Page 119 of Tito

Tito

In the past twenty-four hours, I’d all but lost my mind, completely. My time with Reggie—which could have easily been my last—was spent in state of blind confusion. Plagued with blank stares, racing thoughts, and the fear of incarceration, our night together was disastrous.

Cash and his gun were long gone. My chances of meeting with Reggie’s father and walking away had diminished to nothing. Filled with regret for not having stepped away from the club when I had the first notion, I sat in the diner waiting on my fate.

While I choked down my second cup of coffee, he walked into the diner, stone-faced. My field of vision narrowed to nothing, leaving me looking through a pinhole at the man I thought would one day be my father-in-law.

He sat down across from me. “I was up all night assembling the pieces of what I hope to be an airtght case.” He raised his index finger and nodded toward the waitress. “How was your night?”

There was no way I was going to make it the next few minutes without getting physically ill. In an attempt to disguise the fact that I might either shit myself or vomit at any instant, I raised my coffee cup to obstruct my face.

“Sleepless,” I murmured. “My night was sleepless.”

The waitress handed Ted a cup of coffee. After thanking her, he took a few sips. “Understandable.” His brows raised. “Where’s my murder weapon?”

“I don’t have it.”

The lack of expression he wore morphed to frustration. “You don’t have it?”

“I do not.”

“Well, we’re going to have a problem,” he said. “A very serious problem. I’ve made arrangements, all of which include the delivery of—”

Midway through his sentence, our personal space was invaded by a large shadowy figure. Numb to my surroundings, I stared blankly at my coffee cup. Ted glanced to his left, and then quickly stood.

“Brock “Cash” Flannigan,” Ted said. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

My eyes darted toward the shadow. Dressed in a pair of slacks, lace-up leather shoes, and a button-down dress shirt, Cash stood at my side.

“I wasn’t,” Cash said. He tossed an envelope on the table, in front of Ted. “That’s for you.”

Ted gestured to my side of the table, and then took his seat. He reached for the envelope. “The Legal Offices of Wicks, Payne, and Perth,” he said, reading the return address printed on the envelope. “This must be important.”

Cash took a seat at my side.

Ted opened the envelope and removed a folded sheet of paper. He read it silently. After folding it and placing it on center of the table, he looked up. “Impressive.” He glanced at Cash. “It’s also bullshit.”

“Take it, or leave it,” Cash said.

Ted returned a cold glare. “Where’s the weapon?”

Cash glared back. “In my truck.”

“Is your truck locked?” Ted asked.

Cash removed his keys from his pocket and tossed them on the table. “It’s in the glovebox. Silver key will unlock the glovebox. The little brass key will unlock the case it’s in. Glovebox lock’s hard to get open. Gotta jiggle it.”

Ted picked up the keys, studied Cash for a moment, and then walked outside.

“What the fuck’s going on?” I whispered.

He snatched the coffee cup from my hand and took a sip. “Taking care of business.”

“What business?” I asked. “Where in the fuck have you been, and why are you dressed like that?”

He finished the coffee and slid the cup to the side. “I’ve been where I’ve been, and I wore this so I didn’t look like a thug during the press release. It was Kimberly’s idea.”

Granted, I hadn’t slept in the past twenty-four hours, but I was completely lost. “What press release?”