Jackson sighed. “Lucky nothing happened then,” he said, in a voice ripe with frustration.
“I wouldn’t have let anything happen,” Drill hissed back, then caught himself. “If anything like that had occurred, I mean.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just keep your dogs in line.”
“Will do,” Drill drawled. He watched as Jackson got back in his cruiser and drove away.
“Fucking cops,” Tim said. “Should’ve known those bitches would…”
Drill turned around and punched Tim square on the jaw. Tim’s eyes rolled, and he went down to the ground like a dropped bag of flour.
“When he comes to, bring him to me at the bar,” Drill said. “Apparently, he needs a lesson in manners… and who’s in charge.”
The rest of the bikers scurried to follow his orders. Drill spared one last look down the darkened road. The car was nowhere in sight.
He wanted to call Maddy, make sure she and Thuy were all right. But maybe it was for the best. If they were scared, maybe they’d re-think staying in Green Valley. It sucked, but it was what Catfish wanted anyway.
And he knew, with ugly certainty, that Catfish would do a lot worse to get the money.
Chapter Nineteen
Thuy drove back to the library. It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so she knew that the library would probably be empty as most people prepared for the holiday. She was starting the job hunt, just as a way to feel like she was doing something. Between the two of them, she and Maddy had a bit of savings. Maddy had suggested they hire a teen to help with the animals, so Thuy had also brought a flyer they’d printed up for the bulletin board. She’d pin one up at the Piggly Wiggly and Daisy’s Nut House, as well, to see if there were any takers.
But the main reason she was there was to see if the library was hiring. It would be the perfect match for her, a good use of her skills, and it would allow her to spend her days in one of her favorite environments on earth. Win-win.
Just need to see if they were hiring.
If they weren’t, she’d looked online (as best she could, with her phone) at other options. So far, the only thing in the nearby area was a night stocking clerk at the Piggly Wiggly. She could do it if she had to, but she hadn’t worked in grocery, or retail, and she hadn’t worked a night shift. With the baby coming, she wasn’t sure if that was going to be the best use of her time.
She walked into the library, squaring her shoulders. She walked to the desk. The woman she’d met earlier, Naomi, was there, and smiled at her.
“You’re back already,” she said. “How were the books? Did you find them helpful? Need some more?”
“Yes. That is, they were helpful, although it’s going to take me a while to process all of them,” Thuy admitted. They had read like Ikea instructions, unfortunately. She’d gone over soil composition and fertilization and pH balances until her eyes had glazed over. She got the feeling that farming wasn’t going to be a natural fit for her. “I came back for something else, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. By any chance, are you guys hiring?”
Naomi looked surprised, then thoughtful. “It’s funny you should mention,” she said. “We just got word that we received a donation, that will keep the library open. It allows for the hiring of a few more people. We hadn’t really planned on hiring anybody soon, but it might be good to allow a little more flexibility in hours… hmm.” She tapped her bottom lip. “You know, the person you should talk to is our head librarian, Julianne MacIntyre. Let me go get her. I’ll be right back.”
Just like that, Naomi disappeared into the back offices. Thuy swallowed hard, and surreptitiously straightened out her clothes. She’d brought her resume, just in case, in the same folder as the flyers. She was glad she was wearing a nice pair of slacks and a sweater, rather than her usual sweatshirt and jeans.
Naomi came back out, this time with an older woman in tow. The lady had to be in her sixties. She looked… well, strict, was the best way Thuy could describe her. She had gray hair that was cut in a bob, more utilitarian than stylish, and she wore glasses. She was also wearing a blouse and skirt with some low heels. She glanced at Thuy.
“You’re looking for a job at the library?” she asked without preamble.
Thuy nodded. “If you’re hiring.” Please, please be hiring.
The woman harrumphed a little. “Come back to my office.”
