Page 317 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

With only fourteen dollars in her pocket, she didn’t have the luxury to be picky. “No, sir. How much does it pay?”

“Do I look like a farmer to you?”

“No, sir.”

He cocked an eyebrow, slipping another step closer. He was now close enough to reach out and take her arm, if he wanted to. On trembling knees, she watched him close that distance by yet another step, and now they were almost toe-to-toe. “What do I look like?”

“A parole officer.”

“Yes, I do.” He turned and headed for the door still standing open behind them, lighting up the interior of the room and unapologetically letting in the flies. “Follow me.”

He disappeared out of the doorway, the crunch of his boots in the gravel heading back to his office.

Shutting the door behind her, her head down, she followed him back into the cool air conditioning of his office. She tried not to shiver when his arm brushed hers as he came in behind her.

“I’ve got heaters should it get too cold in winter, and I’ve got window units if it's too hot for you now. It’s ten dollars a day if you want either one.” Slipping through the employees-only door that guarded his part of the office, he reappeared behind the long desk. He picked up his rolodex and flipped through it. “Let’s see…”

He took his cellphone out of his back jeans pocket. He dialed and when the line picked up on the other end, his voice brightened although his expression, hidden by those sunglasses, never did. “Bobby… I’ve got a young lady here, fresh off the bus and lookin’ for work. You hiring?... Uh huh… Right…”

Picking up a pen, he shifted his unfinished crossword aside and pulled a manila folder with her name on the table out onto the top of the pile. Opening it, he began to write. “All righty… You got it, Bobby. Same pay as the last one?”

She leaned forward far enough to see him jot six dollars down on top of a mostly blank page. He circled it, and her stomach sank all over again. Would that be enough to pay whatever she was going to owe each week, plus food? Would it be enough for her to slip a little into savings for when her time on parole ended?

He wrote ’12-hour’ beneath the sum, and beneath that, Sat to Fri. He underlined it before glancing up at her. His glasses had slipped down his straight nose when he’d lowered his head. For the first time, she found herself looking into his blue eyes directly. Baby blue… cold as ice…

“You’ll be working six to six,” he told her, still on the phone. “That fine for you?”

As if she had a choice.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Excellent.” Talking into the phone, he said, “She’ll be on the bus in the morning. Night, Bobby.” Ending the call, he dropped the phone on her file and smiled that crooked smile up at her. “The first day’s always the hardest, so I hear. Get good sleep tonight. You’re gonna need it.”

She nodded.

“Café down the street closes at 9 p.m. sharp. Doesn’t open at all on Sundays. Neither does the grocery store. So, if you want to eat, I recommend you go get you something before they close.” He pinned her with another wary look and said, “Because I am not…”

He left the sentence hanging for her to fill in the blank.

“My refrigerator?” she asked.

“Good girl,” he said again. “Six in the morning. Get good sleep and food. Rent’s in three days; I always collect on Fridays. Sadly, you probably won’t be able to afford it, so we’ll start you a running tab.”

She nodded, her stomach sinking. “Thank you. I’ll get caught up as soon as I can.”

“You’ll get caught up as soon as you can, what, darlin’?” he asked pointedly.

Her mind scrambled. “Um… sir?” she added hopefully.

“Sir, Mr. Travis, Sir,” he said, his smile broadening. That smile still hadn’t reached as far as his eyes. They were cool and dark, and piercing in their assessment of her.

“Sir, Mr. Travis, Sir,” she dutifully repeated, clasping nervous hands tightly in front of her.

This man was definitely not a friend, no matter how broad his smile.

“Good,” he said for the last time. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

Back into town Tabby walked. It wasn’t that far. Only about a mile and a half before she spotted the café and then the grocery store, which was across the street another block down. With what few dollars she had in her wallet, although she’d much prefer to visit the restaurant and have something warm cooked for her, she kept walking. She just didn’t have enough to waste on one meal.

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