Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

“For the pollution,” he says, taping a disposable hospital mask over the holes of the breathing gap.

While I dig into my salad, he loads a baby bag with diapers, wet wipes, a bottle of expressed milk in an insulation tube, a rattle, and a burb cloth. Lastly, he adds a variety of pacifiers, probably all the models on the market. I don’t know why he still bothers, because Connor always refuses them. By the time he’s ready, Rhett walks in with the vacuum cleaner.

Rhett drops the vacuum and stalks to the stroller. “He’s not covered enough.” He takes his mobile phone from his pocket and checks the weather. “It’s only twenty degrees with fifteen kilometers of wind.” He starts unfastening the plastic cover. “Put another blanket and a beanie.”

“He’ll be too hot under the plastic,” Quincy protests.

“Ho–hot,” Charlie says.

“He’ll get sick with the wind coming through the gaps. I told you we should’ve taken the Chicco model. The plastic fitted all the way to the footrest.”

“But that one had four wheels, and my research stated clearly that three wheels are easier to manipulate. Don’t forget that Maclaren is better on the baby’s back.”

“The frame can’t fit a carrycot or car seat like the Chicco.”

“Guys,” I get up and round my desk, “Connor is happy. Look at him.”

They both look down into the face of innocence. Connor is sleeping, his little chest moving with strong, steady breaths. With that angelic face you’d never think he could lift the roof with clenched fists and angry bawling when his food doesn’t come fast enough.

You’re so much like your daddy.

Rhett slams a hand on his forehead. “Dickhead, Quincy. You haven’t changed him before he fell asleep, and now he’ll get diaper rash.”

“You think?” Quincy shoots me a worried look.

“He’ll be fine.” I push Quincy toward the door. “Bring him back if he starts crying, and be safe.”

If it weren’t Quincy, I would’ve objected to taking my baby for a walk to the park opposite the street. It’s much too dangerous to walk outside, even in broad daylight, but Quincy is not the average man, plus he’s armed with three guns, a couple of knives, and Bruno.

The minute they’re gone, Rhett starts vacuuming with the speed of superman while I go back to the books, pouring over balance statements.

He nudges my feet with the vacuum pipe. “Lift.”

I cross my ankles on the desk, waiting for him to finish. The gun he always carries in the back of his waistband shows as the hem of his sweater shifts up with his movements.

When he switches off the machine, I say, “I’d like to start training again.” Even if Gabriel cleaned up the business, it still remains risky because of the old stigma. People may hold vendettas. Besides, the city will always be dangerous.

He props his hands on his hips. “I agree.”

His easy agreement surprises me. I expected him to argue, but the fact that he doesn’t, tells me how volatile and vulnerable my situation is.

“What does Dr. Engelbrecht say?” he asks. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Tonight.” He seals the deal with a nod. “I’m going to check on Quincy.” He pulls the gun from his waistband and leaves it on my desk. “Lock the door behind me.”

I haven’t been to Berea since the day Jerry gave me a stolen car, but it doesn’t mean Berea won’t come to me.

I have an hourly interview with the five candidates for the CFO position I got from Michael’s contact at the business school. Rhett is rocking Connor, and Quincy is playing darts with Charlie in my office. Not the most professional image, but both men refused to budge for the interviews.

The first man is in his fifties. He lost his job when the company he worked for folded, and at his age, especially with the high unemployment rate and affirmative action law, it will be tough for him to find another job. As he has a family to feed, my terms don’t work for him, so we move on to number two.

A young graduate, I take an immediate like to his enthusiasm. He’s not overly keen on working for a minimal wage with the long-term, uncertain promise of risky profit shares, but before he can make up his mind, Rhett shakes his head.

“Uh-uh. He won’t do.”

I turn in my chair. “Excuse me?”

“He’s a no go.” Rhett takes a threatening stance, which has the guy opposite me cower.

“Can you please give us a second?” I direct the young man to the entrance and close the door. “What are you doing, Rhett?”

“He was checking out your boobs.”

“What?”

“He looked at you in that way.”

“I agree,” Quincy chirps in. “He won’t do.”

“Jeez, guys, give me a break. I’m trying to employ someone for the lowest of salaries to help us make big money.”

They both give me their obstinate stares.