Brad glanced at his watch and confirmed that everything was perfectly under control. Morning shopping—done. Kids—sent off to school. The doc—fed. And he still had time to get to the boatyard at a leisurely pace.
He felt a little guilty about borrowing Stacy's car so much, but he'd make it up to her somehow. Any day now, he should get clearance to retrieve his Jeep from the police impound lot. There was no reason for the vehicle to stay there after the case had been closed, and at this point, all that was left was paperwork.
In any case, Stacy would get something nice from him. Maybe earrings? He knew she had a weakness for them, especially the extravagant ones, though at work, she wore very modest, barely noticeable studs.
Either way, he was grateful for the favor.
He was excited about his first day at the new job. Sure, he knew more about cars than boats, but he'd spent the last few days diligently reading books on boat repairs. Of course, he was far from being an expert, but no one starting out ever was. He'd learn quickly. He always did, especially when it came to practical skills. All he needed was to take an engine apart and put it back together once, and he'd be able to do it again without a problem. Mike would be pleased with him.
Despite his excitement, he hadn't ignored what Olivia had told him yesterday and was carefully observing Dr. Stone today. He had to admit, the guy still wasn't giving off any signals. Sure, he looked a little awkward, but this was his first time having breakfast in a stranger's house with a stranger. And who knew if he even got a good night's sleep? Yesterday had clearly been far too eventful for someone's first few hours in a new town—especially when that someone had probably been expecting a slow, uneventful place.
A shame Stone wasn't gay, Brad thought. The doc was really all right. And not just in terms of looks (though, if he had to nitpick, that weird facial hair was the only thing he could fault). He was just… all right. As a person. Yesterday, he had even taken a risk for him, giving a statement to the police.
The memory brought a smile to Brad's face. It had been ages since someone had stuck their neck out for him like that. And he doubted it had ever been someone who wasn't already in trouble with the law. Yesterday's experience had been… interesting. And, well, nice.
The thought put him in an even better mood. Not that he had been in a bad one before. The prospect of a new, stable job had been making his heart beat faster for days, but today, it was hammering in his chest. Sure, juggling work with raising kids and now cooking for his new housemate wouldn't be easy, but he'd manage. He was the kind of guy who could handle more than one thing at a time. It wouldn't be that bad.
Working at the boatyard had even been a dream of his. Granted, for only a few days back in third grade, but still. If that was the standard, he was about to fulfill his childhood dream. Wasn't that exciting? How many people could say the same? Brad was willing to bet not many. So, he could consider himself lucky.
He parked in front of the old boatyard, the only place in town that had been repairing boats for the past thirty years—longer than he'd been alive. Getting out of his car, he stretched until his joints cracked. A sharp sting shot through his forearm. He ignored it. It was nothing. He squinted up at the sun shining in his face. It was going to be a good day.
With a spring in his step, he headed for the workshop.
"Mike!" he called out as he stepped inside. "I'm ready and raring to go!"
From the depths of the workshop, Mike emerged, dressed in a grease-stained mechanic's jumpsuit. He was wiping his equally dirty hands on an equally stained rag. But there was no enthusiasm in his face.
"Sorry, Brad, but I don't have a job for you."
"What?"
Brad was sure he had misheard.
"I can't hire you," Mike repeated grimly. "I'm sorry."
He… what? He couldn't…?
"But… why?"
Mike shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his face set in a hard expression.
"Tough times," he said. "And you got yourself into trouble again. People talk, you know?"
"People talk? About what? Yesterday, that was—"
"The police. Twice in one day?"
Shit.
"I didn't do anything that could get me locked up—"
"I'm sorry, Brad. I really can't."
And then it hit him. He was surprised it had taken this long. It was so obvious. When Mike had offered him the job, he'd been genuinely shocked. How had he forgotten that, even for a second?
"Fucking Anders," he growled, clenching his fists.
"Hey, I didn't—" Mike started, panicked, which only confirmed Brad's suspicions.
"Save it." His fists tightened further, knuckles turning white—not that he even noticed. "Just save it."
He knew it probably wasn't Mike's fault. Maybe he had taken money to screw him over, or maybe he was just afraid for his own business, but if he said even one more word now, Brad would lose it. He must have had it written all over his face because Mike just dropped his gaze.
Shit! Kurwa! Fuck!
Lipski turned around. He started walking. He was trembling. If he stayed in this place even a moment longer, he would start tearing apart that damned skiff. He had to get out of here, or he would really get into trouble.
What a fucking bastard!
Not Mike. Although him too. Both of them…
The sun, which just minutes ago had given him so much joy, now felt like mockery. It seemed to be asking whether he was really so foolish as to believe he could find a steady job in this town. He should have known better. He should have been more aware than to let himself be fooled by that stupid hope.
There was no career waiting for him in this town, no stable job. Why did he delude himself into thinking it would be different with Mike? Because they had been friends since childhood? Yeah, sure, as if that had any value. No, as long as the Lipskis were on Jonathan Anders' blacklist—the man who owned everything in this town—he had no chance.