Iam drove slowly down Highway 77, construction causing traffic to stall a little south of Corpus. The oppressive heat and salt air filled Iam’s non-air-conditioned car. This close to the Gulf of Mexico, the humidity was nearly intolerable, but he bore it with as much grace as he could. He watched the workers go about their task and noticed a few of Jack’s Asphalt trucks lined up on the shoulder. Sure enough, flaggers were holding up signs that said either slow down or stop. Not one of them looked happy. The people actually working laughed and joked with one another, but the flaggers? Not a smile to be found. They seemed isolated and forlorn, a legally necessary but ultimately pointless addendum. That was Iam all over, the world’s fine print, a cautionary addition to existence showing what happened to those who couldn’t make their payments on time. He was just about to decide to skip the interview when a rare spark of hope kindled in him. Maybe if he did a good enough job, he could join a work crew. That would teach him a skill he could market, perhaps even get into management. Surely some of those workers started at the bottom. But, of course, he had to get the job first.

When Iam finally cleared the construction zone, he punched the gas. His car bucked over the pockmarked and uneven road, and the engine whined as he pushed it harder. The interview was in twenty minutes, and he was still fifteen miles away. By the time he pulled into the parking lot of Jack’s Asphalt, the engine was ticking loudly, a sure sign it was overheating. Iam would ordinarily pop the hood and add some coolant to try and keep the thing alive, but there wasn’t time. He rushed into the building with a minute to spare, then stopped dead.

All Iam noticed when he entered the small lobby were the people. To his eyes, they all seemed poised and deserving of a job. Not at all like the bedraggled fatso who just barged into the office, sweat pouring off his face and staining his shirt. The tiny thread of hope fled, and Iam turned on his heels to do the same when a door in the back opened. He turned back around to see a bodybuilder walk into the lobby. The man wasn’t tall, maybe five-eight, but his biceps looked like thighs, and his thighs looked like telephone poles. He was dark-skinned and wore a light grey t-shirt and beige shorts. For some reason, his thick-soled athletic shoes caught Iam’s attention. They looked tactical, like something a soldier would wear. It made Iam look closer at the man. The fabric of the shirt and shorts also looked sturdier than usual. It made sense, he guessed. Construction was probably hell on clothes. The easy confidence in the man’s eyes as he surveyed the room made Iam uneasy. It was past time to leave. All of those bottles in his bathroom couldn’t be empty, right?

The man smiled, his absurdly white teeth a stark contrast against his skin. Every head turned to him, making the people look like an excited group of meerkats.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. His voice was deep and filled with authority. “As you know, this is an open interview, so we’ll be calling people back one by one shortly. Before we start, does anyone have any questions?”

No one made a move, but Iam’s hand twitched. The man saw the movement and gestured for Iam to speak. Iam stood there, words failing him.

“It’s okay,” the man said, “don’t be frightened.”

Iam’s hackles rose. “I’m not.”

The man chuckled. “Well, good. What’s your question?”

Iam cleared his throat. “How many positions are there?”

The man’s smile dipped for a split second before returning with gusto. “Unfortunately, only one. But we’ll keep everyone in mind if more positions open up. Now, let’s go ahead and get started.” He pointed to Iam. “Why don’t we start with you.”

The other people in the room glared at Iam as he followed the man through the door. The slight coolness of the office was immediately replaced with the same absurd heat from outside. They walked down a short hallway before entering a tiny office. Large stacks of paper covered the single desk, which the man sat behind. Only his head remained visible once he was seated. Without prompting, Iam took the lone remaining seat.

“Air conditioner on the fritz?” Iam asked.

“I’m in and out of the office several times a day. I’ve found AC to be too much of a shock to the system. Why get cool and comfortable only to be miserable moments later.”

Wow, Iam thought, the man was a masochist.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said.

“Name?’ the man said.

“Uh, Iam. Iam D’Mann.” He cringed when he said his name.

“Oh yeah,” the man said, drawing out the words. “That’s an interesting name. We thought it was a joke until we ran your license, and it matched. Almost threw out the application.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Iam said. “It’s a pretty stupid name.”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “You could just change it, you know.”

Iam let out a low snarl and glared at the man who didn’t flinch.

“Sensitive topic, I see. Moving right along, then. The position we’re hiring for doesn’t require much skill or brains, so what we’re really looking for is someone who fits in with the team and can be reliable.”

Iam remembered the flaggers he’d seen. They weren’t part of any team. The man was full of crap.

“Okay,” he said.

The man waited for a few seconds, letting the silence hang. “Okay then. I only have two questions for you. Why should we hire you, and why not change your name?”

Iam stiffened. “I’m a good worker, and I don’t bring home to work with me. So you’ll never have to worry about me missing days or anything like that. I’m a quick learner and eager to take on any job you give me.” The register of his voice lowered, and he leaned toward the desk. “As for the second question…none of your business.”

