Page 19 of Iron Heart

“Well,” I say when I’m back upstairs. “I’m surprised you haven’t had this problem before. Your appliances are pulling too much current. It’s gonna keep happening unless you get it fixed.”

The shadow of a frown passes across her face. I’ve seen that look on other clients’ faces. It’s the one that says,You’re about to gouge me, aren’t you?Suspicion is something I deal with a lot. Probably because I look the way I do. At least, that’s gotta be part of it. Large, tattooed guys in leather cuts aren’t generally trusted by the public at large.

Enough people in town know me that I get jobs by word of mouth, which helps with that. But this chick doesn’t know me at all.

“What’s the fix?” she asks me, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, first thing you need to do is replace that fuse box with circuit breakers,” I explain. “They’re safer, and easier on you, because when the circuit overloads the switch just flips. No need to replace the fuse every time. But like I said, the circuits are gonna keep blowing unless you fix the problem. So you need to rewire the problem areas. The places where you’ve got appliances that draw more power.” I pause. “You got anything but bedrooms upstairs?”

“And one bathroom,” she offers.

I nod. “Okay. So, you probably don’t need any rewiring to the second floor. Here’s what I’ll do. I put in a circuit box. Then I run some new circuits up to the existing outlets where you need them.” I gesture around the room. “There, where the toaster’s plugged in. The fridge. The dishwasher, over there. The microwave. I’ll run some Romex. Fifteen amps for the regular outlets, twenty for the appliances.”

She sucks her lower lip between her teeth. “How much would that cost?”

I give her a figure. “I only do this part time, so I’d come in, say, a few hours a day. Two-three days a week or so for a couple weeks. I’ll get your fridge up and running as a first priority, and then go from there.”

She looks at me for a few seconds, considering. “I guess that sounds okay…” she murmurs. “Only, I feel like I should get a second opinion. Another quote, or something.”

I snort. “You can. But I’ll tell you right now, you ain’t gonna get anyone out here for less. And if you do decide to go with someone else, make sure to run the name by me. Or hell, run it by Cyndi. This town’s small enough, people get reputations that precede them. There’s not a lot of guys in Ironwood that do electrical work. A couple of them are good, but there’s a few who’ll take you for a ride if they smell an opportunity.”

I mean that. I’m not tryin’ to snow her.

I may be a thief and a criminal in my MC life. I’m no saint, that’s for sure.

But that’s not what I’m about here.

I actually learned to do electrical work during a stint in county. Yep, prison gave me my legit job. At least it was good for something — my version of college, I guess. Once I got out, an old neighbor of ours who used to have a crush on my ma took me on as an apprentice, and then helped me out with starting up my own business when he decided to retire.

Even after I joined the MC, and started making money that way, I kept doing electrical work. I make good money, but that’s not why I do it. I do this work because it’s something I can do by myself. I don’t have to talk to anyone. My terms, my decisions. Just me keeping a dangerous thing under control.

When electricity was first invented, a lot of people thought it was some sort of magic. A miracle. Hell, that might be what people still think, a lot of the time. It’s dangerous, and awe-inspiring, simple but complex. Like taming a dragon or something. I like understanding it.

I like that there’s one area in my life where I fix things, instead of breaking them.

The chick is still looking at me. We’ve been standing there in silence for almost ten seconds. Finally, she gives a little nod.

“When can you start?”

“Tomorrow. Like I said.”

“Okay.”

And that’s that.

“I’ll write you up a quote,” I say, when we’ve decided on a time for me to show up. “I’ll bring it with me tomorrow.” Then something occurs to me. “You got a name?”

The ghost of a grin plays across her lips. “Tori,” she says. “Tori Lowe.”

“Tori,” I repeat. “That short for something?”

“Victoria.”

“Huh. Nice name.” I look around. “It kinda goes with the house.”

Her hint of a grin grows wider. “Are you saying I have an old lady name?”

“Maybe a little bit,” I concede. “I’m Dante.”