“Call Me Anytime?” James asks. “Isn’t that the phone sex hotline I always see on those billboards by all the strip clubs?”
“Shane,” I chastise with a tsk. “You’re so fucking loose-lipped when you get a couple drinks in.”
“You’re right.” Shane holds up both hands in apology, smiling as he wipes a drop of beer from his chin with the back of his hand. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Give me a break.” James groans. “The two of you are the biggest teases.”
I laugh, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing. “It’s not our fault you’re an accountant or that Crew is an architect. We didn’t choose your boring-ass jobs. You did.”
“Fuck off,” Crew says, turning around from the bar, where he just paid for a fresh beer, to enter the conversation again.
“That’s right,” Shane agrees. “Dom here even took a seven-figure pay cut just to have a cool job.”
I scoff, but James is quick with a response.
“I sure do like money, don’t you, Crew?” James says, smiling at Crew. “And I really like six-figure-salary money. How much do detectives make these days? Like, what? Sixty thousand a year?”
“Seventy-five,” Shane corrects, and Crew is grinning like a bastard now.
“I mean, we don’t get to play with bodies every day, but my bank accountandmy wife sure do love those big paychecks my boring-ass architect gigs bring in.”
“Is that what you think we do?” I ask, my face twisting up comically. “Play with the bodies?” I turn to Shane, resting my elbow on his shoulder. “Do weplaywith bodies, Shane?”
“Oh no.” Shane frowns. “Playing with the bodies would be very bad, Dom.”
“Very bad,” I repeat, and James hits me with the middle finger.
“Fuck off, Karaoke Cowboy, would you? Why don’t you go sing another song?”
I laugh and raise my beer in salute, guzzling it before setting the now-empty bottle down on the table. “You know what? I think I’ll do just that.”
I take off for the stage and crash my way into the band again, just as they’re firing up to play “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” by Shania Twain.
Crew and James shake their heads but also cheer. Shane taunts me to take my pants off. And I sing at the top of my lungs as I work the stage.
Tonight, I plan to let it all hang out, but come Monday, I’ll be ready to dive headfirst into Hannah’s Ruby line.
9
Hannah
Monday, May 13
4:00 p.m.
“You’ve got Ruby. What’s your pleasure today?” I recite from my notepad, finally starting to get the hang of how these calls always start.
It’s my twentieth call of the day, but only my fifth on the wiretap, and so far, I haven’t heard anything from Detectives Dunn and Maddox. I know they’re out in their special van, listening, but other than that, I’ve been well and truly on my own.
It’s terrifying. Any of these men could be an actual killer, and I’m just supposed to chat them up about their dicks? Seems weird.
“Hi, Ruby. I’m Harvey. I like your voice.”
“Thanks, Harvey.” Using what Monica calls a “leading question” to progress the conversation, I ask, “What else do you like?”
Monica is the definition of a book you can’t judge by its cover. She might look sweet and innocent, but her phone sex skills are downright diabolical. She’s a true ace at making mencream their pants, as Margo would say, and when I got into work this morning, she gave me a little cheat sheet to help me not feel so out of my depth with these freaking calls. Honestly, I was so damn overwhelmed with gratitude, I could havekissed her on the mouth. I didn’t, of course, because that would have made things weird, but I could have.
Not only am I grateful for the much-needed help, but I’m thrilled to have a friend. After this many years of taking care of my mom and working to pay the bills, I’ve completely let my social life fall to the wayside. I don’t go out. I don’t text with people. I barely even talk to anyone other than my mom and Lovie.
