dance club until Mr. Right stumbles along.”
“That is not a comforting thought, flaquito .”
Caleb snorted. “You’re telling me. I can’t dance worth shit.”
Marco sighed dramatically. “You try a man’s patience, my friend. I see I will need to be more direct.”
“What does that mean?”
The dial tone was the only response.
T HE next day, a stocky Latino man called out to Logan from the truck bed next to his spot on the line. “Marco say….” The man paused as if trying to remember the correct words.
“Hablo español,” Logan said, making the transition to Spanish easily. It had been essential when working in construction. “You are Hernandez, no?”
“Yes,” he said, looking relieved he didn’t have to fight to find the right words. He set a package on the conveyor belt and reached into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. He handed the paper to Logan. “Marco asked me to give you his phone number and to ask you to call him today before your shift is over. He was most insistent he speak with you.”
Curious, Logan headed for the break room, punching in the number as he walked. In spite of Caleb’s grumblings, he seemed fond of Marco. Logan wasn’t sure the guy deserved it, but he couldn’t help wondering about him. He entered the sad excuse for a break room, noticing it was empty. In spite of several no-smoking signs, the room reeked of stale cigarette smoke. He made his way over to the only seating, four plastic chairs around a cheap laminated table, and hit the Send button on the phone.
A man with a thick Spanish accent answered the call after only two rings. Without preamble he said, “I was hoping you would call.”
“I take it you’re Marco.”
“Yes, and you are the drunk who ended up in prison for beating a man. I wonder then why Mr. Klass decided to hire you to watch over his nephew.”
In the background, Logan could hear the happy melodies of a kids’ television show. The muted high-pitched chatter and occasional giggle signaled the likely viewers of the program were watching with rapt attention.
“That life’s behind me.” Logan sat on a chair, wondering at the purpose of this call.
“That is good to hear. I myself left many friends behind in Chicago and I count Caleb among them.”
The unspoken threat in Marco’s voice was unmistakable and Logan’s opinion of the man shot up several points. He wanted Logan to know 1,200 miles wouldn’t stop him from protecting Caleb.
“I am also told Karen Foster has taken an interest in you. This concerns me greatly.”
Logan muttered, “You and me both, pal.”
“That woman ”—Marco said the word as if he’d rather use another if there weren’t little ears within hearing range—“has caused problems for Caleb in the past.”
“What’s her problem?” Logan couldn’t imagine what Caleb could have done to piss her off. He had tried to get the details out of Caleb without success. Was she just a homophobic bully or was there more to it?
“A couple of months ago, Klass moved her to the early morning shift and she was very angry about it.”
Logan snorted. “I’m not surprised. Getting to work by 4:00 a.m. is bound to cut into her social calendar.”
“She is rumored to be very much the party girl, but she must be a daylight drunk since her old shift was the Night Sort.”
Huh . The same shift Caleb worked during college. That might have explained how she knew him, but not why she preferred the evening shift. Maybe she has kids and prefers working at night while they sleep? She didn’t strike Logan as the maternal type, but he was hardly one to judge.
“What does that have to do with Caleb?”
“A few days after the schedule was announced, someone shoved a nasty note under Caleb’s door. I only know about it because his neighbor saw the look on Caleb’s face when he retrieved it. Caleb would not let me see it, and I suspect there were more.”
His anger returned in full force. Foster
“That is not a comforting thought, flaquito .”
Caleb snorted. “You’re telling me. I can’t dance worth shit.”
Marco sighed dramatically. “You try a man’s patience, my friend. I see I will need to be more direct.”
“What does that mean?”
The dial tone was the only response.
T HE next day, a stocky Latino man called out to Logan from the truck bed next to his spot on the line. “Marco say….” The man paused as if trying to remember the correct words.
“Hablo español,” Logan said, making the transition to Spanish easily. It had been essential when working in construction. “You are Hernandez, no?”
“Yes,” he said, looking relieved he didn’t have to fight to find the right words. He set a package on the conveyor belt and reached into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. He handed the paper to Logan. “Marco asked me to give you his phone number and to ask you to call him today before your shift is over. He was most insistent he speak with you.”
Curious, Logan headed for the break room, punching in the number as he walked. In spite of Caleb’s grumblings, he seemed fond of Marco. Logan wasn’t sure the guy deserved it, but he couldn’t help wondering about him. He entered the sad excuse for a break room, noticing it was empty. In spite of several no-smoking signs, the room reeked of stale cigarette smoke. He made his way over to the only seating, four plastic chairs around a cheap laminated table, and hit the Send button on the phone.
A man with a thick Spanish accent answered the call after only two rings. Without preamble he said, “I was hoping you would call.”
“I take it you’re Marco.”
“Yes, and you are the drunk who ended up in prison for beating a man. I wonder then why Mr. Klass decided to hire you to watch over his nephew.”
In the background, Logan could hear the happy melodies of a kids’ television show. The muted high-pitched chatter and occasional giggle signaled the likely viewers of the program were watching with rapt attention.
“That life’s behind me.” Logan sat on a chair, wondering at the purpose of this call.
“That is good to hear. I myself left many friends behind in Chicago and I count Caleb among them.”
The unspoken threat in Marco’s voice was unmistakable and Logan’s opinion of the man shot up several points. He wanted Logan to know 1,200 miles wouldn’t stop him from protecting Caleb.
“I am also told Karen Foster has taken an interest in you. This concerns me greatly.”
Logan muttered, “You and me both, pal.”
“That woman ”—Marco said the word as if he’d rather use another if there weren’t little ears within hearing range—“has caused problems for Caleb in the past.”
“What’s her problem?” Logan couldn’t imagine what Caleb could have done to piss her off. He had tried to get the details out of Caleb without success. Was she just a homophobic bully or was there more to it?
“A couple of months ago, Klass moved her to the early morning shift and she was very angry about it.”
Logan snorted. “I’m not surprised. Getting to work by 4:00 a.m. is bound to cut into her social calendar.”
“She is rumored to be very much the party girl, but she must be a daylight drunk since her old shift was the Night Sort.”
Huh . The same shift Caleb worked during college. That might have explained how she knew him, but not why she preferred the evening shift. Maybe she has kids and prefers working at night while they sleep? She didn’t strike Logan as the maternal type, but he was hardly one to judge.
“What does that have to do with Caleb?”
“A few days after the schedule was announced, someone shoved a nasty note under Caleb’s door. I only know about it because his neighbor saw the look on Caleb’s face when he retrieved it. Caleb would not let me see it, and I suspect there were more.”
His anger returned in full force. Foster
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