“You can have some, if you want,” Marco said. “Or if you prefer, there’s a bar down the road. We can stop in for a cold one, if you want to.”
Noah grinned, and carried his purchases to the register. The girl there rang them up quickly, and smiled at him as he swiped his card. A moment later, she handed him his receipt and two bags containing chips, candy bars and a couple of six-packs of root beer.
They got back into the car, and Noah put his purchases into the backseat. “A beer sounds good,” he said, and Marco smiled as he put the car back in gear. A moment later, he parked in front of a little building with a flickering neon sign that read, “Charlie’s.”
“Something I forgot to tell you earlier,” Marco said, “is that not everybody here is in on the secret behind this place. We don’t talk about anything to do with the organization except with people we’re certain are part of it themselves.”
“Yeah,” Noah said, “I got lucky and someone else filled me in on that. It would’ve been nice to have known that a little earlier, but luckily, I didn’t run into a situation where it could blow up in my face.” He grinned and knuckled Marco on the shoulder. “It’s okay, come on,” he said. “I’m ready for a cold beer.”
They walked inside, and Noah felt like he had walked into a typical bar in any town in the country. The lights were dim, the fixtures were old, and the air-conditioning was set way too high. Marco led the way to the bar, and they climbed up on a couple stools. An old man, presumably Charlie, walked over to them and grinned, showing all four of his bottom teeth.
“Evenin’, boys,” he said. “What can I do you for?”
Noah started to speak, but Marco held up a hand to stop him. “Two beers, in the bottle, no glasses,” Marco said.
The old man chuckled, then turned around and pulled two bottles of Budweiser out of the cooler, popped the caps and set them on the bar. “Four fifty,” he said, and Marco threw a five-dollar bill onto the bar.
“Keep the change,” Marco said, and the old fellow chuckled again as he walked away. Marco turned to Noah. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you, it’s always best to stick with bottles, here. The draft stuff seems to be watered down, or maybe it’s just that nasty.”
They clinked their bottles together and each took a sip. Noah grinned. “That’s good,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
Marco eyed him. “How long were you locked up?”
“About three months,” Noah said. “They didn’t waste any time getting me to trial, but our boss lady came and made her pitch before they got around to carrying out my sentence. Since I was just hanging around there, waiting for my chance to be next in line for execution, her offer struck me as a good one.”
Marco nodded. “Yeah, it usually does.” He took a long pull on his bottle. “Although, I have heard that a few people have turned it down. Seems pretty stupid, to me, but then you never know.”
Noah shrugged. “I think it would depend on what the person thought of himself,” he said. “I can see where someone might decide they didn’t deserve a second chance. Of course, that wouldn’t be me, and obviously it wasn’t you, either.”
“Not my problem,” Marco said. “I was just glad I made it through the first few days after I got here.”
Another man walked in and sat down at the bar, only a couple of stools away, so Noah and Marco began to guard what they were saying. They talked about casual things, like Marco’s car, and Marco told Noah about some of the more interesting parts of the town of Kirtland. The conversation sounded like one between a couple of old friends, one of whom was local and entertaining the other on a visit.
They ordered a second beer, this time on Noah. The old bartender took his card and swiped it for him, then passed it back without a word. They continued to sit at the bar while they finished them off, and by then, Noah was ready to go back to his room.
“I guess I got a big day ahead of me, tomorrow,” he said as they got back into the car. “Something about going through intake?”
Marco nodded. “Intake isn’t too bad,” he said. “By the time you get the offer made to you, they already know more about you than you know about yourself, so it’s not like you’ve got to fill out a lot of paperwork, or anything like that. It’s more about them telling you the rules, the basic rules you got to remember and stick to. Then they’ll give you your permanent ID, driver’s license and all that stuff, and put you officially on the payroll.”
“Yeah? And is the pay any good?”
Marco glanced over at Noah, and then burst out laughing. “It’s not bad,” he said. “I’m not sure what your pay grade gets, but I’m making more money each year than I thought I’d ever see in my life. Not trying to brag, but I pull down a little over a hundred thousand a year. That’s not bad for being a leg breaker.”