Page 27 of Peaches & Pistols

Greyson retrieves the credit card from the counter and holds it out to me.

“Keep this until we get your documents sorted.”

“No. I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.”

He’s overstepping by miles, but for some reason, when he’s domineering, I’m not afraid. I feel protected.

I don’t agree to take the card, but I don’t refuse either. He makes a show of holding the card up and slapping it down on the counter by his coffee pot.

He doesn’t say goodnight. He doesn’t say anything at all. One second he’s the only thing I can see; the next, his bedroom door snicks shut.

He’ll be up and out before we wake up tomorrow, probably most days for that matter.

So, I leave him a little note in return.

Thank you.

For everything.

10

“What the fuck do you want?” I told this guy the last time I never wanted to see his face again. So why am I looking at his ugly mug across the counter at the hardware store?

“I need a favor.”

“You always need a favor, Riley. Problem is, you never uphold your side of the deal.”

“I just need help this one last time and I’ll be able to pay you back.” Funny thing is, he isn’t referring to money.

The hardware store is my family’s legacy—been around since Swiftwater became a modernized town. If you need it, we’ve either got it, or can get it.

Thing is, the store isn’t the only service the Clarks have provided to the residents of this sleepy town. I don’t know the story of how it all started, but somehow over time, the hardware store became a place to conduct other business.

I deal in favors and secrets. Information is both my power and currency. When my dad brought me into the fold of the store’s other dealings, he told me two things. One, we don’t break rules, we bend them; and two, we do the right thing, even if it ain’t always the clean thing.

I’ve got my pockets full of politicians, law enforcement, the clerk’s office, auto body shops, bookies, and bail bond agents. Personally, I don’t give a shit about what goes on in this town, so long as it doesn’t affect me or my family.

People feed me secrets and information to build up credit at my “bank”, so if they ever need a favor, they can cash in. From land deals to affairs and divorces, I’ve got my hand in all the cookie jars.

Like when Reid needed help exposing the deputy sheriff who’d abused and harassed his then girlfriend, now wife. Or when he got arrested for beating the guy half to death, and needed to make bail near instantly, and secure an otherwise unavailable court date.

I can make situations disappear, pull documents from thin air, and place the right threats when necessary.

Riley here traded a wealth of information to get his gambling debt wiped from a local bookie. The bookie agreed to wipe the debt so long as I disclosed some key information to him about another gambler who he needed to collect from.

“You don’t have anything of value for me. You spent all your good will getting your debt erased. I don’t want to hear a word about what you need until I know what you’re offering is useful.”

Riley sputters, sweat shining on his bald head.

“I don’t have time for this. Go home, get your shit together, and I might consider hearing you out.”

As far as these dealings go, my word is law, and he doesn’t dare question me. As soon as the door chimes shut behind him, I slump into the desk chair and drag my hands down my face.

Mia’s documents arrived as I requested, not a problem in sight. She was understandably leery of the pristine driver’s license, birth certificates, marriage license, and social security cards for her and Everly.

But she also had no other option than to accept them as offered and move on with her life. She was able to open a bank account and submit the remaining paperwork to the school for Everly’s enrollment in kindergarten.