Potter Springs by Britta Coleman Page B

guess that Ervin tried much, as far as appearances went.
    “You’ll be wanting to see your office.” Ervin led him down yet another hall, another door. Seated at a small desk, a gray-haired
     woman in a violent polka-dot dress attacked a typewriter with a vengeance.
    “Hi, Letty!” Ervin called above the
rata-tat-tat
as if greeting a long lost friend.
    “Hello.” Letty scowled, her fingers frozen above the keys.
    “This here’s Letty Hodges. Letty, meet Mark Reynolds, our new associate pastor.”
    “Mr. Reynolds.” Letty nodded in greeting and adjusted Coke-bottle glasses farther up her pinched nose.
    “You can call me Mark.” He offered a hand. For the briefest of instances, he thought she’d refuse. But then she grasped it,
     brief and cold, leaving behind the distinctive odor of Ben-Gay.
    “You may call me Ms. Hodges.”
    “Miss Letty’s my best gal Friday,” Ervin said. “Actually, my only gal Friday. Been working here long ’fore I ever showed up.
     Came with the building, I think.”
    For this, Ervin was rewarded with a one-sided sneer, which might have been Letty’s excuse for a smile.
    “She’ll work for both of us till the board sees fit to throw us more money for another assistant. She’s more’n glad to help
     out, though. Aren’t you, Letty?”
    “I’ll do my best.” She shuffled papers on her desk and heaved a great sigh.
    “I won’t add much to your load,” Mark offered. “I’m pretty self-sufficient.”
    “Just make sure you give me notice.” Letty sniffed. “I’ve got plenty to do as it is. And I don’t make coffee.”
    Mark thought a retreat at this point might be his best strategy. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Hodges,” he lied.
    She made no reply, but the typewriter roared back to life.
    Ervin laughed at her rudeness. “See you later, doll!” He yelled to Mark over the noise, “Let’s go see your office!”
    They stopped in front of a putty-colored door with a small sign, JANITOR’S CLOSET . From inside, sounds of a deep bass thumped under a steel guitar. The music drifted out in patterned bursts.
    “Is this … ?”
    “No, no. I just want you to meet Benny. Benny!” Ervin pounded on the door. “Benny, it’s me, Erv. Open up!”
    The knob rattled and a skinny teenager holding a half-eaten bag of Cheetos answered. Benny wore a black T-shirt that read SMOOTH. He wiped his fingers on it, leaving orange streaks like snail trails. Behind him, the closet contained shelves of industrial
     cleaning supplies, a stack of black rubber trash cans, a dusty vacuum and a portable stereo. “Yeah?”
    “Benny, meet Mark Reynolds, our new associate. Mark, this is Benny Ripple, one of our junior custodians.”
    Benny tossed his greasy hair in a gesture of greeting. “Hey.”
    “Hey,” Mark answered in kind. “Cool shirt.”
    A flash of respect crossed Benny’s pockmarked features. “Thanks.”
    The closed door muffled the thumping music again, and Mark and Ervin continued on their way. As they walked, Ervin explained,
     “Benny’s a good kid, but he’s had a hard run. Him working here is … a favor for a friend.”
    Mark nodded.
A favor for a friend.
He remembered James Montclair handing him the number in the hospital and wondered if he was yet another favor from Ervin
     Plumley. At this point, he didn’t care. He needed the job.
    The associate’s office was tucked around the corner from the janitor’s closet. The door had no nameplate, or even a number.
     In fact, nothing suggested it wasn’t a restroom or an extension of Benny’s hangout.
    “Used to be a book room. Storage for the library,” Ervin said. Inside, a teacher’s desk and two plastic chairs completely
     filled the space. Wallpaper, printed with a faux paneling design, peeled away at the corners. On the right hung a city map
     of Potter Springs. An oversize calendar, torn to September, covered the warped wood desk. The only decorations consisted of
     fresh ivy in a daisy pot and a FARMERS FIGHT