Surprised, Thuy walked behind the circulation desk and followed her. The back room was the usual chaos of books piled in waiting bins, ready to be sorted on carts and finally shelved. She wove around the piles and followed Mrs. MacIntyre into the head librarian’s office. This was neat as a surgery tray, everything in its place. Mrs. MacIntyre gestured to the seat across from her desk, and Thuy sat down.
“We will be getting funds to hire someone full time, although that’s not going to take effect until first quarter next year,” she said. Her voice was unfussy, very cut-and-dried. “It’s not a huge salary, but it’s good for this area.”
Thuy had researched what the average librarian’s wage was in the area, so she knew what to expect.
“Of course, not everyone is a good fit for libraries in general, or ours in particular,” she said firmly. “I’m assuming you have experience?”
“I do. I’ve been a librarian for five years,” Thuy said, reaching for her resume.
The woman shook her head. “Library professional, actually. Technically, you’re not a librarian unless you have a degree in library science.” She said this primly. “That’s not to say I don’t admire and respect library professionals, but I do believe in being specific and correct.”
Thuy suppressed a grin as she pulled out her résumé and handed it over. “I received my MLIS from San Jose State University five years ago,” she said quietly. “I have been working at the University of California Berkeley Biosciences and Natural Resources Library for the past three years, and the East Asian Library for two before that.”
“I see.” Thuy had obviously caught the woman off guard. She watched as Mrs. MacIntyre scanned the document. “These are stunning credentials.”
“Thank you,” Thuy said, feeling pride warm her chest. She’d worked hard and overcome a lot to get them.
“In fact,” Mrs. MacIntyre said, a little sadly, “you seem woefully overqualified for our job.”
“I’m okay with that,” Thuy assured her quickly. “I’m permanently relocating to Green Valley, and I’m happy working at a smaller library. My focus of study was public librarianship, rather than academic or corporate. It’ll be nice to use that skill set again.”
Mrs. MacIntyre’s lips pursed. “We aren’t a big city library,” she said slowly. “This is a small town. We embrace tradition. I’ve been working in this library for longer than you’ve been alive, and I know most of the people who patronize us, and have since they were children.”
Thuy nodded, not sure where this was going.
“I don’t want a lot of changes,” Mrs. MacIntyre said, her expression suddenly stern. “I don’t need someone who’s thinking they’re going to revolutionize anything, or who thinks they know better than we do what’s best for our town.”
Ah. So that was what was wrong. She was probably the reason that there were still card catalogs, rather than extra computer terminals. She’d hung the internet sign.
Oh, joy.
Thuy liked to think of herself as a progressive librarian. She didn’t look down on rural towns, or at least, she hoped she didn’t, even if she’d never lived in one. She’d studied the effects of lack of resources on libraries in inner cities. She knew that rural towns had just as many problems as far as getting enough books, enough funding, helping enough patrons. And it wasn’t just a matter of books. It was helping people like Jim Thompson use the internet to get a job, or giving teens a safe place to hang out, or even helping idiots like herself find out more about stuff like farming. That meant more computers, printers… even 3D printer
s. More eBooks and audiobooks for people who were sight impaired or had trouble physically getting to the library. More accommodations for special needs patrons. Interlibrary lending.
The more she thought about it, the more she thought she could help this little library.
If they let her.
She swallowed hard, biting down on the suggestions that wanted to trip off her tongue.
“I could work within those parameters,” Thuy said carefully. “I don’t want to upset your traditions, or do anything that would make you, or the town, uncomfortable.”
Mrs. MacIntyre looked at her suspiciously. And rightfully so. Thuy felt like, after she’d been there a while, maybe she could make some suggestions. But she needed to get a foot in the door.
And honestly, it beat the hell out of stocking grocery shelves, especially when you were short.
“I could start in a part-time capacity,” Thuy suggested. “Until you were sure I was a good fit.”
“Confident,” Mrs. MacIntyre mused. “That’s a good suggestion. Let’s say a month long, part-time trial period.”
