Page 22 of Devil's Work: Dark

His response makes me laugh. I pat his chest as I walk past him to get my purse. “Not having gotten into my sister’s is a start.”

“Ouch,” he answers as he shakes his head. “You cut me deep.”

“It teaches humility. I think you’ll survive. Now, let’s go see if I can get me a job.”

Green walks with me out to my car. He plucks my keys from my hand when I go for the driver’s side.

“Wrong side,” I tell him as I try to swipe my keys back. He holds them above my head out of my reach.

“Woman, you should know I don’t ride bitch.”

“Offensive much? It’smycar.”

“Yeah, and while I’m in it,” he says, sliding into the seat, “I’m driving.”

“Whatever.” I don’t have it in me to argue about it. He wants to drive, let him. I just want to get to my appointment on time; thus, I slide into the passenger seat and wait to leave. We wave at Winky as we pass. He’s sitting on his bike eating a burrito. There’s liquid cheese on his beard. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to wake up and find that I really haven’t been living 24/7 with bikers for the last several weeks and that this is just some kind of trippyAlice in Wonderland-type of dream.

Over the half-hour drive, we listen to hard rock/heavy metal/screamo on the radio. What is it about bikers that they feel the need to live up to that particular stereotype? I didn’t even know regular radio stations played screamo. It’s not my favorite.

But then, rather than stick to the radio, he pulls his phone from his pocket to put his Spotify on speaker. Green apparently is a huge fan of Slipknot, given the way he sings boldly, yet surprisingly on key, along with every song the different playlists he flips through plays. Four. Four in the half hour. That’s a half hour of my life I’ll never get back. Still, he’s here. He’s helping. He doesn’t have to be. He’s not getting anything from me for his time—if he’s worked something out with Dark, that’s between them.

Once he turns into a parking space in front of the Walmart, I stop him from getting out. “I need to go in by myself.”

“Not a chance,” he replies right away.

“It’s a public space. Nothing’s going to happen. Normally, I wouldn’t mind you going in with me, but this is a job interview. I can’t have a biker trailing me while going in for an interview. You know they’d never hire me. It’s too much drama.”

He sighs long and affected. “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like a lot of things. I don’t like that I need a bodyguard in the first place—not that I’m not grateful to have you here.”

“No, of course not,” he snickers.

“But I need a job. This would be a good job for me to get.”

“Don’t need a job yet. Dark—”

“Isn’t responsible for me or my kids,” I say, highly exasperated. “I am. And we’re broke. It’s not working. We need more money. To get money, I need a job.”

“Rae,” he starts, but I raise my hand to cut him off.

“No, Green. Now, I’m going into my interview and I’ll meet you right here when I’m done.” Then, without waiting for him to give me more grief, I hop out of the car and jog up to the front sliding doors.

The greeter greets me with, “Welcome to Walmart.” It’s rote. She doesn’t even look up from the phone in her hand when she says it. I turn left to walk to the eye center. That’s where I’m supposed to meet Jayne, the eye center manager, for the interview.

She’s fantastic, greeting me with a smile and a handshake. She’s older than me, mid- to late thirties, if I had to guess. She has an air of authority about her. I wonder if she got those fantastic highlights done at the salon here in the store. If I got the job, I’d probably be able to afford highlights again.Focus, Rae.Anyway, we walk back to an empty office, probably hers, to get the interview going.

All my answers feel stupid. My tongue feels heavy. Jayne keeps smiling and saying “Yes” or “Good, good” after most of the things I say. So, am I being too hard on myself or is she just a nice person?

The interview goes on for forty-five minutes. At the end, we stand and Jayne shakes my hand. “This went well,” she says. “We’ll be in touch.”

I step out of her office and the eye center with a confidence to my steps that I haven’t felt in way too long a time. There’s a man standing outside the hair salon, which faces the eye center. I keep a discreet watch on him because it’s too similar to the situation that went down at the gas station on my way home from Nashville. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. He’s wearing a nondescript navy-blue T-shirt. No logo. No saying on it. And he’s wearing a regular pair of jeans along with dark sneakers. Plain navy-blue baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. Everything about him screams nondescript except for the fact that he’s staring right at me.Rightat me.

It’s unnerving.

Unnerving. As if he’s been waiting here for me and I’ve never seen this man before. I smile weakly and dip my head as I walk to the doors leading out of the Walmart. I try not to get too close to him.

He moves when I move. I pick up the pace. He picks up the pace. There are plenty of people walking in and out of the store, but none of them would be able to help me if he snatched me. I see a black SUV idling off to the side of the building. I don’t look that way because I don’t want them to know I see them, but they’re there.

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