Chapter 2

Jep's leather jacket rasped as he climbed from his motorcycle. He slid his helmet off and hooked it under his arm as he looked up at the workshop. The sad, drooping roof at the front, along with the small rotting sheds to either side, made it look like a frowning monkey. Not good if he was going to grow his business. And that wasn't the only thing. His lack of motivation and the guys he had working for him made for dreary prospects. He was beginning to wonder if this project had been a mistake from the beginning. Then he remembered he hadn't had much in the way of options. Maybe today was a good one to have off.

He held his helmet in both hands, about to put it back on and drive away, when a monstrous crash came from inside.

"Oh, for crying out loud." He looked up at the sky. "I can't leave them alone for five minutes?" he asked of heaven, not expecting a response. "That's great. I've gone from stopping terrorists to babysitting. I must be the luckiest guy in the world."

At the sound of another crash, he set his helmet on the seat of the motorcycle before running inside.

At the back of the workshop, Jep found exactly what he expected. Two men fighting for probably no good reason.

"Hey!" he yelled as rushed between them, accidentally intercepting a punch that was meant for the other guy.

"Boss!" the guy who'd hit him yelled as Jep ducked away with his hand clutching his face.

"Look what you did, Moses," the second one yelled as they both went to check on him, hovering until Jep roared, throwing his arms up and pushing them both away.

"That's enough," he said, prodding his cheek bone.

"It was an accident," Moses said. He was a big guy, but clumsy and awkward, and he had the biggest, darkest eyes Jep had ever seen. "But Slate?—"

"Save it." Jep righted a shelving unit that had been tipped back against the wall. "What I don't need are excuses."

"What can we do to make it right?" Slate said, picking up the bottles and tools that had fallen on the floor. He was tall, but not as tall as Moses, and gangly. A wild mane of reddish-blonde hair sat heavier on one side than the other, and the same color stubble flecked across his cheeks and chin.

"How about you two stop wrecking my shop every time you have a disagreement?" Jep said. "Or is that too hard?"

"Why don't you tell him what you said, Slate," Moses said, squaring up to him again.

"Whoa." Jep put a hand on Moses's broad chest. At six-foot-six, he made Jep's six-two look short. But Moses got overemotional in a fight, which added to his clumsiness. It was the reason Jep had easily taken him down when they'd first met. But it was that emotion that drew him to Moses. He had a big heart. He just didn't know how to manage it.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Slate said. "You were leaving streaks. I'm not the one who's terrible at my job."

"Oh-ho, you're the big man now with the boss standing between us," Moses said.

"Hey," Jep said. "I said enough. Slate, are you talking about that blue Escort?"

"Yeah," Slate said. "He's making a mess."

"No kidding," Jep said. "That's the point. You guys are learning. All of you. That's why you're here, isn't it?" He looked at both the men. "Isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

"But that doesn't include wasting your paint because he's not paying enough attention," Slate mumbled.

"You let me worry about that."

"I wasn't wasting anything," Moses sulked. "And I'm sorry I hit you, Boss."

"I'm not worried about the paint or the punch. The whole point of you being here is to give you room to make mistakes so that, when you have a real customer, you do it right. And Slate, don't make me bring up your work ethic when you first started here. I almost kicked you out, remember?"

Moses snickered until Jep gave him a look. "Sorry, Boss."

"Maybe you two need to call it a day."

"No, we're cool," Slate said. "We're cool, right Moses?"

Moses stared him down. "I'm cool with Jep, not with you."

"You could try apologizing," Jep said to Slate.

Slate started fidgeting, and Moses waved a hand at him. "You know what? Forget it. I'm outta here. Jep, thank you for everything you've done. But I don't have to put up with this."

"Moses, wait," Jep said. But he didn't. "Moses." Jep caught up with him at the door and followed him out. "You're not really leaving."

"I can't stand that guy. You want me to stay? Get rid of him."

"I'm not getting rid of Slate. Take tonight to think about it. You won't find another opportunity like this, and you know it."

"Maybe it was a mistake to take you up on your offer in the first place."

"It wasn't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know what your other options were. You really want to go back to jail?" When Moses didn't look convinced, Jep added, "You can't tell me that the guys you run with out there are easier to deal with than Slate."

"Some of them are."

"Anywhere you go, you'll meet people who are difficult. The best thing you can do is learn to deal with it without flying off the handle. Why do you think I put you on with Slate in the first place? I knew you guys would butt heads."

"You did that on purpose?"

"In life, you need to learn to work with whatever circumstances you're faced with."

