Free Martin Misunderstood by Karin Slaughter Page B

crime. The
parking gate was up at Southern Toilet Supply,
which was a direct violation of company rules.
Of course, Martin didn't belong to the company
anymore, so he shouldn't have given a fig. The
problem was that he did give a fig. Anyone could
break into this place. Maybe these new people
who hadn't had to pick 2300 from the machinery
didn't appreciate what mayhem vandals could
bring to a place like this, but Martin knew first
hand.
    He pulled the Cadillac into its usual space,
surprised to see that the only other car in the lot
belonged to Unique. She certainly wasn't one to
work extra hours, but maybe her conscience had
won her over. Martin had every intention of
completing his receivables from the workday he
had missed. He may have been fired, but that was
certainly no reason to shirk his responsibilities.
    Martin took out his keys as he approached the
entrance, but found that the door was already
unlocked. He didn't bother to turn on the lights
as he made his way to the office. There was no
point, really. He knew everything from memory
– the way the machinery was positioned, the way
the shelving was stacked. For half of his life, this
had been Martin's home, the place where he had
felt valuable, needed. And now it was all gone –
lost like a sock in the dryer, never to be seen
again.
    'Whatchu doin' here, Fool?' Unique's hands
moved quickly as she shoved office supplies into
her purse.
    'I've been fired.'
    'Uh-huh,' she mumbled, cramming her stapler
into a side pocket. 'Norton said he was looking
for a reason to get rid of you.'
    'Get rid of me?' Martin echoed. That couldn't
be right. Norton Shaw had given him an
'adequate' on his yearly review. You didn't call
someone adequate if you were trying to get rid of
them.
    'Whatchu doin' outta jail anyway?' she asked.
'I thought you'd be in the electric chair by now.'
    'It's lethal injection,' Martin corrected. 'Are
you stealing office supplies?'
    'Getting out while the getting's good,' she told
him, trying to jam a ream of paper into her bag.
'Unique can read the writing on the wall.'
    Martin cringed. She only ever spoke of herself
in the third person when she felt threatened. He
could still remember the first time he'd heard her
do it. Martin had suggested that it was only fair
that she clean the women's room as he was
expected to clean up after the men. 'Unique don't
clean toilets!' she had screeched.
    He tried, 'Unique—'
    'I don't need no trouble with the po-lice,' she
told him. 'No way is Unique sticking around with
the po-lice asking questions.'
    'What kinds of questions?'
    'I might have bought some clothes at the mall
that one time that I didn't exactly pay for.'
    Martin was outraged. 'You stole ?'
    She indicated her bright purple silk pantsuit.
'You think I can dress like this on what y'all pay
me?'
    Actually, he did.
    'I got a look to uphold,' she told him, pushing
Martin out of the way as she walked around to
his desk. 'You don't go messing with a lady's
wardrobe.'
    Perhaps it was because of his own recent
brush with the law, but Martin felt his outrage
quickly turn into fascination. He had worked
with this woman for three years without
knowing that she was an actual thief. 'Did you
get caught?'
    'There might be a warrant out there somewhere.
You know how it is.'
    Had she winked at him? Martin thought she
had. 'Yes,' he said. 'Having spent some time in
jail myself, I understand.'
    She looked at him, her lips pursed. Was that
respect in her eyes?
    'I fought the fishes,' he told her, trying out his
jail-house lingo.
    She turned skeptical. 'Fought them on what?'
    'Well, you know, jail is very divisive. I had to
hook up with the whites, you see. Immediately,
you have to choose a posse.'
    'Posse?'
    He leaned on the edge of her empty desk.
'Peeps, you might have heard it called.'
    She dumped a box full of invoices on the floor
and started filling it with Post-it notes from
Martin's desk. 'Did you really kill Sandy?'
    'Well, I . . .' he fumbled for words. 'She