EIGHT
Zeus
The barking dogs alert my boss, Thomas, to my presence as they bash their muscled bodies against the wooden gate. I walk up the gravel driveway, hands in my pockets, and cast my eye over the old villa. The security light that snaps on with my movement instantly blinds me.
“Zeus, my man!”
I squint past the white glow to focus on the dark space beyond. Thomas stands on the veranda, the door held open with his solid frame.
“Shut up, would ya?” he hollers at the dogs as I redirect course. “Good mongrels, those two, but fucking noisy.” He laughs as I reach out to offer my greeting.
I clasp my hand in his and give him a slap on the back as he pulls me against his chest. “You sure the missus doesn’t mind me coming over so late?”
Gillies is a small company, run by brothers. Thomas has always maintained that family feel to the crew, often inviting us over to his house for the Christmas function, or sometimes just for a chat when he felt a team member needed a push in the right direction.
“Nah. She’s all good.” He nods toward the hallway. “Come in. Dana’s finishing up in the kitchen, but I’ll get her to grab us a cold one.”
It’s a good part of the reason why I feel so shit walking away from a guy who gave an ex-con a second chance.
“I’m all good, man.” One drink with this guy leads to ten, and before you know it you’re squinting against the sun as you drive the grader, cursing your hangover.
I head down the guts of the house and step into the back room. A beam runs through the middle of the ceiling where the dividing wall would have once been; the old miner’s cottage is of a typical design. The walls are stark white with memorabilia of Thomas’s time with the Hell Hounds tacked in intervals. The bold red and black insignia is hard to miss, much like the tattoo that adorns the back of his neck.
“Dana.” I give his missus a tight nod as she replaces Thomas’s empty beer with a fresh one.
“Hi, Zeus.” She rubs her man’s bald head as she turns to leave.
I’ve only met the woman a handful of times, but it’s clear to see who keeps the misfit in check. She’s a small woman, short in stature, but I could guarantee she’d pack one hell of a mighty punch if needed.
“So.” I clap my hands together as I take a seat on the worn sofa. “I’ve got some news for you.”
“Let me guess,” Thomas says as he reaches for a pack of smokes. “Jackson and Connell stole you?”
“Yeah.” I frown. “How did you know?”
“Ed hasn’t exactly been quiet in his declaration of love for the place. I’ve heard the guys talking.”
Shit. What can I say that doesn’t make me sound like a selfish jerk? “They’ve offered to train me up to drive so I can work toward buying my own truck and dog.”
He nods, rolling his unlit cigarette between his fingers. “Well, Zeus, you’re leaving me in a bit of a predicament.”
“I know.” Fuck, I hate letting people down. “You’ve been good to me. I’m really thankful for what you did.”
He jerks his head toward the bikie shit. “Not like I’m in a place to judge, is it?”
“Nah, you’re not.” I chuckle, well aware his brother being the president of the MC is the only reason he was allowed to walk away from the club.
“I’d love to be able to make you an equivalent offer, but I can’t.”
“I know—”
“I’ll just have to make you one better.” His eyes wrinkle with his wicked smile.
I frown, unsure what he’s up to. “I’m listening.”
“Butch,” he says, talking about his brother. “He’s been given an opportunity to take over a business. We’ve discussed merging it with mine once we’ve cleared the mess out, got it running how it should.”
Take over a business. More like some mug can’t repay his drug debts and the club has decided to recover the money by whatever means possible. “That so?”
“It’s legit.” Thomas waves his lighter my way before sparking the end of his cigarette. “One of the old boys has run it for about thirty years with the intention of handing it off to his kids when he got too old to be at the reins.”
“And?”
“Jonesy’s kid is some IT hotshot in the States now. Has no interest in trucks.”
“Trucks?”
“Yeah. Tippers. The guy had a small fleet: three truck and dogs.” He smirks, knowing he has me interested. “Just like you want to drive.”
“And your brother needs my help, how?” I lean back in the seat, crossing one ankle to the opposite knee. Working with Butch means involvement with the club, and that’s something I’m not interested in.
