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“Oh my God, he fucks her once and suddenly she’s Mother Teresa and Mary Poppins rolled into one,” I muttered to myself. “Okay, motherfucker: why exactly was your newest squeeze – and my newest waitress – so interested in that photograph?”
“Just by chance. She saw some photos of a bunch of my exes and got jealous.”
I have a sort of sixth sense about people’s motives – especially bitches – and it was popping off right about now. But jealousy wasn’t the issue here. I couldn’t say how I knew, but I would’ve bet every dollar I had on it.
However, Jack was caveman stupid about this sort of thing, so I played along.
“Not Sloane,” I said, even though I knew he’d burned every photo he had of her years ago. Which was a stupid fucking thing to do on his part.
Sloane… now that was a woman. Jack Pollari didn’t deserve a broad like her. She had bigger balls than he did. Hell, she had bigger balls than just about anybody in the Midnight Riders – except for me.
Back when Jack was starting to go soft, I asked her why she still put up with him.
Huge cock, she’d said. But lately his balls have been gettin’ smaller ‘n smaller every day.
“NO, not Sloane,” Jack said, irritated. “Christine.”
Oh yeah. I remembered her.
“The redhead with the tits?” I asked, and put my hands out like I was cupping some prime double-D’s.
“Yes,” Jack said, though he wasn’t happy about my little mime routine.
“Oh… no wonder she got jealous.”
Although I knew Fiona wasn’t jealous at all. It was something else altogether. What, I had no idea… but there was definitely something there, needling at my sixth sense.
“There you go,” Jack said, relieved that I was buying the party line.
Little did he know.
“And then she just went to the other picture? Just like that?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“She get pissed about any others?” I prodded.
“No.”
“How many bitches – excuse me, ‘ladies’ – do you have up there in your fuckin’ gallery?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. A dozen, maybe.”
Huh.
Fiona looked at Christine’s picture… then jumped past ten others, straight to Venus’s.
Venus had been her stripper name, back when she worked for me. Before she wound up dead in a back alley.
“Just those two photos? That’s all she freaked out about?” I asked.
“Yeah, so?”
“Were they right next to each other?”
Jack looked up in the air, like he was trying to recall. “…no. Not exactly.”
“Huh.” Curiouser and curiouser.
