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Trust Funches not to let a little intrigue get in the way of his projects.
Funches’s head lifted as Porter advanced on him. He shouted out to his fishing friends. “Cam, Mac! He’s here!”
His two muscular lawyer friends sat beneath an umbrella near the shed, sipping on Fresca. They nodded at him. “Porter.”
Porter had finally found a way to use Cam and Mac’s expertise. West had drafted the contracts, but the two older gentlemen were going to serve as witnesses to make sure that everything going down was legal and kosher in the eyes of the law.
Sorta.
Porter had deeds to some throwaway land near the highway that he was passing off as the Slade Ranch. Lacy would be so eager to get one over on the Slades that he wouldn’t bother to waste a minute to do the legwork to make sure that this was all legit.
At least West thought so.
Funches’s forehead wrinkled as he rubbed the grease off his hands with a rag. “If one thing goes wrong—one! I want you hollering for me. I’ll be out in the weeds with my shotgun.”
“Relax,” Porter said, laughing a little at the thought. “It won’t come to that.”
“We need to have code words. How about you start shouting, ‘pumpkin patch’ if you need me.”
“How about not? Can’t you figure out if I’m in trouble without me shouting out weird battle cries?”
Funches’s gaze sharpened on Porter like he’d cracked his head on a rock. “You shout ‘pumpkin patch’ or I’m not going in, and that’s final.”
Porter grimaced. “Then I guess you’re not going in.”
Funches growled in frustration.
Porter took out the paperwork from the manila envelope and headed for the rough-looking lawyers. “Evening, Porter,” Mac called out cheerily. “Glad you finally agreed to let us help.”
“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” Porter returned.
“You’re fine. I’m always happy to lend a hand to any friend of Funches. We’re planning on watching a little NASCAR later on and calling it a night.” Mac sipped his Fresca. “Funches was mighty sorry that he’d sold out to some slick corporate fella after he’d heard your story. Of course, he wouldn’t have minded that gas station so close.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Porter suspected Cadence had mentioned a gas station because she’d thought that Funches would object to the idea, but the man would’ve been the convenience store’s most loyal customer. He bit down a smile. “I doubt they’d have kept it stocked up on anything good.”
The men nodded somberly, just as the gate pushed open. Funches’s dog yapped out again, though there was a growl of menace behind it when he saw that he was dealing with strangers.
Lacy walked in with four lumbering security guards and a weaselly lawyer. They looked quite at home in the junkyard, like Lacy was used to making deals in similar shady surroundings. He spied Porter and advanced on him with a smirk. “This is an odd place to meet,” he shouted over the dog’s barks.
“It works,” Porter said. “I needed someplace where we can talk openly. This is as private as we’re going to get.” Porter shooed the dog off. “Mutt, quiet!”
Lacy’s lips slid up in a sneer. “Nash, Nash, Nash… you’re lucky I even came to talk to you after what you did. You think I’m just going to forgive you like that?”
Porter shrugged uneasily. What had Nash done this time? The guy thought he was his twin, but Porter wondered if he’d made the right call pretending to be Nash. There was no controlling his brother’s mad starts. Porter tried his best to take on his twin’s cocky grin. “I knew you’d want to hear what I have to offer.”
“Is that so?” Lacy asked. His men’s eyes warily searched the area around them. Funches had already taken his position behind the weeds with his shotgun, though he didn’t have to bother. This was going to get nasty, but in an oily politician way. As if to prove it, Lacy poured a little snake oil into his tone. “How’s your little Songbird, lover boy?”
Porter had no idea how Emily was. “Don’t talk about her,” he growled.
“The word is the two of you are having some difficulties. It’s all over Flatter.” Lacy tsked, clearly enjoying Nash’s humiliation. “You never should’ve tried Bring Your Girlfriend to Work day.”
Porter glared at him. How had Nash ever worked with this dude? He wanted to kill him already. “I’m not here to talk about my personal life.”
“We aren’t?” A flash of anger smoldered behind Lacy’s eyes. “You were more than willing to blast my dirty laundry to the world.”
Porter honestly had no idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t appreciate your little present you left in my office,” Lacy said.