Thuy felt a wave of relief.
“If I feel you’re not working out,” she added, “then you’ll be released, of course.”
“Of course,” Thuy said through gritted teeth.
“Fine. You start Monday afternoon, then. One o’clock to nine o’clock.” Mrs. MacIntyre stood up, holding out her hand.
Thuy shook, wondering abruptly if she knew what she’d just let herself in for.
Chapter Twenty
Drill had been looking for Frank Helms all day. Frank had been dodging Catfish’s guys for the past three weeks, defaulting on a ten-point loan that he’d taken out. After the first week of radio silence, Catfish had been patient. By the second week, he was irritated. Three weeks earned you a visit from the club’s muscle — namely, Drill.
He’d been put in the position fairly early on, mostly because of his size and his fighting abilities. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, necessarily. It was something he understood. If you sold your soul to the devil, sooner or later, the tab came due.
He was the one who collected on that tab.
Now, he was in the parking lot of Genie’s bar. It was the night before Thanksgiving, before a holiday weekend, so it was crowded for a Wednesday. He knew that Frank had a fondness for drinking when he was stressed, and he thought that maybe the man would wander out of whatever hole he was hiding in to drown his sorrows.
He was right. He spotted Frank’s beat-up Ford F150 in the lot.
He thought about waiting by it, but it was cold, and with his luck, Frank would be in there till closing time. So instead, he walked in, scanning the crowd. Sure enough, Frank was holding up one end of the bar, looking like a basset hound with his long expression. Drill watched as Frank dropped a shot in a mug of beer and then drank it steadily.
Drill stepped up behind him. “Boilermakers, huh, Frank?” he asked quietly, taking a seat next to him.
Frank went pale as a ghost. “Shit,” he breathed.
“You knew we were looking for you.” Drill’s voice could’ve been mistaken for gentle, but there was an underlying steel there. He was not fucking around, and he needed Frank to know that, even if he didn’t want to cause a scene. “So why don’t you finish that drink there, and we’ll step out to your truck?”
“You’re… you’re letting me finish my drink?” Frank asked.
“Let’s just say you’ll want all the anesthesia you can get,” Drill said in a low voice.
Frank’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he repeated. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He drank the rest of his boilermaker steadily. Then Drill stood, gesturing to the door. Frank walked in front of him. Nobody looked their way, thankfully.
Drill wasn’t planning on beating the man too badly. Usually, a few good strikes were enough to get the point across, in his experience. For all the talk of broken kneecaps and busted arms, it was counterproductive. He was trying to get money back for the club. What could a farmer with a broken kneecap do to earn back the cash?
No, he’d probably just give Frank a black eye, knock the wind out of him, bruise him up good. Give him something that Catfish would be satisfied with, something that expressed the severity of their concern. But nothing too harsh.
Frank was shaking like a leaf by the time they reached the truck. “I swear, I’m trying to get the money back,” he all but gibbered.
“Do you know how many times I hear that?” Drill asked tiredly. “You owe six thousand, six hundred and fifty-five dollars.”
Frank’s eyes widened. “But… but I only borrowed five thousand!”
“That was three weeks ago. It’s a ten-point loan.”
Frank goggled.
Drill sighed. And now he was giving an impromptu math lesson. “A point’s a percent, right?”
“O-okay,” Frank agreed.
“So it’s ten percent interest weekly.”
“All right.” He blinked. “But… wait. Shouldn’t that be, like, sixty-five hundred?”
“Compound interest,” Drill said, sighing. “It’s ten percent of the amount of the loan at the end of the week, not an additional ten percent of the principal.”
“Jeez Louise. You sound like a banker.”
That was a new one. He’d been called many things, but “banker” was never one of them. Drill smiled humorlessly. “Really, you’re lucky it’s not more than that.” He cracked his knuckles, and Frank winced. “You were supposed to pay off two weeks ago. You said that you just needed a week. You didn’t lie to us, now, did you Frank?”
