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“You said you wanted to talk, right?” she asked. “Well, okay. Either let me in or come out with me, and let’s get it over with.”
His squint narrowed even more. He had wraparound Oakleys on, but the squint had compressed his features, wrinkling his brow so the expression was obvious even without a view of his eyes.
“What changed?” he asked.
“I’m not gonna stand here outside your clubhouse, with chain link between us, and have this talk. Be a grownup for once in your stupid life and deal with this.”
He chuckled, but the sound was more like a growl. One of his huge hands, still wrapped in a riding glove, lifted to his shaved head and rubbed. “Fuck’s sake, you’re a lot of bitch to take.”
Did he want to meet his son or not? All this bullshit started because the asshole was stalking her, telling her he was interested in Ajax. Not that he could pin down what that interest was. Now she was here, entertaining the question, and he was calling her a bitch?
Fuck this. “Suck my dick, Edgar.” She spun around and stalked down the little yard toward her car.
“Marce! Hold up!” Eight yelled. She heard the chain link rattle and the squeak of hinges. “Marcella!”
Knowing he was coming up behind her, she was ready when he grabbed her arm. Keys in her hand, held defensively as always, she wheeled around, with the full intent to rake those metal spears between her fingers across his stupid fucking face.
But he was fast, and prepared for her fight. He had her wrist trapped in his other hand with a couple inches between the keys and his cheek.
“Calm the fuck down, woman.”
“Fuck the fuck off, animal.”
He gave her a shake—quick but forceful. “Look, bitch, I was minding my own fucking business.You’rehere atmyhouse. So don’t cop a ‘tude because I’m fucking surprised.”
“Let me fucking go!” she snapped. When he did, warily, she said, “After you dog me all around fuckin’ Tulsa forweeks, you’re gonna give me shit for showing up unannounced? Fine. I’m out. Forget I exist. Go back and play cops and robbers or whatever the fuck you do.”
The second her shoulder shifted as she tried to turn again to her car, he had hold of her. But this time, there was no force. “Marcella. I want to talk. I just gotta get my head around doin’ it now.”
Marcella crossed her arms and glared at him. If he was going to get his head around it, he’d best do it. She had no intention of catering to his whims. “We talk now, or we talk never. Your call, Edgar.”
He winced. “Please.Pleasedon’t use that name.”
The man preferred ‘Eight Ball’ to a normal, if old-fashioned, name. Fine. Whatever. “Eight. Are we talking, or are we not?”
“Right now is a shitty time.”
Marcella lifted one eyebrow.
“But okay. Not here, though. Neutral territory.”
“And public.” She didn’t think he’d hurt her; he never had. He was an asshole, not a monster. However, she liked how the implication that she didn’t trust him without an audience visibly stabbed him in the gut.
“How about Hal’s? I gotta go in and handle some shit, but I can meet you there in thirty. That work?”
“Fine. Be there in thirty minutes. If you’re not, at minute thirty-one I move on with my fucking life and leave you behind as a bad memory.”
Another hostile chuckle from him, and he shook his head. “Yeah, fine.”
Marcella turned again, and this time he let her get to her car and get in.
When she made the turn at the end of the block, she glanced up at her rearview mirror.
He was still standing where she’d left him, watching her go.
~oOo~
Hal’s was a greasy-spoon diner, one of those places that every town had, where the food was made right there behind the counter and smell was always of hot oil that needed changing and beef left on the grill too long.
