Rattlesnake (9 page)

The basement looked ancient, with rough stone walls. “It’s carved straight out of the hill,” Shane explained. “All of downtown is like this. It used to be part of a mine.”

“Do you ever find gold?” Jimmy asked with a smile.

“Afraid not. But here is where you will find most of the supplies you’ll be needing.” He gestured at shelves filled with extra lamps and the wide variety of things that accumulated in a hotel over a century and a half. The basement also held the furnace and a confusing tangle of pipes and electrical controls. A large workbench, dusty and scattered with nails and bolts and pieces of wire, dominated one corner.

“Those were Uncle Emilio’s tools. Terry usually brings his own—when he bothers to show up—but you can use these. I think they should be enough to handle all the jobs you’ll face.”

“Tools are expensive. You aren’t afraid I’ll steal them?”

Shane looked at him steadily. “Will you?”

“No.”

“Okay, then.”

Slightly bemused, Jimmy shook his head. “Are you always this trusting? I mean, for all you know, I could be a serial killer.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Jimmy should have let it rest, but he couldn’t. “Why, though? Why have you gone out of your way for me?”

“We needed a handyman.”

“Maybe. But I bet you could have found someone local. Someone more reliable than Terry.”

Shane lifted a bulky black telephone off a shelf. It had a rotary dial and was undoubtedly older than Jimmy. Shane peered at it for a moment before replacing it. “Someone local wouldn’t have come as cheap. You’re a bargain. And besides….” He limped closer. Very close, in fact, until he was well within Jimmy’s personal space. He was not as muscular as Jimmy but stood two or three inches taller. At this distance, Jimmy could smell him: coffee and lemony dish soap and something slightly woodsy.

“You’re interesting,” Shane whispered. Then he tipped Jimmy’s chin up for a kiss.

Jimmy was taken by surprise. He hadn’t expected Shane to be so bold, yet here the man was, confidently claiming Jimmy’s mouth. But Jimmy also hadn’t expected the tender way Shane cupped his cheek. Or the heat that spread from their lips to suffuse Jimmy’s entire body, pooling in his groin like molten metal.

“Fuck,” Jimmy groaned when Shane stepped back. Jimmy licked his lips, chasing Shane’s flavor.

“That’s not an expectation of the job,” Shane said carefully. “You can tell me to keep my hands to myself and I will.”

“’S not your hands I’m thinking about just now,” Jimmy responded in a thick, raspy voice.

Shane’s answering smile was slow and wicked. “Just so you don’t sue me for sexual harassment.”

“I’ll tell my lawyers to stand down.”

“Good. Then whatever parts of me you’re thinking of right now, you’re gonna have to keep on thinking for a while. I have to get to work. And I bet Belinda’s got a list of chores for you as long as her arm.”

Jimmy took a few deep breaths. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so inflamed—and from nothing but a kiss. God, he’d waited far too long between fucks. He was acting like a horny teenager. “Chores,” he said.

“Yep. I take a dinner break at seven. A short one, and usually just a sandwich or something. Join me then?”

“Sounds good.”

Jimmy would have been glad to follow Shane up the stairs because Shane’s ass was right at his eye level. But that damn blue plaid shirt hung down, obscuring the view, and it was hard to watch Shane’s obvious pain. When they reached the ground floor, Shane looked slightly pale, but he smiled, reached out, and lightly touched Jimmy’s cheek. “See you in a while, Jimmy.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

A
S
IT
turned out, Belinda did have a long list. Far more than Jimmy could get to in a day or even a week. But that was fine; keeping busy was good. Before he could start, though, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Remember, no bothering the guests. Ideally, they should barely notice you. And unless I specifically tell you otherwise, you’re not to enter any of the guest rooms until after the guests have checked out.” Clearly she was less trusting than her nephew. Jimmy couldn’t blame her.

“I understand, ma’am. Are there any other rules I should know about?”

“Noise. Keep it to a minimum, especially after eight at night. And don’t leave messes. I only have two people on my housekeeping staff and they’re busy enough already.”

“I’ll clean up after myself, ma’am.”

She didn’t thaw under his politeness, but she didn’t change her mind and throw him out on his ass either. Jimmy never had problems with bosses or other authority figures as long as their demands weren’t out of line. Over the years he’d endured a good number of bosses who treated him like shit. He had stuck around if he needed the gig badly enough, and if not, he just left.

