"Woody," Boner called out, giving me a vigorous wave as if I hadn't seen him. "I was just coming to see you guys."
"You were?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why?"
"That's a conversation we shouldn't have here," he said. "Do you feel like a coffee?"
"I could go for a coffee," I agreed.
"Great, there's a nice place across the road." He opened the glass doors and stepped back out onto the street.
"Is this a conversation you should have with Forrest?" I glanced up at the building behind us.
"I get the feeling you need to have a conversation first," Boner said, his English accent stronger now.
"Don't start analyzing me." I told him. He wasn't a therapist. He was an artist. Some would say he was a bullshit artist, but his heart was in the right place, I supposed.
He laughed, "Why would I do that? I'm looking at the expression on your face and seeing someone who's pissed off at the world. Kinda like Jules. He's pissed off at the world a lot of the time too. He's okay though when you get to know him, but something I've learned—" He waggled a finger in the air. "It's never a good idea to let him stew on things. So I said to myself,'Edward 'Boner' Bonegard. Woody needs to talk,' and here we are."
I grunted and followed him into the cafe.
"Maybe he's pissed off because you talk a lot," I suggested. I flopped down on the seat opposite him and grabbed a menu.
He looked thoughtful, but his smile didn't slip. "That's possible. I do have a lot to say, a lot of the time. I don't know if I'd go so far as to say I'm annoying, though. I think Jules just has that kind of personality."
"He's an asshole?" I suggested.
"Exactly." Boner grinned. He turned that smile on the server and ordered a coffee before I did the same.
"I thought Englishmen only drank tea."
"I like tea," he said, "but this feels like a coffee sort of conversation."
I propped my elbow on the table and rested my head on my thumb and fingers. "Why do I get the feeling this is a vodka kind of conversation?"
"It's borderline, but vodka makes people do things they otherwise wouldn't do," Boner replied. "For this particular conversation, it's better to have a cooler head."
I frowned at him sideways. "I think you'd better cut to the chase. What is this about?"
Should I get up right now and walk out of here? Probably, but I had the uneasy impression I needed to hear what he was going to tell me. Did this have something to do with Sable?
"I heard through the proverbial grapevine. Proverbial, since you don't exactly see grapevines hanging along the streetlights all through the city." He mimed a long line, running all the way down the block with his finger.
"I figured you didn't mean it literally." Was it possible to impale someone with a packet of sugar? If he didn't hurry up and say whatever he was going to say, we were going to find out.
"Of course you did," he laughed. "As I was saying, I heard it through the grapevine that you're looking for the assholes behind auctioning off women."
I wasn't surprised he knew that, but I was surprised he managed to keep his voice down, low enough for only me to hear.
"That's right," I said. "From the things Forrest has said, this is something you're into as well?"
"Very much so," he agreed. "Anyway, this same grapevine mentioned a very high-stakes auction tonight. There's speculation as to who they might have to sell, but the sums they're talking about are eye-watering to say the least."
My heart stopped. Also not literally, but it might as well have.
"I'm an idiot," I said, pushing my chair back and rising to my feet.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," he said. "However, you should stay and listen to the details."
He was right. Vodka would have made me do something silly like storm out of here and try to find this auction without any information. That would get me absolutely nowhere.
