Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [29]
“I’m tired of him sitting around playing video games all the time!” she said. “He ought to be doing something productive!”
“Like you?”
“Don’t start with me, Brady.”
“He’s eight, Ma. Get off his case. It’s almost his bedtime anyway—as if you’d know.”
“You’re gonna stop being smart with me, Brady.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“By the way, you must be in trouble.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Mr. Tatlock called. Wants to see you at the Laundromat right away.”
“I’m not due there till ten.”
“He said now. What’d you do?”
“Tried to burn the place down, what do you think? C’mon, would I do something wrong at the only place I get any money?”
“Just get over there.”
Oldenburg
“I’m proud of you, Thomas,” Grace said, sounding as tired as she looked. “It sounds as if the Lord gave you the words and the courage to say them.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think Paul is happy.”
“Men like Paul are used to getting their own way.”
“Yes, and when they don’t . . .”
“Let’s let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.”
“You think I should let them have the installation service?”
“Of course! You deserve it.”
“You know better than that.”
“Well, I think you do, but even if you don’t, just give the Lord the glory and let the people welcome you.”
He shrugged. “Paul may have lost his enthusiasm for the idea by now.”
“Drop one of his own brainstorms? Somehow I doubt it.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to ask about it,” Thomas said. “If it happens, it happens.”
“Like I said, let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. Now, you know what I’d like to do tonight?”
“Tell me.”
“I’d like to sing.”
Thomas had to smile, despite the tough day and his worry over Rav and his wife. Grace had the sweetest demeanor and a voice to go with it. He could carry a tune, but Grace sang like an angel. “What do you want to sing, ma’am?” he said with a twinkle.
And Grace began softly, “On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross. . . .”
The Laundromat
A short man in his midthirties with dark curls, Tatlock had spoken personally with Brady only twice since the day he hired him. He had spent half a day training Brady and had checked in on him just one other time, when customers complained that Brady was speeding through his cleaning routine and leaving the place a mess. They were right, and Brady had straightened up.
“I’ve been doing better with the dusting and sweeping, sir,” Brady said as they sat across from each other at a small table in the back room. “Hope you’ve noticed.”
“I have, and I appreciate that, son. What I don’t appreciate is that while we have clearly seen an increase in business, I’m making less profit than ever. How do you account for that?”
“Oh . . . well . . . I’m never here during the day, so you couldn’t prove it by me that we have any more or less customers than before.”
“Are you this stupid, Darby? Do you really not suspect that I inventory the wash and dry cycles I sell here every day? You think I don’t keep track of how many boxes of detergent and softener I put in the dispensers each week? This is a low-maintenance but also very low-margin, high-risk business. It’s all about volume.”
“You keep track of the washings and dryings?”
“Of course! The machines have built-in counters. And the boxed goods? That’s easy. I know exactly how many I buy and how much I make on each one. Last month I barely made a profit. There’s only one explanation.”
“You accusing me of something?”
“There’s nobody else here.”
Brady rose quickly, towering over the man.
Tatlock slowly stood. “You’re going to pay me back, Brady.”
“I’m gonna tear you up.”
The man held up a hand and spoke softly. “Before you even try, do you recall my telling you my other business?”
“What do I care?”
“It matters. Do you need me to remind you?”
“You teach kids or something.”
“I teach, all right. I run a karate school. You think I learned that from a book? My glory days are long past, but I could kill you with one hand. Look at my hands. Go on, look.”
They looked meaty enough. Maybe he was telling the truth.
“Shake my hand, son, like you did the