“I’ll be paying you at the end of every seven days of work,” she said. “Assuming your work is satisfactory.”

That meant he was going to go hungry for a while. He had before. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

Her nod was a dismissal, and he turned to his list.

He fixed a loose towel rod in the shared upstairs shower and tightened hinges on a closet door. He saw that one of the hallway windows had a small crack and made a mental note to mention it to Belinda. One of the guest room toilets was flushing improperly, so he repaired it and then unclogged two drains, unstuck a door handle, and replaced several burned-out lightbulbs.

By six thirty, he hoped he’d crossed off enough of his list to satisfy Belinda. She was busy chatting with some guests, so he didn’t check in with her. Instead, he took a quick shower. He noticed that the water pressure wasn’t great. Part of that could be due to old plumbing and water conservation devices, but he also suspected the showerhead was partially blocked. He’d check on that tomorrow. For now, he shaved, brushed his teeth, and put on a clean T-shirt. “It’s not a
date
,” he muttered to himself as he paced his small room. “Idiot.”

At seven on the dot, he entered the bar. The first thing he saw was Shane talking to the kid with the camera, and an irrational and ridiculous stab of jealousy shot through him. He was so unused to the feeling that he very nearly turned on his heel, marched to his room, grabbed his shit, and took off. But Shane caught sight of him and waved, and Jimmy lost any desire to leave.

The bar wasn’t any more crowded than the previous night. Some of the customers were repeats too. But tonight there was another bartender, a tiny man who looked to be about eighty.

“That’s my great-uncle Sam,” Shane said after he’d hobbled over. “He comes in for a while each weeknight so I can take a break. He helps out on weekends too, or whenever things get busy. He lives just a couple miles away.”

“You have a lot of relatives.”

“I guess. We’ve lived here since Rattlesnake Murray’s days, so we’ve had time to spread our seed.”

Jimmy snorted a laugh. “Is
that
what you do?”

“When the opportunity presents itself. Speaking of which… hungry?”

Shit.

Jimmy’s heart raced as he trailed Shane out of the bar, down the hall, around the corner, and through the entrance of Shane’s apartment. He wasn’t sure what he expected once Shane closed the door, but it certainly wasn’t what he got—which was Shane steering him to the little round table adjacent to the kitchenette. “Sit. I decided I wasn’t in a sandwich mood.” After turning on the oven, he pulled a pair of oblong cardboard boxes from the fridge and placed the contents onto a baking sheet. His body blocked the view of the food even as he stuck it in the oven.

“That’ll take about ten minutes to reheat. Want something to drink? I think I have beer.”

“Just water would be great.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Now and then,” Jimmy said. “Not often. It got me in trouble sometimes when I was younger.”

Shane’s eyes widened slightly. “What kind of trouble?”

“Still no Most Wanted lists. Just stupid shit. Got fired. Got thrown in the drunk tank. Ended up fucking someone and not remembering much about it in the morning.”

“Oh.” For some reason Shane appeared relieved by Jimmy’s response. He filled two glasses with water from the sink and set them on the table before sitting down with a little sigh. Then he looked at Jimmy. “How’d your first day of work go?”

“It wasn’t even a half day, but fine.”

“Aunt Belinda gave you a long list?”

“Yep. Just like you’d warned me.”

Shane nodded. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite spit it out. When he began to chew on his lip, Jimmy took pity on him. “I’ve had some really strange gigs over the years.”

“Oh?”

“In New York I got hired by this firm that did crime scene cleanups. Somebody would get murdered and we’d go in and scrub away the bodily fluids. In Washington, D.C., I spent almost a month as a professional line waiter.”

“A what?”

“Line waiter. Busy rich people hired me to stand in line for them for things like buying tickets.”

Shane laughed. “They did not!”

“Sure they did. It paid well too, and it wasn’t a bad gig as long as the weather was decent. I’d bring a book to read.”

“We don’t have a single line waiter in Rattlesnake,” Shane said. “Although maybe Mae’s could use a few during summer weekends.”