“He knows a guy who’s looking to sell a digger so he can upgrade. Butch figures if he puts the two together, gets some extra equipment, he can give the trucks work himself by contracting the gear out for drain laying jobs.”
“He wants advice?” I frown.
Thomas points his cigarette my way, ash falling as it wobbles between his thick fingers. “He wants you to manage it.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“He doesn’t know anyone in the game, which is why he trusts me to find someone for him. I know you. I know you work hard.”
I sigh through my nose, pressing my lips together as I think it over. The opportunity is a good one; it chucks me to the top of the food chain without having to work my way there. But the downside is I’d be in cahoots with a known bikie. How am I to know if he intends to use the business for some light laundry?
“I’m not sure, brother. I appreciate you thinking of me, but I have concerns.”
Thomas frowns.
“With all due respect,” I add.
He flicks the ash from his cigarette into a tray on the side table, and then lifts his beer for a pull, all while watching me. “I know my word is all you have to go on”—he sets the bottle down—“but trust me when I say that the business would be legit.” He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Fucking pigs are coming down hard on the club of late, and Butch needs to feed the boys and keep them in the lifestyle they’re accustomed to somehow.”
“Contracts,” I ask. “Does he have any?”
“There’s a few that would transfer to the new owner with the sale. It would be up to Butch to keep them when they roll over, though, which is why he wants a guy who knows what he’s doing.”
“You know my PO would give me shit about this.”
“Like my probation officer doesn’t give me the third degree every time she walks in here.” He gestures to the flags on the wall. “They can bully you all they like, but if your nose is clean—which it will be—you have nothing to worry about.”
He’s doing a good job of trying to convince me, that’s for sure. The distraction would be welcome; a big project to sink my teeth into that’s bound to give me plenty of overtime until it’s off the ground and running. But the connection is one I don’t want. At all. Especially if I intend to change my course in life.
“He realises he’ll lose customers when they hear that he’s behind it, right?”
“Then they’re customers he doesn’t need.”
I roll my lips, thinking a drink might have been a good idea after all. “Look, I’m thankful that you thought of me, but I have personal goals that I want to focus on. To be honest, I’d be out of my depth managing. I might know what I’m doing, but I’ve never run a crew before.” Of course. “Why haven’t you asked Mike?”
“Mike?” He frowns. “Old boy always says he’s happy doing what he is.”
“Only because he doesn’t like the limelight. You know as well as I do he runs a tight ship.” I list the points off on my fingers as I go. “The boys respect him, he’s punctual, respects the equipment, and he gets along great with the other contractors. He’s a natural leader, and maybe given the fact he’s getting on in life he might consider a job with less manual labour involved for a change.”
The corners of Thomas’s mouth turn down, and he nods. “All valid points.”
“Have a yarn to him. Sound him out.” I lift both hands. “I honestly think he’d be the man for your job.”
Thomas nods. He draws the ember down his cigarette, eyeballing me as the stick crackles. “How many weeks you need then?”
“Two, plus a written reference.”
He jerks his chin. “Deal.”
“Thanks, mate.” I rise from the seat. “I’ll let you and the missus get back to your evening.”
“Sure thing.” He stands also, then walking me to the door. “You’ve been a good worker, Zeus. I know you’ve faced your fair share of shit in the past and I suspect your ‘personal’ goals have something to do with that. I wish you luck.”
He holds his hand out between us. I clasp it with mine and pull toward him to pat him on the back, same as he does me. “Thanks, Thomas. We’ll keep in touch, yeah?”
“Of course.”
I wave him off, the dogs going postal at the gate once more, feeling as though this is the turning point in my life. Not my release from prison, not divorcing Jodie, not even buying that house.
Not even Belle.
I walk away from what was possibly a job offer that would set me up for the rest of my days. I walk away from a secure lower-level job that meant a steady income. All so I can do what I really want to do: work toward being my own boss.
I walk away from being Zeus the crim, and toward a clean life earning an honest dollar.
I walk toward being the kind of man that people respect.
Toward Belle.