Six
What a Way to Make a Living

"And that's pretty much it when it comes to the ordering process," concluded the geeky young man in front of Eloisa.

She plastered a smile on her face, the same vapid one she had been giving him all morning.

"Great, thanks, Lyle."

He beamed. "No problem. Now, if you just want to follow me this way, I'll show you the fryers and we can go through the…"

She followed him, zombie-like, from the registers into the kitchen area and tried to pay attention as he pointed out various things. She stifled a yawn, nodding absentmindedly at his long-winded and overeager explanations.

It had all started with the sheets.

In a fury, she had stripped her bed and thrown everything in the washer before moving on to the dishes. In between she sat on the back porch and chain-smoked. When she finally cleaned to the point of exhaustion, she took the hottest shower she could handle. After scouring her body until her skin was red and raw, she had fallen into a restless sleep on the couch. She woke up at 4 am and stared at the ceiling until her alarm upstairs went off an hour later.

She was early when she pulled into the Los Pollos Hermanos parking lot. Only one other car sat in the orange sherbet haze of the morning. It belonged to the owner, Gustavo Fring, who was impressed to see her there. In his office, he gave her a brief history of the business before they spoke at length about his expectations of her. She asked a few questions before he'd apologized, there was a meeting to attend, and left her with assurances that she would be in good hands with Lyle.

They finished their tour of the kitchens bringing them back to the employee break room. She was glad that it was painted and decorated in neutral tones, the only place other than the shared administrative office she would be working in, and Mr. Fring's office, that wasn't splattered in the bright yellows, reds, and blues the company was known for.

"So," Lyle began, popping a DVD into the player beneath the boxy TV. "What did you do before you worked here?"

"Same thing, but at Garduños."

"Wow!" he exclaimed. He sat down next to her and plucked the remote from the circular table. "Why did you make the move? If you don't mind me asking."

She did, but she was too tired to think of a nice way to say so.

"I just needed a change, you know?"

It was more or less true without having to mention all the gossip and rumors that followed her through every shift until Angela found this job for her. It had been freeing when she put in her two weeks.

He nodded. "Yeah, I get that. So, these are the training videos. I know it seems excessive since you'll just be doing accounting- sorry, not that you'll just be doing accounting, but uhm…"

"It's okay," Eloisa reassured. "It's a little overkill."

Relief flooded his face. "It's an equality thing if you think about it. That's just Mr. Fring's way. He wants everyone to understand as much of the business as possible."

"Right. How long have you been here?"

"Oh, since high school. I worked my way up to Assistant Manager. I started taking night classes at CNM so I can get my business degree. Mr. Fring's really been encouraging about that…"

She nodded, wondering if everyone else was this enamored with their boss. Her impression had been that he was restrained, even a little uptight. Other than that, he was a big question mark. Admittedly, though, everyone seemed happy, or at least not as unhappy as a lot of fast-food employees.

"… let's get these videos started."

They settled back in their chairs and Lyle pressed play.

"Well," she said, looking at her watch as though she hadn't been checking it every five minutes for the last two hours. "This seems like a good place to break for lunch, no?"

Lyle glanced at the clock hanging about the sink. "Oh, yeah, wow! The time sure flies, doesn't it?"

"Mhm," she agreed, getting out of the chair, and edging toward the refrigerator. More than anything she wanted to eat her leftovers in peace and maybe take a nap in her car. "Thank you so much for sharing all of your… wisdom this morning." Feeling that might have been too insincere, she added, "Really. They're lucky to have you, Lyle."

"Thanks, Eloisa. I think you're going to be a great addition here."

Even though the morning had started on weird footing, she was almost cheerful as she walked into the dining area.

"No, sir, what you're doing is very appreciated by APD…"

Eloisa froze. There was Nate, fully uniformed, walking in with Mr. Fring. His face broke into a grin when he saw her, and he waved. Unthinking, she returned the gesture. Why was he here and why did he seem so friendly with her new boss?

"Ah, Miss Samuels, I trust you're settling in?" Mr. Fring asked.

"Yes," she answered, forcing a warm smile. "You were right about Lyle. He's very knowledgeable."

"Hey, El," Nate said. "Mr. Fring stopped by the station this morning, so I figured I'd pop in and see how your first day was going."

At least that explained why they were together. She forgot how much philanthropic work Fring was known for in the community. He was very close with the police and fire departments.

