on the job. “Do you have a parole or probation officer you report to?” Paul asked.
“I do,” he said. “Parole. I was released early, if that matters.”
“How long have you been out?”
“Not long. Six weeks. I checked in with the family and relocated.”
“Why here?” Paul wondered aloud.
“Because Virgin River is known for discouraging marijuana growing.”
“Well, Dan, my business isn’t limited to Virgin River. There’s lots of work around these mountains and I’m willing to take any good bid if I have the crews to cover it. There could be a job in a place that caters to illegal growing, like Clear River. That going to be a problem for you? Or for me?”
Dan grinned. “Old acquaintances of mine aren’t likely to be doing honest work. I think it’ll be all right.” Then he shook his head. “One of ’em might order up a big house, however. I just hope not.”
Paul laughed in spite of himself. He wasn’t going to be doing business in cash. If that ever came up, they’d have to use a bank, and growers didn’t like banks. “Then the next step is your application. I’d like to see what you’ve done in construction, then we’ll talk.”
“Thank you, Mr. Haggerty. Thank you very much.”
Paul got him an application, gave him a pen and clipboard. Dan sat on the steps to the trailer and filled it out. A half hour later he handed it to Paul who scanned it.
“You’ve had a lot of construction experience,” he said, surprised. He looked up. “Marine Corps?”
“Yes, sir. I started working construction at eighteen, Marine Corps at twenty-five.”
“The Corps came kind of late for you. A lot of us went in younger…”
“I thought about it for a long time first. And the military benefits seemed worth the time. Not a lot of benefits in the construction trade.”
“I offer medical benefits for full-time crew,” Paul said.
“That’s no longer a priority,” he said.
“You have an address in Sebastapol.”
“That’s my folks’ place—my permanent address. I haven’t found anything around here yet, but I have the camper shell, so I’m good while I look.”
“You’re a framer, too. I need framers.”
“I could probably do it, but I have an unsteady leg. Since Iraq. I do a lot of other things that don’t go fifteen feet off the ground and that would probably keep your workman’s comp manageable.”
Paul pondered the application for a good two minutes. The guy looked real good on paper. He’d been a felon, but then again, Paul had fought wildfire as a volunteer beside incarcerated felons recruited for that purpose. “What are the chances of getting a letter of recommendation?”
“Slim. But the sheriff’s department might be willing to confirm that I was a cooperative suspect. I guess my parole officer might step up. I could ask, but you know that won’t guarantee I’d be a good employee.”
“How bad you want a job?” Paul asked without looking up.
“Bad.”
“Bad enough to take a urine test every now and then?”
Dan Brady laughed. “Sure. But I can make that easy on you. I can sign a release to give you access to the parole officer’s random urine test, then you don’t have to pay for a lab. I don’t do drugs. Never did.”
“Then why?” Paul asked, mystified.
“Money,” he said with a shrug. “It was for the money.”
“Do you regret it?” Paul asked.
Dan Brady paused a long moment before he said, “I have a list of regrets about a hundred miles long. That would fall in there somewhere. At the time, I needed the money. Times were hard.”
“Are times still hard?” Paul asked.
“Those times are past. Oh, I still need money, but it’s all different now. Prison changed a lot of things, believe me.”
“Says here you do just about everything—drywall, texturing, painting, plumbing, wiring, counters, roofing—”
“Roofing—there’s that high-up thing again. Sorry, you have to know the truth, my unsteady leg can take me by surprise. I’ll do anything, but you should have the truth about that for both our sakes. One, I don’t want a broken back, and two, you don’t want an injured jobber on your insurance.”
“When was the last time you took a fall from that leg?”
“Well,” Dan said, scratching his chin, “a couple of years ago, I fell in my mother’s upstairs bathroom, and that wasn’t even high beams. I didn’t hurt myself much, but one minute I was standing up, the next I was on my ass. Like I said, I could get up there on the roof, if that’s the price of getting the job, but I’ve made it a policy to stay close to the ground if at all possible. In case.”
Paul laughed. “How’d you like the Marines?”
“The truth? I think I was a decent Marine, but I didn’t love it. I got mostly shit assignments. I went to Iraq right off the bat, when things were as bad as they could get. When I was discharged, it was one of the happiest days of my life.”
“I did my four and joined the reserves and went back to Iraq a second time. One of us was smarter. I vote for you. But that felony thing—”
“I understand….”
“What if I give you a shot? Think I’ll regret it?”
“Nope. I’m good in construction. Before I started doing it for a living, I helped my dad build our house. And I’ll pee in a cup for you. I don’t steal or get in fights. But if I were you, I’d keep me close to the ground. I’ll get a lot more done.”
Paul smiled and put out his hand. “Well, what the hell, Dan. You paid your debt. But I am going to check in with the parole officer, just to get another read on you.”
Dan put out a hand. “Knock yourself out there, sir. He thinks I have potential.”
“Then we’re off to an excellent start. If you have any talent, you’re coming on at a good time. This company is young and growing.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”
Dan Brady worked the rest of the week for Haggerty Construction. He was moved around so Paul could see his work. He did some drywall and texturing, hung a couple of big, carved front doors with leaded-glass windows, spackled, fitted countertop, even helped with some wiring. “Do you do everything in construction?” Paul finally asked.
“Just about,” Dan answered with a
