Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I open the door and find Jim Bob pacing his office, phone to his ear, round face red with frustration. He looks at me, squints his eyes, then points to a chair in front of his massive antique desk.
“I don’t care, Leonard. How many times do I have to state this out loud before you accept the fact that I have stopped giving out fucks about your personal business? Either you have those new programs printed and delivered to the Revival grounds by six a.m. Saturday or I’ll make sure that Revenant gets docked five percent over this bullshit. Are we clear?”
I’m not sure if Leonard is clear or not, but Jim Bob assumes he is because he slams the phone into the cradle on his desk. He sits his considerable ass down in his executive chair, wipes his forehead with a handkerchief, and stares at me. “Are you offended by my profanity?”
“No, sir. I’m not.”
“Good. Because if I have to hear one more asshole in this town chastise me about the f-word, I will lose my shit, Collin Creed. Lose. Mah. Shit.”
I try my best not to smile, but it’s not good enough.
He laughs too. “Should I assume you’re here for your schedule?”
“Well—”
He points at me. “Don’t you dare. Don’t even say it.”
“Jim Bob, here’s the thing—”
“I just said don’t say it!”
“Amon was speaking out of turn when he volunteered us for security.”
Jim Bob leans back in his chair, making it creak from his considerable weight. He’s a huge man. Not really fat, either. Just massive, like the desk in front of him. Easily six foot three, probably pushing two-fifty, he’s a giant among mortals. And he is as sly as the summer day is long. He tries out some of his slyness on me now. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I squint my eyes at him a little. “Is that so?”
“That is so. You’re thinking… Well, I’ve been missing for a dozen years and even though I’m back, I’m not back because I bought a place outside city limits.”
“Well, that would be accurate, Jim Bob.”
“In outside-world terms, it would be. But we don’t live like outside men, Collin Creed. We live like inside men. And I don’t care if you’re shufflin’ through the sand in Saudi Arabia, or crawling through sewer muck in Prague, or standin’ out front of the Nigerian Embassy for weeks at a time—”
“How the hell—”
“I just don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing. Because you’re home now and there is a place for you here. There is always a place for you here. Now. Where did I put that contract?” He shuffles through some papers on his desk as I continue to wonder how the hell he knew where I’ve been all these years.
It’s very secret shit.
“Did Amon tell you all that?”
“Here it is.” Jim Bob holds up a folder and looks up at me. “No, Collin. Amon did not tell me all that. I’ve been keepin’ track of you since the day you left, son. You are part of the Revival, whether you like it or not.”
“Well, that’s not creepy.”
“Call it whatever you want. Your daddy did a number on us.”
I laugh and put up a hand. “If you’re gonna say what I think you’re gonna say, you can just forget it.”
“There will be no forgettin’, Collin.” And he says these few words with weight, making them heavy. “It’s too late for you to do anything but security this year, but you know where your place is, son. It’s behind that pulpit.” He flops the folder down on his desk before I can object, then opens it up and slides out a contract. “Amon already signed, but I’m gonna need your name right there on that line.” He taps a blank line at the bottom of the contract.
I slide the piece of paper out from under his fingertip and pick it up, scanning the details. My eyebrows furrow together in confusion. Then I look at him. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s a contract.”
“It says you’re gonna pay me a million dollars a year, Jim Bob.”
“Indeed it does.”
“Why would you do that?”
He smiles and once again leans back in his creaky chair. “Collin, nothin’ is ever what it seems. Not around here, not around anywhere. The world doesn’t run on percentages and contracts. It runs on negotiation. And the town of Disciple is negotiating a lifelong contract with you to stick around.”
I just stare at him for a moment. “How many people have a contract like this?”
“All the ones we can’t afford to lose.”
“Which would be?”
“Myself—”
“Of course.”
“—Ester—this place would fall apart without Ester—Joseph, Ruth, Tommy, Abel, and Grimm, of course.”
The town clerk. A quarryman. A jewelry maker. A diesel mechanic. The Chief of Police. A real estate agent. “What the fuck is going on around here?”