," the tattooed man said. "Stay away from Jefferson. Stay away from the mansion."
The leader stared at him another beat, then turned and walked back toward the bay, snapping at the other two to come on. They left the lot lights on, but the meeting was over. No one had thrown a punch. No one was dead.
The tattooed man stood there a second longer, head down, breathing. Then he turned. That's when he saw me.
I was still at the edge of the lot, hands shoved in the too-long sleeves, shaking so hard I couldn't hide it. His eyes found mine across the asphalt and his stern expression cracked into something worse than anger.
He walked straight to me, took my elbow, and steered me back toward the church lot where his truck was parked, out of their sightline.
"You were supposed to be inside," he said under his breath.
May you like
"They were at his school," I whispered.
"I know," he said. "They won't be tomorrow. You have twenty-four hours now."
