For a second, Jonah drew a blank. Then he remembered the lie.
“What you see is what you get. I’ve just seen stuff like this before.”
Luke looked queasily sympathetic. “Is that why you drink?”
“Yeah,” Jonah said after a moment’s hesitation. “Part of it, anyhow. I gotta go. If you think of anything useful about Deborah, let me know.”
Jonah had the brief, vivid fantasy of kissing Luke on his way out the door. One of those pro forma pecks you saw married couples exchange in old TV shows. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was self-mockery or some sort of toned-down erotic daydream. It unsettled him either way.
He didn’t have the option of getting bored with this life. He couldn’t afford to pay that penalty. And the last thing that he needed was to get too attached to someone that was probably going to die.
The card that Shiloh had given him was tucked under the scorpion-in-resin paperweight. Jonah plucked it out as he passed and tucked it into his back pocket. The whole point of moving to Jerusalem had been to avoid Shiloh and his ilk, but right now, they were the best chance he had to track Deborah Slater down.
Ned was always red. He was a big ginger-fair Irishman who worked in construction. Even his freckles were pinkish, and the back of his neck was the same color as a slab of fresh pork. Now, as temper pushed his blood pressure up, Ned was livid. His skin was so ruddy that it looked a bit like liver.
“What the fuck’s your problem?” he snarled at Jonah. Spit flecked the corners of his mouth in sticky white balls of froth. He jabbed a blunt concrete-dust-gray finger against Jonah’s chest. “I told you to get the fuck away from me.”
Jonah stepped back and held his hands up. They were gloved in dust and sweat, like poorly done casts that cracked when he moved his fingers. He was the last man hired, and he’d spent the morning out on the road with the paddle to wave drivers through.
“I’m just doing my job,” he said. “That’s all. Come on, Ned. I don’t want any trouble.”
He really didn’t. That wouldn’t make any difference.
People could smell a curse on someone. They didn’t know what it was, just that something was “off.” Most people just made themselves scarce, but sometimes it made them agitated. Especially when the curse resonated with them in some way.
Ned liked a drink. It wasn’t a problem—not for him—but it was apparently enough to make him sensitive to the hag. He’d been on edge since Jonah joined the crew this morning, full of bluster and sourness.
“Smug little bastard,” Ned growled. He clenched his fists and took a step forward, chin tucked down and shoulders hunched up. “What you sniffing around me for? I told you to piss off—”
The foreman got between them and shoved Ned back.
“That’s enough,” he said. “What the fuck, Ned?”
“He needs to back off,” Ned said harshly. He stepped back and scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “Little shit’s been getting on my case all day.”
“Then you talk to me,” Grahams said. He gave Ned a shove to move him back a step. “You don’t take it into your own hands. What’d he do?”
Ned just glowered and spat on the ground. He didn’t have a reason, not yet, anyhow. Give him time, and he’d assign blame for something to Jonah, just to make his irritation make sense.
“Right,” Grahams said, his voice thin with exasperation. “Fine, then. Take your lunch. Now. Go cool down.”
Ned hesitated for a second but finally did as he was told. He sniffed loudly and stepped back as he stripped his hi-vis jacket off.
“Whatever,” he said. “Just get him off the site.”
“Yeah, you don’t tell me what to do,” Grahams said. “Go on, Ned. You’re acting like a hothead.”
Ned turned and stalked off toward the edge of the site. He shoved the barricades out of the way and headed for where he’d left his truck parked up at the side of the road. No one followed him. Grahams watched him go for a minute and then turned to look at Jonah.
“Whatever you’re doing,” he said, “put a fucking cork in it if you want this job.”
One of the other men cleared his throat. “He didn’t do anything,” he said. “Ned’s just had it in for him all morning. Nobody knows what the fuck his problem is.”
Grahams pulled a sour face and took his safety glasses off to rub his eyes with a gloved thumb and forefinger.
“Right,” he said. “Clock off early, Joe. I don’t need this shit atmosphere on the job. Come back tomorrow, when everyone’s had a chance to cool down. Elliot? Take over from Joe as flagger.”
Jonah protested. That was expected, but it didn’t work. He’d expected that too.
He’d be short half a day’s pay, but he’d still have a job tomorrow. That would have to do. Jonah brushed road dust off himself as he headed to where he’d parked his truck. The people queued up as they waited to get through the roadworks craned their necks as they watched him go by, just in case he did something that would impact their commute.
The business card was where he’d left it, propped up against the speedometer. He pulled himself in, tapped the hex sign absently with one finger, and while it spun, he picked up the card to read it again.
Levi and Sons Construction - 153b West Mamre Ave.
Shiloh hadn’t exactly looked like a builder, but who was Jonah to judge?
