Page 529 of Devil’s Disciples

“I’ll cherish it until the day I die,” George said. “Drive it every other week, just to keep it in working order.”

George was middle-aged and wore his hair in a buzz-cut. He was barrel-chested and built like a linebacker. Reno said he was a retired Marine, and he sure looked the part. I smiled and gestured toward the other car, the black Mercury.

“What about that one?” I asked.

“Brought that back from Okinawa Island, Japan,” he replied. “It sat here for years without a running engine. Porter got in running in two weeks. He was an amazing mechanic.”

“It’s sure a pretty car,” I said.

George smiled. “Thank you.”

“Miss hearing that Mustang shake the walls of the clubhouse,” Reno said. “Baker would get so mad at Ghost sometimes. That thing would cause car alarms to go off out in the street, half a block away. It’d interrupt Baker’s quiet sessions in his office.”

George pointed up the block. “Causes that BMW’s alarm to go off every time I pass that yellow house.”

Reno laughed. “Bet the neighbors love you.”

“They sure love seeing the car when it’s out,” he said proudly.

Seeing the smiles on the two men’s faces when talking about their mutual friend allowed me to displace my sorrow for a moment. I may have perceived my situation as unfortunate, but it was nothing compared to the hardship they faced in losing their close friend.

Reno pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Came by for a reason. Got something I want to run by you.”

George crossed his massive arms. “Okay.”

“Don’t know how you’ll feel about it, though.”

George grinned. “Only one way to find out.”

“Me mentioning it puts someone at risk, and it’ll take a vow of secrecy on your part to assure me that you won’t mention this to anyone. Can I trust you? Not to say anything?”

“Whatever we discuss here will stay between the three of us,” George assured him.

I had no idea what Reno was talking about, but I expected I was going to find out.

Reno cleared his throat. “Let’s say I know someone who doesn’t have any paperwork or documentation of being a US citizen, but this person needs a job. She’s the best waitress I’ve ever had the pleasure of being served by and has a charming personality. Do you know anyone who would take the risk of employing such a person?”

I feared I’d be searching for a job forever. I had no idea we were talking to George about employment. I slid my right hand behind my back and crossed my fingers, hoping he knew someone who might be able to employ me.

George glanced at me and then at Reno. “Is this person about five foot seven? Brown hair? Hazel eyes?”

Reno smiled. “Sounds about right.”

“Pretty enough to cause an accident if she crossed the street at a traffic light?” George asked.

Reno grinned. “Sounds like you might know her.”

George leaned back and looked the two of us over. Then, he met Reno’s gaze. “I’ll be honest. Employing such a person in this day and age is a tremendous risk…”

My heart sank. He continued to speak, but I only caught every few words of what he said. It wasn’t his fault. He was right. Employing an illegal was a huge risk. Employers were fined, and even imprisoned for giving illegals jobs.

“…nor do I agree with the government’s position on the matter,” he continued. “The only people who are indigenous to the country are American Indians. Hell, my family came here from Germany, years and years ago. Pretty disappointing that we gave the Cubans the wet foot-dry foot policy for fifty years but left the Mexican population with no option that was equivalent.”

He shifted his eyes to me. “Anyone asks, you’re a San Diego native. The only one that knows differently is me. I’ll pay you in cash, once a week. You keep one hundred percent of tips, and I pay fifteen an hour in wages.”

“Oh my gosh,” I gasped. “I’ve got a job?”

“If you want it,” he said.