Chapter 10
The shop door opened before I heard the truck. I was sweeping concrete dust from the bay floor that Wednesday morning, trying to keep my hands busy after two nights on the couch. The bell over the door jingled and Marcus walked in like he belonged there, wearing the same dark jacket from the diner but clean now, no coffee stain.
He didn't take his hands out of his pockets.
"Ryan," he said. "Got a minute? Outside maybe?"
I kept hold of the broom. "You shouldn't be here."
"I tried calling," he said. "You didn't pick up. Jenna said you and your wife talked to Sandra. That wasn't smart."
At the mention of Jenna, my grip tightened. I set the broom against the wall and followed him out to the parking lot because I didn't want him inside the shop near my tools, near the office where my boss kept the register. The asphalt was still damp from overnight rain, the air smelled like cut wood from the lumber yard next door.
He stopped beside his silver Tacoma and finally looked at me directly. His smile was gone, the one from the diner booth. This was flatter, practiced.
"Listen," he said. "That call you played, that was out of context. I was pushing to make a point about the order system. Jeff tells everyone to stay on top of inventory. Your wife missed a count. I was frustrated. It sounded worse than it was."
"At 1:52 you said if she told anyone you'd tell Jeff she lost meds and she'd be written up," I said. "That's not inventory talk."
He exhaled through his nose. "You know how this looks if it gets out there? Small town, man. Her name gets dragged too. Do you want everyone at the clinic talking about whose baby it is?"
"You're threatening her again," I said. "Right now."
"I'm offering you a way out," he said. He reached into his jacket slowly, like he wanted me to see his hands, and pulled out an envelope. "Two thousand. For the trouble. You delete your copy, she deletes hers, we all move on. I request a different route, I don't come Tuesdays anymore. Baby comes, you figure it out without me in the picture."
I stared at the envelope. It was white, standard, thick enough to hold cash. He held it out between two fingers.
"Take it," he said softly. "Be smart. That's what your wife wanted, right? Don't embarrass yourself. This is me helping you not embarrass her."
That line made my jaw clench. I thought about the diner, about his arm on the booth behind her, about how he'd told her to be smart.
"I'm not taking money to delete proof you threatened my wife," I said.
"It's not proof of anything except me being an asshole on a phone call," he said, his voice sharpening. "You think the sheriff cares? You think HR cares about a vendor? You delete it, I disappear. You don't, I have to defend myself. That means I tell Sandra exactly what happened between me and your wife, when, where. I tell Jeff she invited it. I tell people she wanted that schedule change."
My hands were cold despite the jacket I was wearing. I stepped back toward the shop door.
"I already made copies," I said. "It's in my email. On a drive. Deleting my phone doesn't delete it."
His face changed then, the flat calm cracking. He shoved the envelope back into his pocket hard.
May you like
"Then you made a mistake," he said. He wasn't smiling at all now. "Because now I know you kept it to use it. That's intent. You play small-town hero with that clip and you'll find out how fast a guy with a county contract can make a shop like this fail an inspection. Harrisburg isn't that far, Ryan. People talk."
He didn't wait for an answer. He got in his Tacoma, backed out fast enough that gravel sprayed, and took the county road toward town. I stood in the lot until his taillights disappeared, my heart hammering against my ribs, and realized my phone was buzzing in my pocket. It was my wife, calling to ask how the morning was. I didn't pick up right away. I needed a minute to breathe before I told her Marcus had just raised the price of staying quiet.
