Page 6 of Kristoff

He may need a reminder about who I work for—who I represent. Faust is to be respected. No, Faust is to be feared and respected. And I’m the representative he appointed to the village. Empowered, I drape my fingers over my gun belt. That’s something Schunior should understand.

“Where is he?” I barrel in, pushing aside the insolent barkeep to do my duty.

“Who?” he asks, as if he doesn’t understand who I’m looking for.

“You knowexactlywho I’m talking about.” I study the chairs flipped on top of the tables. Has anything changed in the room? Why else would he bring in someone who doesn’t belong in the area? I know this insolent bastard had money in the suitcases he brought with him when he arrived. He has to have hidden a fortune somewhere in the building. I just haven’t found his hiding place. Yet. “The man who came in earlier.” I turn to face him. “The stranger you invited into the village withoutmyauthorization.”

I glance behind the bar to find two large fire extinguishers, cleaning supplies, and a stack of white towels. On the opposite wall, liquor bottles line the shelves. Glasses of several sizes sit in wooden containers, and bottle openers are tied to each end of the counter.

“I didn’t invite anyone,” Kristoff insists. “We run a bar. Customers come in without needing an invitation.”

A cooler sits on the floor next to the ice machine. Could this be a hiding place? I unlatch the lid and pull it open. A quick inspection shows ice and beer bottles but not the money. Damn, these Schuniors.

I pull myself up to full height, squaring my shoulders. “I don’t believe you.” I go around him and head toward the kitchen. From what I’m told, his no-good brother spends a lot of time in the kitchen. Theremustbe some reason for it. What’s he protecting?

Kristoff is at my heels, stretching a hand over my head to push open the door. I stop. He’s so close, he slams a bare foot into the back of my boots. I swing around, giving him a narrow-eyed glare from inches away. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m just getting the door.” He flattens a hand, holding the door fully open. I enter the narrow kitchen.

He has a large, modern stove with a full oven. An oven. Meanwhile I, the overseer appointed by Faust himself, get by with an ancient range with two rusted burners. The narrow refrigerator in the corner is at least twice the size of the one in my residence. A blender, two four-slice toasters, and a set of kitchen knives in a wood block take up the counters, along with an array of ceramic roosters. They even have a kitchen sink with two large sections, while I would have trouble washing dishes in the hand sink in my kitchen area.Hrmph.

Celia, their cook, keeps the place spotless despite the natives swarming in here on a regular basis for the food she prepares. They’re lucky she goes to such lengths, or I wouldn’t let them provide my meals.

If they hadn’t paid so well, I would have thrown them out after they fixed the pigsty left by the previous tenant. I may still do so. But I can’t decide if I should tear the walls apart in search of their hiding spot or keep Celia to run the place for me. I could easily raise prices and make a fortune, unlike these fools who give food away to peasants who can’t pay.Bah!

Ideserve to be regarded well. And I should have a place that smells like citrus and cleansers. Instead, I’m breathing in fumes from the fueling station set next to the building. Why can’t the Faust men make sure to fuel their trucks before they leave the city? Then I wouldn’t have to tolerate the smell of fuel or Mingo, the mechanic who spends the day lazing about without a thought to cleanliness.

Yes, if I ran this place, I would have rich Americans coming to beg for a meeting. Keeping the thought in mind, I turn on a heel and push open the door before Schunior can reach it.

He hurries to keep up with me as I start down the hall.

“Where are you hiding the American?”

“We’re not hiding anyone, Gerald,” he says calmly, making it sound as if I’m the one who isn’t complying.

“Stop lying to me.”

*****

Kristoff

It annoys the hell out of me Gerald can use the pretense of enforcing the law, Faust’s law, to do whatever he wants. Most of the time it borders on harassment; sometimes it hits the mark. What I wouldn’t give to be able to demand he present a warrant.

“Seriously? Do you see anyone?” I swing an arm out to encompass the area we covered. Following the hall, I toss the door to the bathroom open then pull the string to turn on the overhead light. “Empty.” He glances in while I head past him to the storage room. “Empty.” He checks among the cases of beer, bottles, and foodstuff while I flip on the light in my office. Dread rushes down my back like a mudslide. The chair is low enough that the tear is well below the top of my desk. It can only mean it’s holding weight, someone’s body weight.

Gerald takes a step in beside me.

“Empty,” I declare, turning off the light. I walk away, only he’s not following. Stopping, I glance over my shoulder then spin around, as if I’d expected him to be behind me.

He’s still by the office, giving me a narrow-eyed glare. “What are you doing?”

Part of me is asking myself the same question. Whoever’s in there obviously doesn’t want to be seen. Which means Gerald will happily arrest me and confiscate everything we own. Hell, the only reason he hasn’t done it already is because he can’t find where we’ve hidden our money. Otherwise, we might have ended up dead a long time ago.

“What? I’m showing you we don’t have anyone here.” I fold my arms across my chest, cocking my head to one side. “Unless, of course, somebody’s hiding in the two inches of space behind the door.”

His skin tightens around his mouth as he stomps over like a spoiled child. He runs his fingers over his gun handle, trying to intimidate me. “You Schuniors are up to something. I know it.”

I unfold my arms, dropping my hands to the empty loops on my jeans. “Gerald, if you heard my brother and I were talking to a customer, you know the guy didn’t crawl out of the jungle.” I pull back the attitude now that I’ve hooked him enough to draw him away from the office. “He asked about the booze.” I latch onto the story Dante provided, in case Harlan wanders back in the middle of this. “How do we get it? How much we pay.” I shrug. “I told him it was byyourgood graces.” Playing up to his ego has him straightening his back and squaring his narrow shoulders. “I’m not going to risk my livelihood. I’d rather you make a couple of bucks if that’s what it comes down to.”

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