I sit outside of The Miller, my car idling, looking across the street at the trees crawling up a short hill. I’m waiting for the paper mill’s whistle to blow, indicating a shift change. It’s almost six, so it should be any second.

The paper mill empties out after a shift change, and most guys come here. The Miller used to be called something else, but they changed it to Miller when they realized that it’s mostly just mill guys coming every day. It’s an unofficial thing, but it’s just what guys do in this town. They work hard, grab a few drinks, and then head home.

I need to find out who bribed Ron the night clerk. There are only so many people in this town that could possibly afford to do something like that, and I figure the Walkers and the Sellers are the prime suspects. That means the guys who work for them just might know who I’m looking for.

It’s probably a long shot, but I might as well try. The whistle blows suddenly, forcing me to sit upright. I kill the truck engine and head inside before the rush starts, posting up at one end of the bar. I order a beer and hunch forward, sipping it and keeping to myself.

The place slowly fills up. Mill guys all look alike, or at least they do to me: worn down, beaten up, eyes sunken in, bodies broken. They all dress in the same work clothes, jeans and dirty shirts, and their fingers are always stained. I have nothing against mill workers, they’re hard-working guys doing a hard job to support their families. No, I have something against the town that forces them all into the mill. There are barely any other opportunities in this place, and if you’re staying, you’re probably working in the paper mill.

I watch as the guys filter in, and about ten minutes after the whistle blew, the place is packed. I sip my drink and try to decide how I’m going to do this.

Before I can make a move, though, one of the guys sitting near me makes eye contact. He’s an older guy, probably in his forties, needs a shave and a haircut, sharp nose, brown eyes, and clearly recognizes me.

“You’re that kid,” he says suddenly.

I look at him. “Depends which one.”

“The one that just got outta prison.”

I shrug. “That’s me.”

“Holy shit. Hey, Alex! Check this out!” He grabs the guy next to him and makes him turn toward me. “This is that kid that was in jail for the murder he didn’t do.”

Alex is about the first guy’s age, though thinner with sharper features. “That right, Mick?”

“That’s right. Tell him.” Mick motions at me.

“I’m him.” I give them a bashful grin. “How about I buy you guys some drinks, huh?”

“Oh, shit, listen to that. The kid wants to buy us drinks,” Mick says, laughing.

“Hell, no, kid. We’ll buy you drinks. Hey, Tara!” Alex waves down the bartender. “Get us a pitcher, whatever beer he’s drinking.”

“You got it.” The bartender walks off and returns a minute later with the beer.

“Thanks, guys,” I say.

“Hell, least we can do,” Alex says. “Five years of your life. And you’re just a fucking kid.”

“How’d it even happen?” Mick asks, shaking his head. “It’s such a damn shame.”

“The fucking cops, that’s how,” Alex says. “Right, man? What’s your name again?”

“Luke,” I say.

“Damn cops,” Alex continues. This sounds like a topic he’s familiar with. “Always busting you for shit you didn’t do.”

“In your case, you usually did it,” Mick says.

Alex ignores him. “That’s what happened to you, kid. Fucking cops needed to blame someone. You got stuck with it.”

“Didn’t people say they saw you?” Mick asks me.

“They did,” I say.

“Damn, fucking shame,” Mick says, shaking his head.

“Cops spooked ‘em,” Alex says.

“Maybe,” I answer.

I let the two of them go off about how much they don’t like the police. I get the sense that both Mick and Alex have had their fair share of run-ins with the law, and from the way they’re drinking, I suspect they usually deserved it. I don’t even touch the pitcher before it’s empty and they order a second one.

“What’re you doing back in town anyway, kid?” Mick asks me. “If I were you, I’d be long gone.”

“This is my home,” I say. “My uncle has a garage here. I’m working there.”

“Got a job, that’s good,” Alex says. “You ever need something else, maybe something at the mill, you come find us.”

Mick grins at me. “We’re here most days.”

“Thanks,” I say, and hesitate. “Actually, there is something.”

“Anything, kid. Damn shame what happened to you,” Alex says, leaning toward me.

“I’m looking for a guy. Might work at the mill.”

Alex and Mick look at each other. Mick looks back at me. “A lot of guys work at the mill,” he says carefully.

“This one owes my uncle some money. Not a lot, not a big deal, but I gotta try and ask him for it. You know? Part of my job.”

They seem to accept that, and Mick softens a bit. “Sure, sure kid. I get you. What’s his name?”

“I don’t have a name. My uncle said he used a fake.”

“Damn,” Mick says. “Dishonest.”

“Bet he’s a cop,” Alex grumbles.

“He’s bald,” I say. “Kinda tall. With a tattoo on his wrist. Darker skin, not black, but like Hispanic or something.”

“Huh,” Mick says. “That sounds like Dominic.”

That comes out so quickly and he instantly looks like he regrets saying it. I raise an eyebrow and glance at Alex, but he avoids looking at me. Suddenly, his drink is really interesting.

“Who’s Dominic?” I ask Mick.

“Uh, ah, forget it,” he says. “I shouldn’t have, you know.”

“Does he work with you guys?” I press.

“He’s just this guy, you know? Hispanic guy. Puerto Rican, I think. Got a sun tattoo on his wrist.”

“What’s he do at the mill?” I ask.

Mick looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Security for Mr. Walker.”

I nod my head, heart pounding. Mick looks like he’s sweating all of a sudden, and Alex wants to get out of there. Just mentioning that name was clearly a mistake. This Dominic guy scares them and he clearly holds some power at the company.

“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate that.”

“Hey, uh, if that’s him, don’t say I said his name? Okay?”

“Sure,” I answer, finishing my beer. I drop some money on the bar. “I’ll forget I was here.”

“Thanks,” Mick says. “And uh, good luck and stuff. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Damn shame,” Alex echoes.

I nod and leave. I don’t want to linger any longer than I have to.

I get into my truck and sit there a second before searching Dominic’s name on Google. I get a hit on the mill’s website, listing him as the director of security, whatever that means. And he seems to match the description.

This would make a lot of sense. Dominic definitely would have the resources to bribe someone if he was doing it on behalf of the Walker family. More than that, he’d be scary enough to get it done, intimidating the witnesses and Ron. If this guy came to me, offering me a bribe to say something or to keep quiet, I just might do it.

Well, probably not, but I would if I were a spineless fuck like Ron.

But why would the Walker family care about this? I’ve had my suspicions, and this goes a long way toward confirming it. The Walkers and the Sellers are involved. They’re the only ones that could possibly be rich enough and connected enough to cover this all up and get it pinned on me.

I don’t know why yet. But I’m going to figure it out. I start my truck and head back home, feeling a slight glimmer of hope for the first time in a while.