Shooter (Burnout) (3 page)

Chris grunted. "Shit hole."

"But cheap," Maria added. "I figure you having that rental house right next door to your own, could keep an eye on her in case she's trouble. She's
got
trouble. Don't mean she
is
trouble. No way for me to know just yet."

Chris frowned. "What kind of trouble?"

"Man trouble. Of the physical variety."

Chris’ jaw flexed. Maria knew that he had a low tolerance for bullshit and an even lower tolerance for men who put their hands on women. Especially tiny wisps of females like that.

"Says her name's Hayley," Maria declared, racking some bottles.

"Guess that means that's not her name."

"Doubtful. But she'll answer to it, nonetheless, and I'm paying her cash so that's all I can call her."

Chris’ frowned deepened. "Jesus, Maria. This girl could be anyone."

Maria shrugged and headed off to the office with Chris close on her heels. "Girls come and go. Especially round here. She starts trouble, she's gone. But I'm hard up for someone who'll work days for shit money. If I pull Miranda or Denise off nights, they're likely to set the place on fire in protest and I just have too many headaches right this minute. I have a job, she needs a job. Simple as that.

"Speaking of shit money," Maria continued. "I don't know how much she'd be able to pay you. If she works out, I'll put her on nights in a few weeks, but if she's staying at the Rainbow, I'd say she's not got much." Maria nodded to the duffel on the floor in the corner. "That's hers. Reckon it's all she owns, seeing as how she came in on the bus. Didn't want to leave it at the motel in case it got swiped."

Chris eyed the bag.

"Your place is furnished, which she's gonna need," Maria reminded him. "Up to you to work out whether or not you'll take her on and how much you want for rent if you do. None of my business. She doesn't have any I.D. though, least ways none that she'll produce."

"You want to end up dead in your office, Maria?" Chris chastised.

Maria snorted. "I could pound that little twig into the ground if I had a mind to. And I'll remind you that somebody already did. She didn't flinch when I mentioned a drug test and for what it's worth I believe her that she could pass it. I've hired enough users over the years to spot one right off. I did call her boss in Denver. Knows her as Crystal." Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes at Maria. "Says that's her middle name," Maria countered, grinning.

"Damn it, Maria."

"Don’t look at me like that,” Maria snapped. “You hired that skinny kid a while back.”

Chris scowled. He had hired a lanky kid who’d had to walk a dirtbike to Burnout for some parts. He’d gotten the bike in trade and whatever the kid had traded for it, he’d gotten the worse end of the deal. The bike was a piece of crap and worse yet, the kid could barely afford a spark plug. Chris put the plug in one hand and a broom in the other. Emilio had turned out to be his name and a good investment, to boot. He was a fast learner, didn’t mind working for shit pay plus dirtbike parts, and one day he’d make halfway decent mechanic. But just because Chris had gotten lucky didn’t mean Maria would. In fact she’d gotten screwed hiring lowlifes more often than it ever worked out for her.

“Anyway,” Maria continued. “Her boss vouches for her. She worked for him for almost five months. Never late, no drama, kept her head down. He never mentioned a boyfriend and therefore I didn't ask."

"In case it was him."

Maria shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. It's not like he's gonna admit to beating on her if he did. But he didn't seem overly interested in her or her whereabouts so my guess is, he was just her boss. I'm not running some kind of halfway house here, Shooter. Amanda took off, left me high and dry. The girl wants to work and if she's laying low from her old man it's none of my nevermind. She's not your responsibility other than as your tenant.
If
you take her on. Her job here's got nothing to do with you. But I don't know too many people that have a place for rent within walking distance. She doesn't work out, we both get burned. But I need a waitress and you need a renter."

Chris sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "All right. But if she gives you any shit here, you let me know so I know what kind of shit I can expect on my end."

"Deal."

***********************

Hayley refreshed a regular named Milo's coffee when she both felt and heard heavy boots crossing the wooden floor, coming toward her. She turned slightly to see the man Maria had called "Shooter". He stopped in front of her and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He had a tattoo on his right forearm, but Hayley didn't get a good look.

"Can I get you something?" she asked him.

"No," he replied curtly.

She frowned up at him. He had brown hair that was just barely long enough to get a little bit of a wave to it. His eyes were hazel and glittering hard at her. She couldn't think what she would have done wrong since until now she'd never so much as spoken to him.

She considered asking when he suddenly said, "You looking for a place?"

Hayley was startled and looked past the man toward the bar, for Maria, but she wasn't there. "Yeah," she finally replied, bringing her eyes back to him.

"I have one. About six blocks from here. In the opposite direction of the Rainbow. Which is where you're staying, right?"

She nodded.

"Alone?" he asked sharply.

"What?"

"You stay at the Rainbow alone? 'Cause I don't want more than one person living in my house."

Hayley stared at him. "Your house? I- I can't live with you in your house."

He gave her a look that made her feel about as intelligent as a hamster. "It's a house. That I own. Therefore it's my house. I don't live there."

Hayley considered this. "Oh." Hayley considered the odds of this man killing her in her bed late at night. "I do. Need a place. Maybe-" she licked her lips nervously. "Maybe I could take a look at it." There. She'd left herself some wiggle room. If this guy didn't ease up off the badass vibe, she'd just tell him it was too small, or too big, or didn't have a washer and dryer so she couldn't possibly live there. Not that most of her places had ever actually had a washer and dryer. But still, it was an excuse, and a decent one, she thought.

"When do you get off work?" he demanded.

Hayley bit her lip and again looked around for Maria. "Five. I get off at five."

