Hank leaned forward, his breath sour with beer and defeat. “We ain’t in anything together, you got that, you betraying bitch? Daddy Deal set me straight.”
Rage and crazy desperation boiled up inside Rachael. “More like Daddy beat you up.”
That did it. The rest of the night was a painful blur, even now. Rachael had awakened in the bar’s back room. One of the waitresses had taken pity on her and set her up with a blanket on the couch and a couple of OxyContins to ease the pain. Rachael took one Oxy and left the other along with a twenty for the waitress’s trouble.
The following week, Rachael spent a good chunk of her financial reserves clandestinely getting a copy of the key made and screwing up her courage to use it. All or nothing. Correction: allfornothing.
Rachael was good and stuck. And now Jake Spiro was offering to be her friend. Could she trust him? Or was he another Hank? For all she knew, Daddy had sent him to test her.
Still, the warmth in his eyes, the concern on his face…
She snuffed out her candles for the day. Friendship wouldn’t happen, not with him. People who got close to Rachael ended up getting hurt. Or worse. Daddy sufficiently reinforcedthatlesson.
Seven
Jake breathed easier as he walked into The Hideaway after his first week at the meatpacking plant. He had definitely chosen his ‘safehouse’ well. Jake never saw anyone from the plant here. They all seemed to congregate at a skeevy place in Ross called Muddy’s—Jake couldn’t have come up with a more fitting name himself, except maybe for Bullshit’s Bar, Grill and Pills. In a way, Ross was like a poisoned candy store when it came to ways of tracing crime back to Daddy. Jake had his pick of sketchy enterprises to pursue. He was sure the old bastard had his fingers in the pill pie too, probably blackmailing the local pharmacist or the plant’s joke of a doctor into providing the goodies, then selling them in the bar that Jake was sure had Ernest Deal’s real estate company’s name on the deed. Old Daddy didn’t miss a trick, and Jake was determined to find them all and RICO the hell out of the bastard.
Jake waved to Bill, who already had his new favorite beer poured and ready.
“Thanks, man.” Jake toasted Bill and took a drink. He started to carry his beer to a table toward the back when Bill spoke.
“Second time you’re in here,” Bill said. “You take my advice and find a job and a nice place here in Sanders?”
Jake would have loved to come in not just twice but every night—Ross emitted invisible toxicity like radon and The Hideaway was one cure.
The other cure was Rachael Deal and one of her little secrets, which he’d discovered a couple of days ago. His heart bumped against his chest.Don’t think about it, don’t feel it, just use it to your advantage.
“’Fraid not, Bill. Still in Ross.” Jake took another swig and listened to the hydraulics hiss when a big rig pulled into the parking lot.
“How you fitting in there?” Bill studied Jake’s face, as if looking for the early signs of some plague.
“Well, I’m trying.” He’d gone to Muddy’s, trying to fit in with his fellow workers, and stay on Daddy’s good side. He’d finally met the man in person, and they’d had an interesting talk, one he’d share with his buddy tonight, once he got in. After his talk with Ernest Deal, Jake knew he was being watched at the plant. So far, no one had been sent to tail him beyond work. The plant had moles aplenty reporting back to Daddy, the biggest being Hank, as far as Jake could figure. Since Hank liked Muddy’s, Jake thought he’d help the guy do his job, so he made sure to stop in there three nights this week and share a pitcher and a shot or two with the asshole, who just got uglier the more Jake got to know him.
At least Jake’s pool game was improving.
“Don’t try too hard. You’re a good guy and I like having you around.” Bill said.
“’Preciate that.” Jake looked at the door when it opened and a man walked in. He turned back to Bill.
“Pour this joker a beer, same as mine. Put it on my tab.”
Bill’s eyebrows raised in a question, one which Jake answered for him, if falsely.
“Hey, Cuz!” Jake waved at the guy who smiled and waved back. He wore a trucker’s hat, white t-shirt, tight jeans and three-day’s worth of stubble that Jake saw catch Denise the waitress’s eye. She shamelessly looked over the newcomer the same way she’d eyed Jake when he’d walked in—like juicy prime rib on the hoof.
Six-foot two, built lean but muscular and quick to smile, Jake’s partner Camden Bains always had first-pick of the women in the room whenever the team went out for a rare night on the town, yet he seldom took them up on their offers. Neither did Jake. He didn’t want to get involved with a woman who’d complain whenever he went out of town for weeks or months at a time without explanation, so he rarely took anyone home, and never for more than a night. Camden had different reasons for not getting involved. Jake didn’t envy Camden those reasons.
“Cuz!” Camden gripped Jake’s hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Bill looked at them both.
“Joe, this is the best bartender in Colorado, Bill,” Jake said. “Bill, this is my half-cousin, Joe.”
Camden eyed the second beer on the bar and shook Bill’s hand as he broke into a huge smile. “Must be psychic, the best bartenders all are.” He picked up the beer and tipped his hat.
“Let’s grab that table back there near the stage.” Jake started walking that way, but his favorite talkative bartender wasn’t done.
“You guys are cousins?”
“Half-cousins,” Camden said. “I come from the handsome side.”
