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“To Tennessee?” She looks at me with disbelief and a mild curiosity. What she really wants to know is whether she ought to be worried.
“Why? Has something happened? Have we been found out?”
“No, it's nothing like that,” I reassure her. Most of my jobs come through Layla, fed through a network, top down. She and I are at the bottom of the rung, the last to know, the ones to get our hands dirty. Layla has a good sense of people, better than anyone I’ve ever met. I suppose that’s necessary in her line of work. “I have work there. People died.”
“People die here all the time.” She crosses the room and takes a pack of cigarettes from a cabinet. “What’s the big deal?”
“No big deal,” I say. “You have food? Money?”
She shrugs. “I could always use a little more.”
I take a few bucks from my wallet and hand them to her. “This ought to help until I get back.”
I know she’ll probably spend the money on booze and God knows what, but I feel the need to protect her, for reasons I can’t explain. She’s the one person who keeps things straight with me. She is who she is, and she doesn’t try to hide behind false pretenses. That can’t be said for too many people, especially not people in our line of work, so-called criminals.
She narrows her eyes and studies me. “Why do I get the sense there’s something you aren’t telling me, cowboy?”
“You tell me.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “This trip,” she says slowly, “it’s about a woman, isn’t it?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I know men, Cowboy. They get that look in their eye. And you got it.”
“Do I?”
She nods slowly, and I can see the suspicion in her eyes. “And from what I know about you, Cowboy, you’re a smart businessman. So unless there’s a bounty up that way to be had, you’re not going to be digging any graves.”
