“You won’t get in trouble?”
“No, I won’t get in trouble.” Train stared at her poker face. “You know that I’m part owner of the factory, right? I might get in trouble for not putting my time in, but I won’t for letting you keep me company.”
“How should I know—”
“Jonas is good. As good as Crash. I’m sure you had me checked out, even though Hammer and Jonas know me from serving with me.”
“Crash does a sucky job. I wouldn’t bet the bank on what he knows.” Her blithe answer had Train shaking his head.
“I didn’t need Crash to tell me you had checked me out. You never asked me about what happened to my father when I told you he killed my family.”
“I didn’t have to ask because I know what I would have done.”
“Then you’re smarter than the detectives who have been trying to make a case against me for years.”
“Smart enough to know that they don’t have a chance of ever pinning his murder on you. What would you have done if he hadn’t escaped the psych ward they were evaluating him in?”
“We’ll never know now, will we?”
“Guess not. So, are we going to stop chit chatting so you can earn more moola? I need a new pair of shoes.”
Train opened the door for her. “I think you have enough shoes. I haven’t seen the same pair on you since I’ve known you.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “You don’t live with all these bitches and not know better than that. A woman never has enough a shoes.”
“Just admit you have a shoe fetish,” Train joked, not missing the workers watching them as they walked through the factory.
“If you’re keeping track of my shoes, I’m not the one with the shoe fetish.”
Train pulled up another stool so she could sit next to him, and once she sat down, she used the heel of her boot to swivel the stool to stare at the work being done around her.
Train sat down, picking up the order he had planned to fill when he came off break.
“So, what do we have to do?”
Train took his attention off the order form to gaze at her interested eyes. “You’re going to help?”
“Why not? I don’t have anything better to do. The shop is closed today. Sex Piston is home with Rocky and Star—they have a virus. Fat Louise and T.A. are at work. And Crazy Bitch is using the day to clean her apartment.”
“You didn’t volunteer to help Crazy Bitch?”
“Hell no. Some of the brothers came over last night. They trashed the place, so she made a couple of them stay to clean up the mess.”
“Her loss is my gain. You want to work, I have plenty to keep you busy.”
Train decided it would be easier for him to fill the orders and for her to box the items for shipping. He searched for a smaller order that needed to be filled, and then found the items required. After showing her how to package them, he started filling another order.
She was quick. Killyama was already done before he could return to his station, setting a toilet kit on top of the table.
“How in the fuck am I supposed to pack that?”
Going to the wall in front of his deck, he slid out a large flat box, showing her how to use the heavy tape on the box flaps to close the bottom.
“Got it.” She placed the toilet kit inside.
“We use popcorn so it won’t slide around in the box.”
“Popcorn?”
“I’ll show you.” He lifted the box, carrying it to a machine that sat a few inches away from his station. Setting the box under the machine, he pressed the button that would let synthetic popcorn fill the box.
“That’s cool.”
“Let’s see how cool you think it is after you’ve done thousands of packages.”
“I’ll pass on that. Next time Rocky or Star are blowing chunks, I might give Sex Piston a day off.”
He saw Jewell walking out of the office and told Killyama, “I’ll be right back.”
By the time he was done listening to what Jewell needed done and switched the office calls to his desk, he found Killyama had completed three orders and was waiting for him to check them before she closed the boxes.
“You’re quick. You ever want to quit hunting fugitives, I’ll hire you.”
“The Last Riders would fire you if that happened.”
Train sat down next to her. “No, they wouldn’t. They would give me a raise.”
“Dude, you steal some of Rider’s bullshit cologne? I know they can’t stand me.”
“No, babe, they can,” Train insisted.
“Ember looks like she needs your help.” He felt the hurt she was masking when she stood up, sending the top of the stool spinning.
Train carried a large box to the mail cart for Ember, and when he came back, Killyama was working on another order. Then he was called away again by someone else. With Jewell gone, he had to troubleshoot any problems the workers had. He was then helping Rider fix the postage machine when Killyama tapped him on the back.
“I’m done with the orders on your desk. You have any more?”
“You’re done with the whole stack?”