“Clint.” Ray acknowledged his arrival with a nod.
Higgins glanced nervously at him and muttered, “Morning.”
“What’s going on?” Asking was a mere technicality, a way to enter the conversation. It didn’t take a detective’s shield to figure it out.
“A little vandalism. Nothing we can’t handle, right, Higgins?”
The shop owner shot a look at his defaced door and then at Ray. “Sure, no problem.” The empathetic expression Higgins pasted on his face was not a good fit.
Life was a bitch sometimes. Even when a man tried to do the right thing.
“You know,” Clint suggested in retrospect, “maybe we should forget this whole thing.” He didn’t need the old man’s reluctant charity any more than he did Ray’s. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Higgins, but let’s leave it at that.”
The relief that claimed the older man’s face confirmed that he desperately wanted off the hook. Ray must have had something on Higgins to prod him into going for this.
“Don’t be too hasty, Clint,” Ray contended. “The job is yours. Mr. Higgins has offered it to you. You can’t let this nonsense put you off.” He gestured to the defaced door. “If you walk away, then they’ve won.”
Clint looked past Higgins and the chief to the others congregated inside the shop beyond one of the open overhead doors. They wouldn’t welcome Clint any more than the vandals had. When he would have shifted his attention back to Ray, he recognized one of the other employees. Marvin Cook. He’d run with Troy Baker and his crew. Maybe working here would provide an opportunity for Clint to use this guy. Any connection to the friends of the woman he supposedly murdered was better than none at all.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said to Ray. “If Higgins is still willing.”
The shop owner looked none too happy, but he stuck by his word. Gave a nod.
“I’ll get this vandalism report turned in,” Ray assured him. “Let me know if you have any more trouble.”
When Clint would have followed Higgins into the shop, Ray waylaid him. “Everything quiet around your place last night?”
Clint considered telling him about the truck that had run him off the road. He’d gotten a pretty good look at both the truck and the car involved, but not the drivers. Both vehicles had been older models. But what was the point in mentioning it? The people who didn’t want him back here and who had the balls to take steps to show it would just have to do what they would. Having the chief of police knock on their doors wouldn’t put them off. The damage to his Firebird was minimal. So what was the point? No need to mention the confrontation with Emily Wallace either. The less said the better.
“Everything’s just dandy, chief.” Clint crooked his lips into a mock smile, then turned his back on Ray and headed inside.
A few minutes later Higgins introduced Clint to the other employees. Four mechanics, all with years of experience, and one receptionist, cute in a slutty sort of way.
And shop manager Marvin Cook, a hotshot back in high school, gone to seed, with his beer belly hanging over his jeans. Cook didn’t let on that he remembered Clint. Knowing Clint Austin carried a stigma in this town, then and now.
Some things never changed.
5:30 p.m.
As the day progressed Clint had learned that Marvin Cook was the same jerk he’d been in high school. Star quarterback for the Pine Bluff Panthers. Teacher’s pet. Old Marv had been voted the guy mostly likely to succeed senior year. He’d laid claim to the all-important most valuable player trophy, much to the dismay of Granville Turner, who had expected his son, Keith, to win that treasured prize for his role as the team’s tight end. Scouts from numerous universities had come to watch those two carry the team through a winning season.
Apparently Marvin’s fifteen minutes of fame had come and gone in high school. Otherwise, just over a decade later he wouldn’t be bossing around a handful of grease monkeys in a small-town auto repair shop.
Clint waited until the others had washed up before he headed to the big utility sink next to the parts room. He rotated first one shoulder and then the other. He hadn’t worked this hard in a while. It beat the hell out of solitary confinement. The fact that none of the other employees spoke to him didn’t bother him one way or the other. He’d gotten used to the silent treatment in prison. If these jokers thought they were giving him a hard time, they should think again.
“Hey, Austin.”
Clint pulled off a paper towel to dry his hands and turned to face Cook. “Yeah.”
“Since you’re low man on the totem pole, you can clean up the shop.” Cook angled his head and eyed Clint as if he expected an argument. “We like starting the day with a clean workplace.”
Clint was reasonably sure they hadn’t started off the day with a clean workplace since the garage had been built, but he didn’t argue. He was used to taking orders. He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Whatever.”
“Use the side exit when you’re finished.” Two steps from the door Cook hesitated and swiveled his head to send one last injustice in Clint’s direction. “Oh yeah, don’t forget the toilet.” Cook puckered his face into one of those expressions that said he was trying hard to remember something before he added, “It’s been a while since the bathroom got a cleaning, but I’m sure you can handle it considering the years of practice you probably got in prison.”
Clint dropped the paper towel he’d wadded into the trash can, didn’t bother responding. He’d come to understand that clever comebacks could cost a hell of a lot more than he wanted to pay. If he ended up in jail it would be for something more important than whether or not he was willing to clean a toilet.
Though there was one thing he’d waited to say until Cook was ready to call it a day. Until it was just the two of them. “Hold up, Cook.”