He nodded. "Maria says you don't have a car. I could swing by. Give you a lift."

"No," Hayley said a bit too forcefully which made him narrow his eyes at her. "I- I have some...stuff...I have to-" Jesus. Hayley fought hard to get a grip. It had been a long, long time since she'd had a panic attack. Working around people so much, she'd pretty much gotten used to them. But this guy had an air so menacing that she suddenly felt like she'd just locked herself in a bathroom stall at a bus terminal in Dallas.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "I have some errands to run. If you just give me the address, I can meet you there. Say six o'clock?"

He considered her for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Hayley almost told him to forget the whole thing. But then gave her the address and reminded her that six o'clock meant six o'clock and she said okay, because he'd made it clear that there was nothing else to say. He turned and stalked out of the bar and she put a hand on the table next to her to steady herself.

"That's Shooter," Milo said around a mouthful of a Monte Cristo sandwich.

Hayley blew out a long breath. "Is he called Shooter because he kills people?" she said, half-joking.

"Yes," Milo replied instantly.

Hayley's head turned so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. She searched Milo's face for some sign that he was kidding. But the 60 some year old man just calmly chewed his ham and cheese.

"You're not serious," Hayley prompted.

"Milo!" Maria belted out, having come in through the swinging door from the back area. "Knock it off."

Hayley turned back to Milo and he started to cackle maniacally. Then she turned back to Maria. "So he is kidding."

Maria regarded Hayley, as if considering her answer. Finally she announced, "Shooter did three tours. One in Afghanistan, two in Iraq."

"Oh," Hayley replied. She thought about this. "But he doesn't kill, like, regular people."

Maria lifted an eyebrow. "Regular people?"

"He doesn't gun people down at stoplights or anything."

Milo cackled again. Maria shook her head. "No, hon. Shooter's as straight as they come."

Hayley looked to the door where Shooter had just exited. "Really? He seemed...intense."

"Three tours in Army Special Operations will do that to a man," Maria informed her.

"But he's not dangerous?" Hayley prompted.

"Not to
you
," Maria said.

Hayley still kept her eyes glued to the door in case he came back.

When five o'clock hit, she cashed out, clocked out, and grabbed her duffel from Maria's office. Hitching it up onto her shoulder, she headed out. Maria had told her that Shooter's real name was Chris Sullivan and that he was 33. According to the address he gave her, his rental property was six blocks from the bar. During her break, she'd located it on the map that came with her book and memorized the easiest route. Living in a new city every few months had honed her sense of direction and her ability to get around easily in new places and even stopping for coffee (so she could pretend she really did have an errand to run) she arrived at the little house minutes early.

It was a cute little house, as far as little houses went. It was painted blue on the outside with white shutters that had only just started to fade from the sun. The yard was well-kept and the neighborhood itself, while not fancy by any means, seemed to be made up of residents who took care of their property. She had no doubt lived in worse places.

She sat down on the steps of the front porch and set her bag down at her feet. A few minutes later, a low rumbling sounded from up the street, in the direction she'd just come from. She leaned forward, around a hedge, to see a large black and chrome motorcycle coming up the street. As she watched, she recognized Chris. He steered the bike into the driveway of the house next to where she was sitting.

She dug out the slip of paper on which she'd written the address and frowned at it. She never got details wrong. It was why she was such a good waitress. Maybe she'd been tired from the road and made a mistake.

The house next door was white, not blue, with black shutters. It was also larger. The yard was also well-maintained and it had a garage, whereas the blue house did not. Not that she needed a garage, of course, but she hoped the mere fact of it didn't up the rental price too much. She was already tempted to tell him he could store whatever he wanted in there while she was in residence as long as it meant he didn't jack up the rent.

He kicked the stand down, got off the bike, and started moving toward her. "It's the right house," he told her as she was checking the paper against the numbers on the mailbox. He dug out a set of keys and jogged past her up the steps.

She glanced back at the bike. "The neighbors don't mind you using their driveway?" Well, at least she would have nice neighbors. Bonus. She did hope, however, they weren't
too
friendly.

"That's my house," he informed her as he unlocked the front door.

Hayley didn't move. "You....you live next door?"

He didn't answer, probably because he'd just finished telling her he owned it. Instead, he held the front door open and looked back at her, his gaze telling her to get her ass in gear, even if he didn't actually say anything.

She hesitated, then slowly crossed to the steps and picked up her duffel. She followed him inside, but remained just inside the door. He sighed, irritated. "You want to see the place or not?" She nodded, set her bag down by the door, and cautiously stepped further in. "You gonna shut the front door?" he asked, again irritated.

Hayley looked behind her at the door and took a long moment to consider before finally closing it with a soft snick.

**********************

Chris watched her as she shut the door, looking she'd just been sentenced to death. She came further into the living room, but stayed well away from him. The woman was obviously terrified of him, but hiding it pretty well. Well, good, he thought. If she was afraid of him, then she wouldn't give him any shit, either.

The living room was pretty self explanatory. A couch, a chair, a coffee table. No tv. Around the corner was the kitchen, also small but functional.

"The kitchen's got new appliances," he told her, heading into that room. They weren't top of line, far from it, but they were new. They hadn't been changed for the last twenty years and he'd decided to give the place an overhaul. New paint everywhere. Beige. New carpet. Also beige. New appliances, white. The furniture had been newer and so he'd left that alone. It was a small one bedroom, but it had a nice back deck that Chris and his boys had built last fall. It ran the length of the house and was situated in the opposite configuration of the deck on his own house next door.