"Thought we could have lunch or something?"

"Sure. I was just about to eat anyway." She held up the Tupperware with last night's dinner. "Unless you need me to stay, sir?"

"No, no, of course not. Officer Osborn, could I offer you lunch on the house?"

"Well…" Nate drew out the word like he was hesitant, but Eloisa knew he would accept. He loved the benefits that came with being a cop. "I'd be a fool to turn it down. Best chicken in Albuquerque."

He gave instructions to the employee at the register and then turned back to them. "Enjoy yourselves."

"Thank you, sir," Eloisa and Nate said in unison. He gave them both a nod and disappeared into the kitchen.

Abandoning hope of a quiet lunch, she waited impatiently as Nate ordered. The service, at least, was quick.

"Why are you here?" she asked, opening the passenger door to his cruiser.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said when they were safely out of hearing distance. "Last night was kind of intense."

"No shit." You don't even know the half of it, she almost said.

He drove them to an overlook by the airport where they had a beautiful view of the city. They rolled down the windows to air out the overpowering smell of fried food, the sweltering afternoon heat fighting against the frigid air conditioning in Nate's car.

"How are you really doing?" he pressed as he jammed fries into his mouth. "You didn't answer any of my messages this morning."

"Shitty, Nate." She reached over and stole a fry from the container. "What do you think?"

They ate for a while, listening to the random bursts of chatter on the scanner before Eloisa threw her fork down and turned to him.

"I'm gonna ask you something and I need you to be straight with me."

He tensed and then began switching off everything in his car. "Okay."

"What do you think they're going to have me doing?"

She had been making herself sick thinking of the possibilities. He rested his elbow on the window and looked out over the landscape.

"Dealing, probably."

It was the answer she had expected, but the less blind she went in, the better.

"Dealing what though? What did I sign myself up for?"

He double-checked to make sure his car radio was off.

"Coke, for sure. Probably Meth too," he said in a low voice.

"Meth?" she repeated in an incredulous whisper. She went over a mental checklist of what she knew about meth which wasn't much except that it was highly addictive. It was a big, scary unknown. "Jesus. And you can't tell me anything else about these guys? Like who the hell they are?"

"They're cartel, out of Mexico, and that's all I know. Seriously," he said when she cut him a look. "They pay me to know nothing, remember?"

She sighed, unable to shake the feeling that she was drowning with no hope of land or rescue in sight. "Right."

"Hey, you know if you ever need something you can call me, right? I know I fucked things up between us, but I mean it. I won't ask questions. I'm just worried about you." She was about to reply, but he turned the scanner back on, effectively ending the conversation. "We should get you back."

When she had still not heard from Nacho toward the end of the week, Eloisa was afraid she was going to lose her mind.

During the day, she could never relax, always unsure if or when he would show up. On Tuesday night, she burnt dinner. Hazel had been unfazed, especially when they ordered pizza. On Wednesday night, she was such a wreck that she jumped any time someone talked to her when her back was turned. The broken glass casualty had been much higher than normal by the end of that particular bar shift. Sleep, which had been elusive in the days since her father's arrest, had almost completely abandoned her.

When she woke up on Thursday, bleary-eyed and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, it was with a determination that if he wasn't going to come to her, she would have to find him.

All she had were two things to go on: his name and that his dad owned an upholstery business. The bit about his dad could have been a lie, but she had a feeling that had been the truth.

Using her work computer to run a search felt wrong, but, she reasoned, it was faster than using a phone book. She printed the information and tucked it into her messenger bag just as the day manager poked her head in to say hello.

On her lunch break, Eloisa smuggled the printed pages into her car and drove to a nearby park. She picked at a sandwich and drank coffee while flipping through, startled by the overwhelming number of entries. It turned out there were a lot of different types of upholstery and a lot of places that offered that service. Remembering Nacho's beautiful car, she guessed automotive. That narrowed her search considerably.

Adopting a gravelly voice and using Spanish (another tidbit she remembered), she called several of them under the guise of inquiring about different options for her car. By the time her break was over, she had narrowed her odds down to two: A-Z and Cibola. The first place was closer to work so she figured she would swing by after her shift and see what happened.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, time moving slower with every second that her eagerness increased. By the time she poked her head into Mr. Fring's office to announce that she was leaving, she was practically vibrating with it. As she drove, a small voice in her head warned her that this was a bad idea. She turned the music up louder to drown it out.

