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Even be narcs when they don’t wanna be.
“So if she stays at your place, you can put her on a diet,” I suggested.
“Exactly. And she’ll be safe there, in case the food stamp guy changes his mind and comes back.”
Ten’ll get you twenty the fucker never changed his mind in the first place, dumbass.
But I didn’t say that. My mind was ticking through the options, like always.
If she stayed at Jack’s place, that fucked with my plans – so it behooved me to not have her stay at Jack’s place.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to fuck her,” I said, intentionally needling him.
His voice got all prissy. “And I meant it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s going to believe that when you invite her to spend the next two weeks at your pad.”
There was a pause. I could tell he was pissed, but he knew I was right. “Yeah… well, I’ll figure it out.”
“I got a better idea. What about we stick one of the brothers with her, watch out for her?”
Jack’s laugh was without any humor at all. “What, like Eyeball?”
“No. No, it could be Kade.”
There was no way I was going to let Kade do it. The suggestion was just a ruse – and I knew Jack would turn it down.
“Mm… that doesn’t really work. He’s here at the shop ten hours a day, and then she goes to work at the Veils, so – ”
“Well then, what about somebody who doesn’t have a regular day job?”
“Like who? Fuckin’ Roach?”
“No, I was thinkin’ maybe Benjy.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Huh…”
“She likes him, he’s fuckin’ harmless… wouldn’t touch a hair on her head. Or her pussy, unless she told him to.”
“Lou – ”
“Jesus, it was a joke. We both know she’s waxed bald as Peanut down there.”
I couldn’t help but grin, ‘cause I knew Jack was getting his panties all twisted in a wad. But I got serious before he could turn into a whiny little bitch again.
“Now, granted, Benjy ain’t gonna be able to defend her if there’s a problem, but he can call us if somebody comes pokin’ around. In fact, we could set ‘em both up at the Ridgeway for a week or two. Just till the heat dies down.”
That’d be the Ridgeway Motor Inn, my little hot-sheet motel on Highway 19. I used to fill that fucker up to capacity back when we were slinging crystal and pimping hoes.
Not for the last two years, though. Not since goddamn preacher-man Jack Pollari decided we needed to go legit.
“Huh… let me run it by her, see what she thinks.”
What I wanted to say was, Jesus Christ, man – this bitch is lucky we aren’t breaking every goddamn bone in her body. You don’t ‘see what she thinks’ – you TELL the bitch what to think.
Again, though, I kept that shit to myself.
“Maybe you should let her think Benjy is your idea,” I suggested. “She’d probably take to it easier that way.”