“You should suggest it. One winter I worked a Christmas tree lot. Tougher work than you’d think, because it was cold and I had to help customers tie the trees onto their cars. Plus I had to be cheery and wear a goddamn Santa hat. This couple came in one evening. Newlyweds, I bet. And the husband decided to pick the biggest tree on the lot. It was a huge monster. We had a hell of a time getting it onto his SUV, and the whole time his wife was yelling at him, telling him the tree wouldn’t fit in their living room. But he paid for it and drove off. And then he came back about an hour later with the damned tree dragging behind the truck because he’d had to reattach it by himself and he did a shit-awful job. He wanted his money back. I told him no way. The tree was all torn up. He started screaming at me, saying how he was going to call the cops and have me arrested for fraud or some dumb shit like that.”

Shane had been listening closely. “What did you do?”

“I handed him my Santa hat, wished him a merry Christmas, and walked away.”

“You quit?”

“Yeah. The gig wasn’t worth the hassle.”

“Man.” Shane shook his head in wonder. “I get some problem customers once in a while. People who’ve had too much to drink. Most of ’em I can talk down. The rest, well, the police station’s just a couple of blocks from here. Things were a lot wilder in old George’s day, I bet.”

“True.” Jimmy took a sip of his water.

“What did you want to be, Jimmy? When you were a kid, I mean?”

“Fireman.”

Shane blinked at him. “Really? Why?”

Shit. Why
would
a child want to be a fireman? Jimmy thought fast. “It’s exciting and you get to rescue people. And, uh, ride in the big truck with the sirens and lights.”

“Plus, firemen are hot. Pun intended.” Shane grinned wolfishly.

“How about you? Did you aim to be a bartender when you grew up?”

The smile disappeared. “No. I wanted to be a cowboy. And I was. Until I couldn’t anymore.”

With that cryptic statement, he rose to check on their dinner. Jimmy zoned out a little, once again picturing Shane on horseback. Or better yet, off a horse, wearing nothing but chaps. And a red bandana tied around his neck. Jimmy had always considered his sexual needs simple—vanilla, really. But apparently he had a bit of a cowboy kink.

“What’s funny?” Shane asked from his spot next to the oven, his lips quirked at the corners.

“I was just thinking that there’s no fool like an old fool.”

“Who’s old?”

“Me.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re ancient. What are you? Forty?”

“A few years past that. And it’s not so much the years as the miles.”

“Then I guess I’m a baby ’cause I’ve never been anywhere.” Shane bent awkwardly to pull the baking sheet out of the oven. Whatever he was cooking smelled wonderful. He transferred the food to plates and brought them to the table.

“Calzones,” he announced as he sat. “From Carlotti’s. You can get cheaper pizza from that place by the highway, but Carlotti’s is way better, and their calzones are amazing. And they’re just two blocks from here.”

Jimmy sniffed the fragrant steam. “I thought you said you did a light dinner.”

“I do, most nights. Today’s an exception.” He picked up his knife and fork and cut into the crust, then took a healthy bite.

Jimmy followed suit. Shane was right—the food was delicious. Doughy crust with a crispy surface and spicy, cheesy filling that tasted of good sausage and real tomatoes.

“We lived next to a big tomato field for a few months when I was a kid.” That summer, his mother had a job at the cannery nearby. They were staying in a decrepit, mice-infested mobile home, and his brothers went for illicit swims in the nearby irrigation canal. “As soon as the tomatoes were almost ripe, I snuck into the field at night and stole one. It tasted really good, sweet and firm and still warm from the sun. The next evening I stole a couple. And then I got really bold and went back for a third night, and I ate so many I made myself sick.”

“What did your parents do?”

What would parents do if they realized their little boy was ill from a tomato overdose? “They wanted to call the doctor, and then I knew I’d be busted anyway, so I fessed up. Then they did nothing but make me clean up my own messes. I guess they figured I’d learned my lesson.”

Shane swallowed some calzone and raised his eyebrows. “Did you?”

“Maybe. I never ate that many tomatoes again.”

“But did you steal again?”

Jimmy waited a moment before replying. “Yeah. On occasion. Nothing big. But when I’ve been hungry enough….” He couldn’t say he was proud of many things in his life, but he wasn’t ashamed of many either. The thefts were an exception—every time he’d stolen something, he’d felt a little more degraded.