Frank let out a low moan. “I… my farm. I’m behind on the bills, on the mortgage. I just needed a little to get the bank off my back,” he said.
Drill felt a pang of guilt, and gritted his teeth. He’d heard sob stories before, as well. Most of the time they were lies. But then again, he was usually dealing with gamblers, people who would sell their own mothers to get into another round of poker. He knew Frank had a farm, and knew that the guy had a bad harvest this year. He probably wasn’t lying.
“I’ve been trying to sell stuff to make up the difference. I’ve got about three grand,” he said. “But I knew you guys wouldn’t accept partial payment, or whatever, and I just… I screwed up, okay? I swear, I’ll get the money by the end of the week. I’m selling my goats, and I’ll… I don’t know. I’ll sell my furniture if I have to. I’ll get you the money, I swear.” Drill could see his throat work as he swallowed hard. “Just… just don’t hurt me, okay?”
Drill let out a long exhalation. This was the part of the job he hated. Maybe he was getting too old for this shit.
A car pulled into the parking lot, and he shielded Frank, not wanting prying eyes to pay attention. They were in a darkened portion of the lot, and the beating ought to be quick, but still. It wouldn’t do to have somebody intervene.
He narrowed his eyes, watching as the truck that pulled in shut off its lights.
Ah, son of a bitch.
Chevy Silverado. He watched as Thuy opened the driver’s side door, gingerly lowering herself to the ground.
He couldn’t do this. Thuy already thought he was a thug. He wasn’t going to underline that assumption by beating the shit out of someone while she was fifty feet away.
“You are one lucky asshole,” Drill said, shaking his head.
Frank stared at him, looking like a frightened rabbit. “Pardon?”
“I’m letting you off the hook,” Drill said. “Ordinarily, I’d have bloodied you up and sent you on your way. But today, you’re getting a warning. It’s the only warning you’re gonna get,” he emphasized. “You need to get the cash in by Monday, got it? All of it. Do whatever you have to do, but get the cash, and do not run. It’ll only make things worse on yourself.”
“Okay. Okay. I promise.” Frank was stammering now, sweat pouring from his forehead despite the autumn chill. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously — not t
o anyone,” Drill said. “And if I have to come collect again, I’m going to make up for being nice this time. Don’t make me regret it, okay?”
Frank nodded. Then he quickly climbed into his truck.
Drill watched as he pulled out, leaving in a trail of dust and screech of tires. He felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired.
I am so sick of this shit.
He turned to the bar. Thuy was standing there, staring at him, he noticed immediately. He straightened, walking over to her.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said. “In parking lots, I mean. Although I’ve got to admit, I didn’t expect to see you at a bar.”
She shrugged. “It’s been a long day. Maddy’s home sleeping, and I just needed to get out where it was noisy,” she said, with a shrug. “Blow off some steam. I thought I’d check out the nightlife here in town. Maddy suggested Genie’s.”
He nodded. It was pretty much the only place in town for drinks and dancing, if you didn’t count the Friday jam sessions. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She tilted her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her full lips. “That’s probably a bad idea,” she said.
“You can talk to me about books,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
She chuckled. Then her eyes grew serious.
“What were you talking to that man about?”
He winced. “Private business,” he said, more sharply than he intended.
Her lips pursed as she surveyed him suspiciously.
“But you’ll notice, he walked away unhurt,” Drill pointed out. “So it wasn’t that big a deal.”
She seemed to process that for a second. Then she turned, heading toward the bar.
“So, can I buy you a drink?” he repeated.
She sighed. “I can buy my own drinks,” she said. “But… you can sit next to me. And we can talk about books. If you want.”
He smiled. It was probably stupid, to let Frank walk away, all because he didn’t want to disappoint some woman he barely knew. But she was letting him drink with her, and opening up just a little. He’d take it.
Prose Before Bros Page 11