The disappointment on the man’s face stabbed at Iam. He seemed to wait for more before standing and gesturing toward the door.

“Well, thank you for your time. We’ll let you know.”

Iam stood and took the two steps required to make it to the door, then stopped. The man’s disappointed look gnawed at him. Even Jess, with all her lecturing and pushing, had never looked at him like that. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, loud sigh. He turned around and looked at the man.

“That was a load of crap,” he said.

“It was?’ the man asked. “So you’re not reliable?”

Iam went back to the chair and sat down. “No, I’m not. The truth is, you shouldn’t hire me. I’m an unreliable drunk with more baggage than an airport. Chances are you’ll spend most of your time covering my screwups if you can even find me. I’ve never worked anywhere longer than a few weeks, about as long as anyone can stand me.” Iam threw up his hands. “Not sure why I’m telling you all this, but there it is.”

The man’s expression was hard to read, and Iam immediately regretted his words. It wasn’t about the job; he knew that ship had sailed. It was more that he’d never said those words to himself, let alone out loud to another. For the first time in twenty some odd years, Iam had been completely honest.

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“That’s a lot to take in,” the man said. “Anything else?”

Iam thought about the man’s second question. He’d spent his life in a fog of uncertainty, running from one problem after another. He hated his name but never once considered changing it. His reason for keeping it was the only thing he had ever been genuinely sure of.

“Yeah,” he said. “My father gave me the name. It’s the only thing I have left of him.”

Iam stood back up and moved to leave.

“Mr. D’Mann,” the man said, “the job’s yours.”

Iam didn’t turn around but couldn’t help asking the obvious question. “Why?”

“Call it a hunch,” the man said. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, eight a.m.”

Iam opened the door, and the man spoke again.

“And Mr. D’Mann…if you won’t change the name, I’ll expect you to live up to it.”

Iam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Without another word, he left. Footsteps followed him out, but Iam refused to look behind him. The man said the job was his, and he wasn’t going to give him a chance to change his mind. AC blasted him when the door to the main lobby opened, and Iam couldn’t stop a faint sigh of relief. Every head turned toward them, and the man moved around Iam to address them.

“I’m sorry, everyone. It seems the best candidate made himself known immediately.” Groans and complaints filled the room, but the man kept talking. “I know how disappointed you all must be, so if you’ll all step over to Becca there, Jack’s Asphalt would like to offer some small compensation for your time.”

The grumbles grew louder, with some of the voices turning from annoyance to anger. The grouching lasted a few more seconds before, finally, a large man stood and pointed his finger at Iam.

“What makes him so special?”

“Everyone here,” Iam’s new boss said, ignoring the cacophony, “will receive a week’s pay at the hourly rate you’d have if hired.”

The room went quiet. Paying a week’s salary for showing up to an interview was absurd, but Iam had to admit it did wonders for soothing hurt feelings. A line formed at Becca’s desk, most of the people now very polite and accomodating. The man who’d spoken up didn’t move, however.

“What good’s that gonna do? We need jobs, not a cheap payoff!”

“Becca, make sure not to pay this man,” Iam’s boss said. “If he gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to call the cops.”

The rumblings started again, but now they were directed at the defiant man. No one wanted to risk losing their money, and they didn’t want this dude screwing it up for the rest of them. A few braver applicants called out for the man to leave, but he stepped closer to Iam and his boss. Iam’s boss waited until he was directly in front of him before leaning in and whispering into the man’s ear. Iam didn’t hear what was said, but the man’s face went bright red, and he balled his fists. Iam’s boss held up a single finger, and the man froze. It didn’t seem like indecision or fear that held the man at bay. His muscles tensed, and his body quivered as though he was trying to break free of something. No matter how hard he fought, he was utterly stilled.

“That’s enough,” Iam’s boss said. “You’re going to walk out of this office now.”

The man’s body relaxed, and, without further protest, he left. The room let out a collective sigh of relief as Becca called the first person forward. Iam noticed she hadn’t made any attempt to pick up the phone. Iam’s boss tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Eight a.m. tomorrow,” he said. “Please don’t be late.”

Iam’s mouth was dry. He didn’t understand what had just happened or how, but he nearly ran out of the office. He might have been mistaken about what he’d seen, but the look of blank submission on the man’s face as he left scared the hell out of him. It wasn’t real, he thought. He’d simply misinterpreted what he’d seen. Hell, his new boss was a freaking fortress, no wonder the guy left.

Reality crashed back into Iam when he got back to his car. A large pool of coolant ran down the gentle slope of the parking lot, confirming his suspicions from when he arrived. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t get home, let alone make it to work tomorrow. He wasn’t even an official employee yet, and already he’d be calling into work. Iam popped the hood to inspect the damage. With any luck, it was just a blown radiator hose, and he could have it fixed soon. That ten bucks would have really helped right then; not too many auto parts stores accepted imaginary money.

“Looks bad,” his boss said from behind him. “Need some help?”

