“Meat pies,” Jake chuckled. “A regular Demon Barber of Fleet Street.”
Bill gave him a funny look. “The barber there ain’t bad, just indebted to Daddy, same as everyone.”
Bill here wasn’t raised by a theater mom, obviously, Jake thought. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure the barber’s fine. I’m just thinking, it’s a shame that’s where my new job is. The meatpacking plant.”
Bill shook his head and added a somber smile. He extended his hand to shake Jake’s. “Right in the heart of the spider’s web. Good luck to you.”
“Sounds like I’m gonna need it.” He gripped Bill’s hand in a firm handshake.
The bartender lifted his chin toward Jake’s empty glass. “’Nother one?”
“Set me up, thanks.”
Bill grabbed a new glass and shoved it under the tap. “You got a place there in town yet?”
Jake played with his soggy coaster, picking it up and standing it edgewise on the bar. “I do. I’m staying in a motel tonight, then I’ll go and sign the lease first thing tomorrow morning.”
Bill set the beer down on a fresh coaster in front of Jake. “Well, you might want to reconsider. Rent there’s gonna eat up most of your paycheck. We got some nice places here in town won’t rob you. Commute’s a bitch, but.” Bill shrugged.
“And Daddy gets his sugar whenever someone springs the speed trap, I’ll bet.”
Bill smiled and nodded as he rocked on his feet. “Now you’re getting the picture, kid.” The bartender seemed to consider his words. “They might look at you funny too, you don’t live there but work there. Ross is a tight-knit community in all the wrong ways.”
“We’ll see how it goes.” Jake took a swig and wiped the foam off his upper lip, the dark stubble catching against the back of his hand. “I’ve already talked to the property manager and they’re expecting me. I’d hate to ghost on them. That, and they might try to keep the deposit. I sent ’em a cashier’s check ahead of time. Can’t really afford to lose it.”
Bill’s lips stretched into a thin line and he shook his head a little, like he thought Jake was the biggest fool who ever lived. “Well, if they don’t keep it or try to pull some other shit and you change your mind, you know you can come back here, find other work, or at least a decent place to stay. Rumor is, we might be getting an Amazon warehouse. That’ll change things.”
Jake smiled. “Hope it does, for the better.” He nodded his chin toward the little stage. “Hey, what nights you do karaoke? I might come back for that if nothing else,” he joked.
“Hey, don’t knock it,” Bill said. “We get some folks in here who ain’t half-bad. I make ’em all put up with me singing Elvis first though. Anyhow, Wednesdays and Thursdays are straight karaoke, but Fridays and Saturdays are open mic night and you gotta get on a waiting list for a time slot about a week in advance, we’re that popular.”
“Thatisserious.”
“Told ya. You play?”
“A little guitar.”
“You ever get the urge, you go online to sign up,” Bill said, pushing a clean coaster with The Hideaway’s website address on it, across the bar. “I’ll even spot you a beer.”
Jake put the coaster in his t-shirt pocket. “Well, thank you. I think you’ll be seeing me again.” He finished off his beer and paid Bill, tipping him well.
Bill folded the extra dollars and dropped them into a pitcher labeled ‘Tips.’ “Since I own the place, I’ll let Denise have these. That’ll put her in a sweet mood to start the night.”
“Well. You got a real nice place here, Bill.” Jake stuck his hand out one more time and Bill smiled big when they shook.
“Thanks. You just remember you got a friend here in Sanders. Come back anytime.”
Jake lifted his chin. “I will.” And he would. Jake had a feeling The Hideaway was going to become his home-away-from-home.
A crucial place to have, especially for an undercover FBI agent and former SEAL heading straight into a dangerous assignment.
Two
The smell of blood, sweat, and fear filled the meatpacking plant, same as any other day. Even in the air-conditioned offices overlooking the floor, the unwelcome odor seeped in and clung lightly to everything and everyone.
Rachael Deal closed her office door, opened her desk drawer, and pulled out a box of matches like she did first thing every morning, and lit several scented candles around her office. She’d tried lavender candles, which did next to nothing and actually gave her a headache after a while. The cappuccino-scented ones almost worked, but threatened to turn her off of coffee. Now she stuck with rosemary and mint, which at least seemed to bring an illusion of freshness to her office. But under it all, the coppery smell of blood and misery still lingered.
How much of that misery am I responsible for? Rachael wondered as she looked down through her office window at the floor below. Workers in bloodstained aprons operated different stations processing the beef and pork that came in from surrounding ranches and farms, several owned by or indebted to Daddy. Many of the workers were born and raised, and would probably die in Ross. Others were migrants hoping for a better life, but wound up here instead, the threat of deportation or worse hanging over their heads just as surely as the stink of the doomed livestock. The smell of fear in the air didn’t just come from the animals, but from every employee as well.
