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Quinn was obviously baffled. “Dude, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Albert said. “How about this: You get a free pass to the club. Plus, you get all the fish you can eat. And, I owe you a major favor in the future.”
“A major favor?”
“Major,” Albert confirmed. “Look, I’m doing some things. I have some plans. As a matter of fact, they’re plans I would like you to help me with.”
“Uh-huh,” Quinn said skeptically.
“I’m asking you to trust me, Quinn. You trust me, and I’ll trust you.”
Albert knew that would hit home with Quinn. Trust was the last thing anyone offered Quinn.
Albert changed the subject, just a little. “How did you catch these fish, Quinn?”
“Um, well, it’s not that hard to figure out. I used a net to scoop up some little fish, you know, not like fish you could eat. Then I used them as bait. You get the little fish in tide pools and shallow water. There’s plenty of gear and boats. Then you just need to be really, really patient.”
“This could be major,” Albert said thoughtfully. Then, “Okay, I have a proposition for you.”
Quinn grinned. “I’m listening.”
“I have twenty-four guys on my crew. Mostly they guard Ralph’s and move food around. But the truth is, there isn’t much left to guard or to move around. So.”
“So?”
“So, I give you six of my best people. The most reliable six guys I can come up with. You take them and train them to fish.”
“Yeah?” Quinn frowned, still not getting it.
“And you and me, we’re partners in the fish business. Seventy-thirty. I give you workers, I haul the fish, preserve it, prepare it, distribute it. And whatever we bring in, I take seventy percent and you take thirty.”
Quinn arched a brow. “Excuse me? How come you get seventy percent?”
“I pay everyone under me,” Albert explained. “Your thirty percent is just for you.”
“It’s thirty percent of nothing,” Quinn said.
“Maybe. But not for long.” Albert grinned and slapped Quinn on the shoulder. “You have to stay hopeful, man. Things are looking up. We have fish.”
Mother Mary smelled it before she saw it.
Fish. Fried fish.
The kids smelled it, too. “What is that smell?” Julia cried, and ran forward, black ponytail flying behind her.
There followed a near riot. Preschoolers surged around Quinn, who was carrying the fried fish piled on a napkin-covered McDonald’s tray.
“Okay, okay, okay, everyone gets some,” Quinn yelped.
Mary could not move. She knew she should, she knew she had to step in and impose order, but the smell had paralyzed her.
Fortunately, Francis—who had made such a scene over hating to work at the preschool—had decided after the first day that he wouldn’t mind working a second day. Then a third. He was on his way to becoming a regular. Once he’d gotten over his attitude, he had proved to be really good with the children.
“Okay, little creatures,” Francis yelled, “back away. Back slowly away from the food.”
“Sorry, I probably should have warned you I was coming,” Quinn said sheepishly as he waded through a sea of kids and held the fish high above dozens of grabbing hands.
Mary twisted her fingers together as she watched Francis and the other helpers get the kids into line. The smell of the fish was unbelievable. It made her stomach grumble. It made her mouth water.