She took off her sunglasses as she stepped into the shop, glad that it wasn't as busy as the parking lot would have led her to believe. From somewhere in the back, she could hear the whir of sewing machines and loud laughter.

"Hola," an older man with both a kind smile and eyes greeted. Manuel, the name stitched on his shirt read. "¿Puedo ayudarte?"

"Perdón por molestarte," she said in a shy tone as she fidgeted with the glasses in her hand, a play directly out of Starr's handbook. "¿Me preguntaba si Ignacio estaba aquí?"

He took in her appearance, a twinkle in his eye as he did so. "¿Eres amiga suyo?"

"Hm…" She smiled shyly. Starr would have been proud. Eloisa just felt silly. "Algo como eso."

"Ah." He held up a finger and winked at her as though he understood. "¡Ignacio!" he called. "¡Tienes visita!"

They didn't have to wait long before he appeared in the doorway. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn't show it. He only regarded her coolly.

"Gracias, Papa. Lo tengo."

Manuel clapped a hand on his son's shoulder and leaned to whisper something that made Nacho smile good-naturedly though it did not reach his eyes.

"Mucho gusto," he said, offering Eloisa a wave.

She returned the gesture. "También."

When they were alone, Nacho came around the counter and took her elbow in one hand, clamping down on her wrist in a vice-like grip with the other. He led her to the front door and pushed it open with his hip, exposing them both to the bright afternoon sunlight. When they were a good distance from the building, hidden behind her car, he released her with a shove.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You-" she began.

It was funny how much braver she had been when she played through these scenarios in her head. However, her imaginary version of Nacho never seemed quite as menacing as the one glaring down at her with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"You said you thought you had a job for me and-"

"And you thought you'd find me? And do what?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "Intimidate me? Because if that was your plan, it's stupid."

"Do I look like I came to intimidate anyone?" she asked, waving a hand to showcase her work clothes. "All I want is to figure out what is going on." When his irritated expression didn't change, she continued. "Look, I know this is stupid, but I didn't know what else to do."

He looked up as though asking God to grant him patience. "You should have waited like I told you to."

"Waited until when?"

Breathing became hard like someone was sitting on her chest. Why? Why had she done this? Had she really thought, even ten minutes ago, that this had been a good idea?

"I'm scared," she admitted, grimacing because it pained her to say it out loud. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I just- I thought that if I found you, and, like, yeah, maybe made you freak a little bit, the same way you did me then I'd feel better. But I don't, okay? I feel like an idiot."

His shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit, but her traitor brain was hyper-aware of his movement and noticed the change. The tightness in her chest eased. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He held out a hand and jostled it impatiently when she didn't react.

"Here."

When she finished typing, she handed it back to him. He slipped it back into his pocket and gave her a dark look.

"Don't do anything like this again. Ever. ¿Comprendes?"

"Yeah, okay," she mumbled.

He looked at her car and disgust crossed his features. It wasn't hard to see why. The beat-up Taurus was on its last legs of life.

"This is your ride?"

"Yes?"

"If you wanna scrap it, let me know. I could probably get you a pretty good deal."

She gave the car an affectionate pat. "I'll pass, thanks."

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asked, and she knew he didn't mean driving her questionable car. "You do understand what you're getting into, right?"

"No." She lowered her voice, checking over her shoulder to confirm no one was there. "But it's not like I just have money lying around that I can just give you so you'll go away. Or I would. In a heartbeat." She met Nacho's gaze. "I don't have a choice."

"Tomorrow night," he said eventually.

She opened her car door and stopped, turning to face him again. It was pressing her luck to ask, but she had to know, and she felt safer with the car door between them.

"Hey, what did he say?"

"What?"

"Your dad- what did he say?"

Nacho stared at her, scratching his eyebrow with a thumb as he contemplated whether to tell her. Eventually, he gave a soft snort.

"He said to be nice to you because you're pretty."

For some reason, the compliment made her eyes sting.

"Oh. That's…" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "He seems nice."

He laughed though there was nothing funny about the situation.

"I told you, you two would get along. How'd you find me?" he asked with what might have been a hint of begrudging respect.

"You gave me a pretty good starting point," she said softly and shrugged one shoulder. "Anyone could have done it."

"Maybe." Nacho squinted against the late afternoon sunlight, studying her. He didn't sound like he believed her. "See you tomorrow, Lou."