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“Ain’t that the truth,” a male voice says from behind.
Alex nearly jumps out of his seat to greet his friend. I nearly jump out of my skin. “Benny!”
“Alex, my man.”
I look on as the two of them do some weird man-hug ritual. I want to ask Alex how exactly money changes a person. Although, truth be told, I’d also kind of like to find out for myself. I’ve explained to Alex that I can’t afford his friend’s services. That’s okay, he’d said. It’s pro bono.
But he knows me, and he knows I can’t—or rather won’t—accept something for nothing. Alex suggests moving back out onto the terrace, which we do. He and Benny are deep in conversation, making out like I’m not even there. I have to pick the girls up in an hour and a half, and Alex and I still have another home to see. When I clear my throat and try to get down to it, both men look at me as though I have two heads. “What is it going to take to get him put away again?”
I swear Alex’s face loses color. “Aim, we don’t talk business before proper introductions are made.”
His friend stands there, arms folded across his chest, leaning away. His expression is half intrigued, half disgusted, and his eyes bore holes through me. After several painful seconds, he finishes giving me
the once-over. Then he shakes his head and looks at Alex.
“This is Amy Stone. An old friend of mine from school.”
Finally, Ben Dugan breaks into a smile, extends his hand, closing the space between us in two strides. “Ben Dugan. Benny, my friends call me.”
“Nice to meet you, Ben.” I take his outstretched hand. “Amy.”
This doesn’t even seem real. I don’t know what I was expecting when I agreed to meet with Ben Dugan, but it wasn’t a well-groomed businessman in a suit and tie.
“Something wrong?” he asks, looking from me to Alex and back, his brow furrowed.
“If it weren’t, would you be here?”
“Ah,” he says, nodding at Alex. “A funny one.”
“Amy’s full of tricks.” Alex motions toward the patio furniture. “Here.” He slides a chair out. “Why don’t we sit?”
Benny Dugan is the first to take a seat. He leans forward, folds his hands together, and rests his elbows on his knees. It looks like he’s praying. His eyes are on me. “Not what you were expecting?”
I half shrug and look away, out at the pool. Then I turn toward Alex. I suddenly have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, as though I shouldn’t be here, as though I’d like to find the rewind button and press it. “What is it you do exactly?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“Right.”
He glances at me sideways. “So this guy—Jack Mooney. I hear he’s been following you around… ruffling up your feathers.”
“He showed up at my children's school,” I reply without thinking. I feel instantly protective, wishing I could take it back, wishing I hadn’t mentioned them around a man like Benny Dugan. And then, because I’m nervous, and terribly out of practice, I say the next bad thing. “So I bought a gun.”
Ben Dugan looks unsurprised. “What kind?”
“A pistol—no—I mean a handgun.”
Alex and Benny exchange a look.
“Honey, you could’ve bought an Uzi. If this guy intends to do you harm, he’ll find a way.”
I open my mouth to speak, but can’t find the words.
“Unless, of course, you have a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yeah.” He looks at Alex. “Ain’t that why you called? You wanna show him who he’s messing with. Make him think twice.”
