A rusty trailer and a small spot of land was the best they could get with the twenty grand Celeste wired them from Florida. And with a little work, it looked less like a dump and more like an actual building. The hardest hurdle had been the sign. Made out of scrap boards from a junkyard, McQueen stuck it in the ground beside the road and painted their name in white. It looked like shit, but it was theirs.

Oodie Bros, Inc.

Brick had hatched the idea in prison, forming it slowly with time and calculated thought. It was their shot at a second chance, a better life. After helping Celeste, and meeting Rob, the brothers had agreed it was their calling. With a little adjustment, and a major change in their fatality policy, they could make a good living. Helping people who can't help themselves.

At first, no one knew what the little trailer at the end of Bailey Township Rd meant for their town. No one knew the Oodie brothers. They weren't television famous after all those years in the pen. And their sad little sign did nothing to attract walk-ins.

That's when they'd met Anna May Rollins. Actually, McQueen was the one who found Anna May, the day he saw the bruises on her arms at the grocery store. He didn't call attention to her, or even approach; he merely watched her husband shove her hands away from the shelves and push her when she didn't move fast enough for his liking. Then it was only a matter of getting her name from the checkout clerk and McQueen headed home with a job.

Job #1: Anna May Rollins

Beaten wife

Brick lead as they approached the front door of the Rollins home. He'd cleaned up a little since prison, shaving most of his facial hair and combing hair straight back on his head. McQueen called him a used car salesman, but he liked the idea of looking like an actual businessman. Lincoln kept his head shaved and his beard thick while McQueen's scraggly beard was back to its bushy glory along with his growing hair. It was left to Brick to look approachable if they were ever going to make a living. In a crisp, white t-shirt, Brick rapped on the front door and turned around to face his brothers.

"Remember, take it easy." He warned. His eyes were fixed directly on Lincoln. McQueen snorted.

"Yeah, we know." He snarked. "Don't hurt the poor wife beater." Lincoln bared his teeth in contempt and Brick smacked McQueen's arm.

"I mean it." He hissed. "Just let me talk first, right?"

The door opened with a whine, the rusted hinges swinging wide to reveal Mr. Rollins, in his jeans and stained undershirt.

"What?" He growled, sizing up the three of them on his small porch. "Ya'll sellin' Bibles?"

"Fresh out." McQueen quipped. Brick smacked him in the gut with a quick hand and McQueen hid a small wince.

"We're here to speak to Mrs. Anna May Rollins." He spoke calmly, smiling as pleasantly as he could. He had half a mind to rip the man through the screen door and kick his ass across the front lawn. Mr. Rollins snorted, resting one arm on the frame of the door.

"What the fuck about?"

"Well that's her business." Brick replied. "Not yours."

"She's my wife." Rollins spat. "That makes whatever ya'll have to say my god damn business."

"Mrs. Rollins." Brick called, smiling pleasantly as her figured appeared in the doorway behind her husband. Mr. Rollins turned on her, and Lincoln stepped forward. But Brick spoke quickly, his arm out to hold his brother back.

"Mrs. Rollins, if we could have a word for a minute."

"Get back inside." Mr. Rollins was already pushing her back into the dark of the house. Lincoln opened the front door with a bang, and the man jumped back at the sound, charging at the large man in his doorway. "Get the hell—"

Lincoln pinned him against the open door with a forearm, silently daring the man to continue.

"Ma'am." Brick called into the house. "I promise, just a moment of your time."

Mrs. Rollins slowly walked out of the front door and onto the porch, Lincoln holding her husband back until she was safely outside.

"What do you want?" She whispered nervously, rubbing her arms absentmindedly with her hands. "My husband wants you to leave."

"We're here to help." Brick answered quietly, eyeing the bruises on her biceps. She quickly pulled her t-shirt sleeves down in an attempt to hide the black marks on her skin.

"I don't need help." She muttered, her eyes lowered and hidden from Brick's gaze. With a sigh, Brick looked at McQueen.

"What you reckon?"

"Lincoln could break both his arms." McQueen replied with a grin. The color from Mr. Rollins' face drained, fear finally sinking in.

"What the fuck!" He protested, squirming against Lincoln's arm. "I'll call the goddamn cops."

"Good." Brick spat, moving across the porch into Mr. Rollins' face. "Then we can show 'em the marks on your wife. Maybe they won't mind you losin' the use of your arms for a while." Lincoln grinned, flexing the arm pressed against Mr. Rollins' chest in agreement.

"Jesus." The man whispered. "Y'all fuckin' crazy."

"Nah, we're not crazy." Brick spoke calmly once more. "We just don't take kindly to men who beat on women." He turned to Mrs. Rollins. "And we won't stand by while a good woman is in need." Her eyes glossed with unshed tears and he knew he had reached her. Extending one hand, he held out a palm. "Ma'am."

She took his hand slowly, shaking.

"If you ever need anything, give me a call." He placed a crisp business card in her palm. Then he turned on Mr. Rollins.

"You, sir." He started, clapping his hand on Lincoln's shoulder. His brother released the man and Brick gave a small sigh. "If I ever see or hear of your wife comin' ta harm…"

McQueen made sounds with his mouth, karate chopping his own arms at the elbows in a silly show.

"…we'll be back to visit."

After Mrs. Rollins, word spread. The brothers weren't sure if it was the woman herself telling her story, or if neighbors had gossiped about their visit. But suddenly people knew their faces. People drove slowly by their small trailer, curious eyes followed them when they appeared in town. And it wasn't long before the day came when a truck made the turn at their little sign, bumping up the short path to their shaded trailer. Brick was sitting in lawn chair outside when the dirt had kicked up and the sound of tires on gravel lifted his gaze. A smile unfolded on his lips when he saw it park.

They were in business.