He squinted. “You mean delivering mail?”
“Or sorting. Or licking stamps. Whatever gets me in the door.”
“Don’t think we have any openings here right now, but it doesn’t hurt to apply. There’s always hiring going on.”
“And if I wanted to apply for a different city, how does that work?”
“Pretty simple. Apply here, and then ask to be placed wherever there’s an opening. Are you looking for a specific city?”
“Nope. Just not here. Though preferably near the ocean.”
“You might try Ventura County,” he said. “I hear they’re hiring.”
“Ventura,” I repeated. That was not a bad option. Close enough to Venice Beach that I could still make Mitchell’s Saturday games; far enough that Michelle might believe it was a real fresh start. “How do I apply?”
The clerk reached into his drawer and pulled out an application form. “Start here. But if you’re serious, come back tomorrow morning. The manager will be here then. Name’s Roger.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Appreciate the information.”
I grabbed the U.S. Postal Service application form andstepped out into the sunlight, my heart thudding with something that felt a lot like hope. I knew it might take weeks, maybe months, but it was solid. A plan. Proof that I was trying. I could see myself doing it too. Predictable hours. A steady paycheck. And it was something respectable. The kind of job Michelle could trust. I couldn’t wait to see her smile when I told her we were moving to Ventura County. Starting over.
But first, I had to get the job.
No, first… I had to deal with the threat to our family. And to do that, I had to settle up and remove the leverage Marty had over me. That meant replacing every ounce of alcohol that I’d taken.Quietly.I knew the guys at the warehouse. I could make up a story about buying wholesale for a family wedding. They’d cut me a deal on the up and up, and then I’d replace everything I’d stolen. Then once Marty had no more leverage on me, I’d cut him off. No more cash, no more favors, no more “buddy system.” Then I’d move my family away and never have to deal with him again.
But how to get the money? It wasn’t like I could make it up over time. Sell a few things, skip a couple of meals. The company’s inventory report was coming up, and the product needed to be there so that they’d never know it had been missing in the first place.
Fast money, that was what this plan required. And there was only one way to get it. I closed my eyes, knowing what was necessary, wishing it wasn’t.
The Shaggin’ Wagon.
I tuggedat the collar of my borrowed shirt. It wasn’t choking me, but it sure as hell felt like it wanted to. I was nervous. It hadbeen a long time since I’d had to impress anyone who wasn’t under four feet tall and thought fart noises were comedy gold.
“Scott McKallister?” a woman called.
“Here,” I said, like it was roll call.
She led me into a small office, where a man in a short-sleeved button-down was sitting behind a cluttered desk. His nameplate read Roger K. Thompson, Station Manager.
“Take a seat, Mr. McKallister.”
I did, trying to look employable.
Roger scanned my application like he was reading a grocery list. “Surf Instructor. Lifeguard. Valet. Bus boy. Ah, here we go: delivery driver. Pizza? Flowers?”
“Uh, no. Mostly alcohol. For a distribution center.”
“And you’re currently employed there?”
“Yes,” I said, leaving out the part where my job performance was less than stellar.
“There you go. Full time?”
“Yes… Sir.” I pulled on my collar.
Roger rubbed his temple as he jotted down my answer. “Maybe try listing that first next time.”
Oh, yeah. He hated me.