“I’m good,” Iam said, patting the quarter panel. “Me and this old girl have an agreement. I barely keep her alive, and she barely gets me where I’m going.” He looked up and saw his boss chuckling. “Um, by the way, did I miss your name somehow?”

“Didn’t give it,” he said. “It’s better that way. Now that you’re hired, though, I’m Jackson.”

He held out his hand, and Iam took it. The man’s hand dwarfed Iam’s, but the grip was gentle without being limp. That kind of restraint impressed Iam for all that he didn’t think he’d be able to match it. If he was that jacked, he’d crush every hand he shook, you know, to make a point.

“Jackson?” Iam asked. “Is that your last name?”

“It’s my whole name,” Jackson said. “How about you come inside, and we’ll see what can be done about your car.”

Iam turned away and peered into the engine compartment. “I said I’m fine.”

“Well then, how about we get a head start on your paperwork? I want you on the job by tomorrow afternoon, and it looks like an eight o’clock start is out of the question. While you’re working on that, I can have one of our staff mechanics look at your car. If the problem is simple enough, they might have it running before you’re done.”

“Leave it alone,” Iam said. “I’ll fill out your paperwork, then deal with the car when I’m done.”

Jackson shook his head slowly and tisked. “It’s sad how often what we think are our problems are actually only symptoms of the real issues.”

“Yeah,” Iam said, dropping the hood, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

The heat was getting to him, and his head started to ache. His mouth was dry, and he could feel a slight tremor throughout his body. The morning was wearing on, and it was well past the time when he’d typically have had at least one drink.

“You’re a drunk, right?” Jackson asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “I bet you think that’s your problem, and everything else stems from that.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Iam snorted.

“Well, Mr. D’Mann, you’re wrong. Your problem is you either can’t or won’t ask for help. Nor do you seem willing to accept it when offered. So instead, you opted for self-help, which in your case is the bottle. Then, I’m guessing, everything went sour, and you fell further and further into drink until the only thing you felt like you could control was when to take that next drink. And now, even that decision isn’t yours.”

“Whatever,” Iam said. “And while we’re on the subject, why are you helping me? And don’t give me any of that hunch nonsense. Oh, and spare me that altruistic it’s the right thing to do crap, too.”

“It very much is the right thing to do,” Jackson said, “and I do have a hunch about you. But that’s not why I’m helping you. It has been decided that you will be helped and that I am the instrument of that help.”

“But why?” Iam pressed. “And decided by who?”

“Because that is what I do, Mr. D’Mann. I find those who need help, and I help them.”

“And just who decided that, if not you?” Iam asked.

“Not important,” Jackson said. “Now, let’s get you inside and get started on that paperwork.”

Iam followed Jackson back into the building, his steps wobbly. The shakes were getting harder to deal with, but Iam tightened his muscles, trying to will them to stillness. The air conditioning helped a little, but before Iam could luxuriate in the coolness, he was back in the stifling hallway. Jackson led him to a closet-sized room with a single small desk and two chairs.

Iam sat down and pulled the packet of papers that was waiting for him closer. Jackson handed a cheap ballpoint pen printed with the company’s logo to him, and Iam started to fill his name on the first page. His hands shook so hard, his name came out as an indecipherable squiggle. Iam clapped his hand into a fist and tried to force the shakes away.

“How long has it been?” Jackson asked.

Iam didn’t answer. After a few seconds, Jackson left the room, leaving part of Iam afraid it was the last straw, and Jackson was getting ready to fire him. The larger part of him, however, was relieved at the prospect. When Jackson returned, he was carrying a bottle of amber liquid. Iam’s eyes locked onto the bottle, entranced by how the swirls and eddies of the booze broke and reflected the light. It was glorious.

Jackson held it halfway between himself and Iam, and Iam snatched at it. Jackson didn’t try to pull it away, but Iam saw a haunted look in his eyes a split second before he turned his back and unscrewed the cap. His gulps were loud and greedy, and he couldn’t care less. Finally, letting out a sigh of relief, Iam pulled the bottle from his lips.

“Look at your hands,” Jackson said.

Iam did as instructed and noticed they weren’t shaking anymore. His head stopped pounding, and the rest of his body settled.

“It hasn’t even hit your stomach yet,” Jackson said. “That should tell you all you need to know.”

Iam put the bottle back to his mouth, then hesitated. He hadn’t even tasted it, didn’t know what kind of liquor it was. Tiny drops fell from the corners of his mouth onto his shirt and floor. He felt Jackson’s gaze on his back, cold and judgmental, but refused to turn around and see it.

“I’ll take that back, now,” Jackson said. “Do the paperwork, and I’ll check on you in a little while.”

Iam held out the bottle, still looking at the opposite wall. He felt its weight leave his hand, and when the door opened and shut, he sat down. His hands were trembling again, but this time it had nothing to do with booze. Sending a quick text to Jess for a ride, he settled into the forms.