The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(26)

Justin was a high school senior and one of the drawbacks to hiring high school students was having their buddies turning the station into a hangout, so Eric had warned Justin not to let that happen. Justin had said, “Don’t worry about that, man.” It was a nonissue. When high schoolers came by to get gas, they barely passed words with Justin. Maybe the kid was just real unpopular.

Eric thought he’d ask Mac. Mac knew everyone. Then he told himself that might piss off Justin. But Justin was already pissed off. Was it his business? The kid was seventeen and on the brink of adulthood. But that was right about the age Eric had decided he knew more than anyone else, dropped out of school, got a girl pregnant, threw in with a bad crowd and eventually ended up in prison. And he thought he might have looked and acted a lot like Justin.

He had no experience with this. So he drove to Bandon to get tires. He put them on, balanced them, checked the undercarriage, looked for damage, then he called Mac.

Eric drove the truck to the North Bend marina and Mac was waiting there in the parking lot to give him a lift home. He left the invoice in the glove box and left the key with a guy named Sammy at the gas pump on the pier.

“You were right about the SUV,” Mac said. “I should get you signed up for the police academy.”

“The background check might not go so well,” Eric said.

“It wasn’t even his wife. His wife thought he was on a business trip—he sells something. I think he said paint. Or maybe it was manure...”

“How can you get paint and manure mixed up?” Eric asked.

“It wasn’t my case. Not really. But I tipped off the state police. Well, I passed them off to my uncle-in-law, Joe, who took over. So, they were at some hideaway down the coast, got into a fight, headed back up the coast, still fighting. Not only did he hit her in the face, she broke right there and said she had bruises on her arms from him grabbing her and shaking her and shit. He passed a Breathalyzer, but barely. But the woman had had enough and sold him out. He went to jail on battery charges. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he calls his wife for bail....” Then Mac laughed. Evilly.

It was midafternoon by the time Eric got back to the station. Manny was there, prepping a car for a paint job. An old car with salt damage from the ocean. Not a classic, but give it a few years. He had discussed the painting service and the only way they could make money, be competitive, was to use cheap paint, but Eric wouldn’t have a car he painted chip and peel two years out so he used good paint and made less money. His name was on it, after all.

Manny had one of his sons with him—twelve-year-old Robbie. He had four sons and two daughters ranging in age from sixteen to four. When he worked weekends he almost always had at least one kid with him. Manny had the most respectful, well-behaved kids Eric had ever known.

He talked with Manny for about ten minutes, told him about the tow, asked if his wife would bring him dinner. And Manny said, “If you’re going to get calls for tows, especially from the sheriff, you gotta get yourself a night man. Go get a nap, boss. See you tomorrow.”

Eric didn’t schedule himself to work nights, but he was there most of the time anyway. This weekend was a real anomaly—a date Friday night, a bigger date Saturday night, a lot of hopefulness for Sunday night. He walked down the hill the few short blocks to Laine’s house and knocked on her front door. She opened it and smiled at him. “Why don’t I go catch a nap and call you later. Maybe I can take you out for something to eat tonight?” he said.

She reached for his hand and pulled him inside. “You must be so tired,” she said.

His arms went around her automatically. “Someone kept me up most of the night.”

She pushed him away. “You said it was the sheriff’s deputy.” She laughed. “Come on,” she said, pulling on his hand. “Come in here. It’s a lazy Sunday.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Lazy Sundays really don’t feel the same when you don’t work all week.”

The fire was lit and she pushed him down on the couch in front of it. “I don’t know if I’ll be good company, Laine. I’m shot. But I could—”

“Lay back on those pillows,” she said. “This is the best couch in the world. When I was buying a couch I had very high standards—I lived alone and needed something that would embrace me. Do you want something to drink? A hot chocolate? A Coke? How about tea? Milk?”

He leaned back and the soft cushions seemed to wrap around him. “Wow.”

“That’s what I’m saying—perfect, right?” She sat down at the other end and lifted his feet one at a time, unlacing and removing his boots. “No shoes or boots allowed on my baby. Tell me about the tow and the cops. Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

He shook his head. “I was born in the house my father built....”

She gave him a whack. “Starting with the text.”

“I think Mac was throwing me a bone. They needed three wreckers, had massive tire damage and they were midway between Thunder Point and Bandon. My daughter’s stepdad is lending a hand, I bet.” He yawned. “But it was interesting because I was the guy with the side puller who could get an SUV up the hill and it turned out they weren’t a victim of the stop sticks, but were having a domestic in the car. We won’t get the exact details but she was bruised and upset, he was a little bit drunk and they didn’t hit the spikes. I bet he slugged her and swerved onto the shoulder, lost control and flipped the car. Why would a guy do that?” he asked, still bewildered. He yawned again. “The other two were innocent victims of stop sticks—one was a nurse’s aide and there was a fisherman. I got the SUV up for ’em, but then I took the fisherman’s truck in for tires and a check.”