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“Hate to burst your everything-is-sweet bubble,” Billie says, “but that ain’t exactly bad news, Care.”
Carmine turns her face to mirror her, a sheet-white pallor to her usually sunkissed skin. The worry is visible in the defeat of her eyes. “Butchered, Billie. I overheard the cops talking…”
“He has a lot of enemies,” she says with a lift of her narrow, bony shoulders. “Shadiest guy in town doesn’t get to live in peace and die of old age.”
“In peace…” Carmine shakes her head. With a hard swallow, she looks Billie dead in the eyes. “Inpieces. Just like what we did—”
Billie kicks out, hard. The toe of her boot cracks into Carmine’s shin.
Her words are silenced with a hiss of pain.
“Shut the fuck up,” Billie snarls. “Even if… Even if you were onto something, which you’re not, you don’t get to talk about that. We said we wouldn’t ever talk about that—especially not in the middle of the damn park with cops crawling around everywhere.”
Before Carmine can whine about the red spot on her shin she rubs, tires roll over the gravel slowly.
Billie looks over her shoulder at the familiar silver sedan. One a bit pricier than the owner could afford on her own, some old BMW gifted to her by her disgustingly rich Trevor.
The car jolts to a stop as Kate wrangles it into park. She’s lightning fast getting out of the car, yet never getting a speck of dirt that naturally hangs in the air down here on her black slacks and crisp white shirt. Her outfit is never plain, though, so of course it’s spiced up with a Chanel pearl necklace (yet another gift) and knock-off loafers.
Looks to be on a mission, with her manicured hands clenching at her sides and her jaw set firm, she marches up the porch steps. Her eyes flicker to the dirt road dividing the rows of trailers.
Billie traces her gaze to the resident user, Krystal. She leans over the bar of her porch, a sneer twisting her mouth to bare her yellow, decaying teeth, and a beer can in her loose grip.
Her hateful eyes are on Kate.
The girls know what’s coming before Krystal even parts her lips to shout the word. That one word directed right at Kate, one she’s heard many times before, and will probably hear the rest of her life, but a word that is a sure-fire way to rile both Kate and Billie up.
Sure enough, her slurred speech spits out the term with as much disgust as Krystal should have only for herself.
Darkness slips over two faces—both Kate and Billie turn their twisted faces to the twiggy fake-redhead across the path: “Fuck off back to your pipe!” “Crack-whore!”
The shouts snare the attention of the closest cop. Phil. One of the Southsiders before he made it through the academy, so now lives up on the other side of the tracks closer to town.
His head lifts over the side of a parked car. Aviators shield his eyes, but the shift of his chin shows that he looks back and forth at the opposing porches.
Of course he does nothing, though.
And Krystal, with a dark-brown spit to the dried-out grass, kicks back and boots her way into her trailer. The screen door screeches shut behind her.
“Bitch,” Billie murmurs, then falls back against the paneled wall. She turns her head to face Kate. “You heard, then?”
Kate’s eyes remain hard as she looks at the back of Carmine’s head. Carmine, who doesn’t so much as turn around to look at her friend. The shame of not speaking up for Kate burns Carmine’s smooth complexion an ugly shade of crimson.
But Carmine just isn’t the type. She suffers in silence. She’s not the one you want to have your back when shit goes down.
Thatwould be Kate and Billie.
Kate folds her arms over her work shirt, dressed for a day at Town Hall’s reception. “News spreads fast.”
A shrill ringing sound comes from the inside of the trailer. Billie only glances at the door before ignoring the phone altogether.
Carmine finally turns around to face the girls. “You not going to get that?”
“It’ll be Preston,” is all Billie says. They’ve danced this dance so many times now that she’s more familiar with the pattern than she is her own reflection in the mirror. He’ll call, he’ll chase—and he’ll think he can win her back over with some work.
Not this time.
Kate studies Billie closely for a beat, then arches a preened eyebrow. “You did it.”
