“There’s Petroch.”
Ware laughed silently, not looking especially amused. “I’m pushing forty. I’ve got a working back for now, and I’d prefer to keep it working for a couple more decades. And if somebody wants to start me off at fifteen bucks an hour, they sure as shit better not cripple me for it.”
Fair enough, Casey thought.
“Don’t get me wrong—I’ll take it if that’s all there is to take. But I want to know all my options.”
“You cooked before?”
Ware nodded. “Downstate I did. Both stints.”
“I did six months there myself, but I don’t remember being treated to any blue-ribbon barbecue.”
He shook his head. “No, but I’m a red-blooded American man. I know how to fucking grill. Prison taught me how to cook everything else.”
Casey considered it. Prison wasn’t known for its cuisine, but what Benji’s would be serving—steamed corn, baked beans, potatoes, coleslaw, and the rest of it—wasn’t exactly gourmet. It just had to taste good and turn a profit.
“So you need cooks or what?”
They did. They’d been planning on hiring two full-timers and a couple of preps, in addition to two or three waitstaff, but hadn’t had a chance to start the search, what with all the drama that had been afoot, partly courtesy of the man currently holding Casey’s eye contact from across the table.
“We will. And maybe you’re the man for the job. But I got other things to consider here. Like, why Benji’s? Why not the diner?”
“They’re staffed. So’s the truck stop by the off-ramp.”
“And it really has nothing to do with the fact that your ex also happens to work here?”
Ware crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaned in, spoke plainly. “I’m not looking to make anybody uncomfortable. I’m not looking to keep an eye on her, or get into her life any deeper than I have to for her to let me see my kid. I just need work, so I can help her take care of that baby, and you’re just about the only place in town that’s hiring. Trust me—you’re not my favorite man in this county. I got no beef with you—you’ve been good to her, and to the baby, far as I can tell. But I still don’t like you.”
“I’ll live.”
“I was hoping it’d be your fancy-pants partner who’d be here when I came knocking, trust me. But I need money, and I need a job. An honest one. If you paid me a fair wage, I’d work hard until I could find something else. All I want is an application. If Abilene’s okay with it, and your partner’s okay with it, and you’re okay with it, great. If not, no big deal.”
“That’s a lot of ifs.” But the guy was being undeniably rational, and calm and civil, and motherfucking humble to boot, and Casey couldn’t say the idea was terrible. Abilene could use the child support, no doubt, and a fair-minded biological father in Mercy’s life. Treat him decent, he might be more inclined to do the same for the girls.
Plus that keeping-an-eye-on-people shit—that went both ways, didn’t it? The enemy you know, and all that.
“I’ll talk to Abilene,” Casey said, “and if she’s okay with it, I’ll talk to my partner. And if he’s okay with it, you and me will talk again. Why don’t you give me your number?” Casey took out his phone and saved the digits Ware gave him.
“Thanks,” the guy said, a touch gruff. Not rude, but a little annoyed. And understandably. Who wanted to come asking after a job from a man he’d only just last week nearly gotten into a fistfight with? Plus, depending on how much Abilene had shared about her current situation, he might already know, or could guess, that she and Casey were sleeping together. That lowered his own hackles some, and he felt a little bad for the guy. After all, Casey knew exactly what Ware was missing out on. A great woman and a great child. At the moment, he was closer to both of them than Ware had been allowed.