"I can't work with someone who doesn't respect me."

"Of course you can. People do it all the time." He put a hand on Moses and leaned into him. "And Slate's not giving you a hard time because he disrespects you, you know. He's always afraid that the new guy is going to replace him. He grew up in and out of foster care, like you. Now he's waiting to be booted out of here. It's the first place where he's felt at home in his life. You just have to give him time."

Jep had had his own confrontations with Slate over the last year. He was way too cocky for his own good, but they had made progress. That didn't make Jep want to give up on the whole show any less. If only life had presented him with a better offer.

"Time? You want me to give him time? His problem will not be solved with time. You want me back, you get rid of him."

"You know I won't do that. You all deserve a chance."

"Not even over that fight? You want me to tell you what he really said? The exact words?"

"I don't need you to. I know him better than you do. But you're telling me you can handle a fist to the face but not some rude words?"

"I don't like him."

"I don't always like him either. Or you, for that matter. But I'd like you both to stay. Work through your trouble. It will be worth it in the end. I don't want to lose you over a few words."

Moses tsked, then shook his head, his dark eyes brightening a little. "Fine. I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking."

Moses waved dismissively as he trudged to his car, an old beat up Honda Accord that Jep had salvaged for him so he could get to work.

The alternator belt shrieked as Moses turned the engine over. Jep had forgotten to show him how to change it. And it was possible he'd never get the chance now.

Moses peeled out of the driveway, spewing blue-tinged smoke that mingled with the tiny stones and dust that kicked into the air as he sped off.

Jep waved uselessly, then walked toward the workshop, testing his face. It was puffy, but it hadn't been the hardest hit he'd ever taken.

Inside, Slate was cleaning up the mess he and Moses had made. He sniffed as Jep passed him. "Good riddance to him," he said, straightening the oil filters.

Jep spun and shoved him against the hood of a car, pinning him there. He wasn't angry, but these guys didn't always listen unless you forced them to.

"That's how you want to handle this?" Jep said, pressing his forearm into Slate's sternum. "I expect better from you. You've been here the longest. You know more than anyone how you need to behave."

"But he?—"

"You think I invite you guys here because you have a right to be here? You're grown men. Working in this place is a privilege. You should be able to sort out your own problems."

"Yes, sir."

He gave him one more shove before he stepped back and shook himself out. "Go home."

"But—"

"That's what you get for treating others worse than you want to be treated."

"Yes, sir."

"And Slate?"

"Yeah?" he mumbled, keeping his focus on the cracked concrete floor. He toed an oil stain.

"I'll see you back here in the morning?"

Slate's jaw flexed several times before he responded. "If that's what you want."

"It is. You're not going to get rid of me that easy. You got it? Besides, someone needs to clean up the rest of this mess, and it won't be me."

Slate nodded. "Then I'll see you in the morning." He trudged to the door, his shoulders slumped.

Jep ran his hand through his hair and looked around him. Was this what the rest of his life would look like? He wasn't sure he would last.

He went to his office, a temporary walled-off area with a large flimsy window so he could see into the workshop.

He sat down at a bench he'd repurposed from a sawmill that he used as a desk and pulled his Bible out of the top drawer of a filing cabinet.

After flipping it open to where he'd been reading in Genesis, he knotted his fingers into his hair and glared at the verses he'd read the day before in chapter forty.

Please remember me and do me a favor when things go well for you. Mention me to Pharaoh, so he might let me out of this place. For I was kidnapped from my homeland, the land of the Hebrews, and now I'm here in prison, but I did nothing to deserve it.

Jep stared out the window but didn't see anything. He hadn't chosen this life. All he was doing was making the best of a bad situation. If his methods had been accepted at his old job, he'd still be saving the country, one terrorist at a time. But it had been about more than that. Richard Lawson, the assistant director, had never liked him. Jep had always been seen as an outcast. He'd even hear some of them make derogatory comments about his birth. Apparently, having a prostitute for a mom made you unfit to be a federal agent. They couldn't all be from top pedigrees.

But he'd never expected to be ousted. Not that anyone on the team would call it that. If he'd tried to stay, though, it would have gotten ugly. Maybe Moses was right. Maybe it was better not working in the same place as those who disrespect you. But working here wasn't much better, and after the fight between Slate and Moses, it was hard to see that any good was being done.

He looked back at the open Bible. For a long time, he'd identified with David, conquering giants. Now he felt an awful lot like Joseph being stuck in prison for a crime he didn't commit, and no one knew or cared that he existed.