Five Steps | Chaelisa

Chapter 11

Lisa's POV

I hop off the bus to find that I have... officially discovered the creepiest place in Pittsburgh.

A ginormous, run-down storage facility sits in front of me, with enough rust and broken windows to convince me that no one should actually think their belongings are safe here.

It looks abandoned.

Tumbleweeds of old plastic bottles and snack wrappers roll across the empty parking lot, graffiti lines the garage doors, and an out-of-service train track runs parallel to the building, with overgrown grass and brush covering the metal rails.

Is it abandoned?

I double-check the address Jim, the owner of the food truck, sent me just this morning, cross-referencing it with the building standing in front of me.

Surprisingly, it's correct.

If I die here, all twenty-six dollars in my bank account belongs to my mom. Which, I guess, means it really belongs to Lydia's Liquor Store, just past the gas station two blocks away from our house.

That thought, surprisingly enough, pushes me forward. Here goes nothing.

I chuck the empty cup from my overpriced mocha into a trash can that probably won't be emptied for another thousand years and follow the numbers around the building to unit 134.

Who knew being a good person was so expensive?

I slow to a stop when I see a wide-open garage door and let out a sigh of relief when I peer around the corner to find a black food truck with JIM'S EATS painted on the side. Sitting next to it is a huge guy wearing a sweat-covered red bandanna and a stained gray T-shirt.

The legend himself, I presume.

"Uh, Jim?" I say as he throws a cardboard box of hoagie buns into the truck.

He slams the back door and straightens up to wipe his hands on a dirty rag as he sizes me up. "Lisa?" he asks, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

When I nod, he grimaces. "You're late."

"I was helping a friend with something. It won't happen again, I promise. I—"

"You don't look like the right fit for this job." Jim cuts me off, scratching his stubbly chin as he squints at me. "It isn't all sunshine and rainbows and shit. Y'know, not just sitting around looking pretty."

I bite back a snarky response and the desire to roll my eyes, Roseanne's words of advice from earlier ringing in my ears.

"Well, I have a lot of experience not sitting around. Dishwashing, kitchen work, cashier. You name it, I've done it," I say as he grabs his keys off a table littered with Heinz ketchup packets. I became a bit of a jack-of-all-trades at Tilted Rabbit, jumping to whatever job I was needed at over the course of my three years there.

"I dunno. It's tough work," he says. "No AC or heat. No bathroom breaks. Long shifts."

I shrug. "Great. Sounds like my childhood."

He scoffs and yanks open the passenger door, heading up the metal steps.

But I'm not going down without a fight. I need this. I haven't gotten any bites on any of my other applications.

"Plus, since you think I'm a pretty face," I say as he slides into the worn leather driver's seat, yellow stuffing poking out the bottom, "think of all the tips you'll rake in."

Jim rolls his eyes, not taking the bait, and I change tacks immediately.

"What if you just give me a shot? No harm in that. You're clearly heading somewhere tonight," I say, taking a step toward the truck. "And it seems like you're going to be stuck working both the window and the grill."