The Dead Janitors Club (49 page)

    Soon enough, the phone calls died off altogether and I was done. I still have my crate "just in case" something comes up, but it sits in the backseat of the Red Rocket collecting dust. As a courtesy, my cell phone's voicemail still has the information where police officers who have my business card can find a number for the company's twentyfour-hour-assistance hotline. I'll change it one day, but not just yet.

* * *

My new job pays me eleven dollars an hour. I make less in a month than I used to make in a couple of hours. Sure, it's regular work, but I'm miserable. Day in and day out, I remind myself that it is good, honest work and I should be thankful for that. Do I think about backsliding into some of my old habits? All the time…There are a lot of ways I could make money with the private medical information of Orange County's cultural elite, but I don't. I'm a good guy now, and that thought alone makes me happy.

I just hope it lasts.