Page 8 of Follow Her Down
Recognition flickers across his face.“Right, right.Sera, wasn’t it?I’m Rick, the manager.”
He extends a hand across the counter.His nails are dirty, but I shake it anyway, noting how he holds on a beat too long.
Rick comes around the counter, gesturing toward a small hallway in the back.“Let’s chat in private.”
The office he leads me to is barely bigger than a closet, with a metal desk cluttered high with papers and food wrappers.A small window looks out on the back lot, where dumpsters overflow with trash.
Rick settles into a creaking chair and motions for me to take the one opposite.
“So,” he says, leaning back.“What brings you to our little slice of Kansas, sweetheart?”
I grind my teeth together but choose to ignore the nickname.
I’ve prepared for this, so the lies come easily.“A fresh start after a divorce.I needed to get away.”
Rick nods, trying to look sympathetic but coming across as gross instead.“That’s rough.His loss is our gain, I guess.”
I nod.
“Any experience?”
“Two years at a Kwik Shop in Kansas City.Before that, waitressing.”That was almost ten years ago when I was a teenager, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Plus, I’m sure it still counts.
He makes a show of considering this, though I can tell he’s already decided to hire me.The way he keeps glancing at my chest makes his intentions clear.
“Hours would be four to midnight, Wednesday through Sunday,” he says.“Pay’s minimum wage plus fifty cents.No benefits.”
“Fine by me,” I say with a shrug.
“We get some characters in here, especially at night.You good with difficult people?”
A laugh bubbles in my throat, but I swallow it down.“Difficult is my specialty.”
Rick leans forward, his chair protesting.“What about dangerous?Some of the folks around here… Well, they aren’t exactly friendly to outsiders.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, and I let a little of the real me show in my smile—a flash of teeth, a glint of something sharp.
Rick blinks, momentarily uncertain, before recovering.“Well, all right, then.When can you start?”
“Today.”
“Perfect.I’ll get the paperwork ready.”He stands.“Welcome to the Gas N’ Go family, sweetheart.”
“Thanks.And it’s Sera.”I rise and look him in the eye.“Not sweetheart.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his face, but he nods.“Sera.Got it.”
Outside, the murky morning sun does little to warm the chill in the air.I lean against my car and light a cigarette I don’t really want just for something to do with my hands.The smoke fills my lungs, harsh and familiar.I don’t make a habit of smoking, but sometimes the ritual of it helps me think.
From here, I have a perfect view of the sheriff’s department.Officers come and go, some in uniform, others in plain clothes.No sign ofhimyet, but it’s only a matter of time.I wonder if he’s inside right now, just yards away from me, oblivious to the fact that his past has followed him.
The thought sends a pleasant shiver through me.
As I exhale a cloud of smoke, I sense eyes on me, that prickling awareness of being watched.I scan the parking lot, the sidewalk, the windows of nearby buildings, but I see nothing.Then movement catches my eye—blinds shifting in a second-story window of the sheriff’s department.
I stare directly at it, making no effort to hide my interest.The blinds fall back into place.
