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“Nancy Bird. Our other prospect is dealing with her. Does constant drop-ins. Sometimes on back-to-back days, so you can never let your guard down. It’s like she wants to send us back,” Coach told him.
“Mick isn’t like that?” he asked.
“Mick is a four-time loser,” I said, meaning his marriages. “Got alimony on all of those ex-wives, plus child support for three, and a college tuition for another.”
“Meaning he’s looking for cash to look the other way,” Colter said, quick on the pick-up. And you had to appreciate that.
“Exactly,” I agreed, nodding.
“I don’t have the cash to pay him,” Colter said, looking like it killed his pride to admit that.
“We do,” I said. “And we will continue to pay it while you’re prospecting. Once you’re patched, if you’re still on parole, you can pay him yourself.”
“Sounds fair,” Colter agreed. “So what are the accommodations like?” he asked.
“Better than that,” Coach said, jerking his chin back toward the prison, looming large and intimidating from the hill. “Right now, we are using the spare room that would be yours for a house guest,” he added. “But once she is back to her life, it’s all yours. Until then, you can steal Rook, our other prospect’s room. He can’t be caught at our place.”
“Not having to share a room sounds like a fucking dream after all this time,” Colter admitted. “What kind of work am I expected to do?”
“Chores, mostly,” I said. “Shit the rest of us don’t want to do. But we are going to start working on transforming the top floor into more bed and bathrooms soon. So we’d expect you to work on that.”
“Well,” Colter said, exhaling hard through his nose. “Grew up with a handyman for a father,” he said. “Seems like it’s meant to be.”
And so his decision was made.
Not that it was a hard one.
He couldn’t go back into the military.
Other jobs would be hard if not impossible, to find. And the ones he might be able to, would be back-breaking for not nearly enough money. The kind of job that would age you prematurely.
Sure, agreeing to this life meant you would forever be on the wrong side of the law. But, honestly, once you were convicted of a crime, even after you did your time, society seemed to consider you on the wrong side for the rest of your life anyway. If that was how it was going to be, you might as well embrace it, make the most of it, and live a much easier life because of it.
“Where is this place?” Colter asked, letting Coach take his bag.
“Right there,” I said, waving toward the clubhouse.
“Looks like a factory,” he said, eyeing it.
“It was. Now it’s fifteen thousand square feet for us to live in,” Coach said.
“Fifteen thousand,” Colter repeated, sounding a bit awestruck.
“Rooms are huge,” Coach told him. “And you can do whatever you want to them,” he added. “Been working on mine since I got out.”
“Any rules I need to know about?” Colter asked as he walked toward the side of the SUV, but pausing, wanting the fine print before he got in.
“No hard drugs. Using or selling,” I said. “And we respect women,” he said.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“Pretty much. But you’ll have to talk to Slash, our president, if you want finer details,” I told him.
“Got it,” he agreed, nodding, and reaching for the door.
“You’re not from around here, right?” Coach asked.
“Fresno,” Colter said as we all got in and pulled away from the curb.
