Snippet!
I’ve been remiss and haven’t been posting snippets. Not because there’s a lack of snippet material, but more of a lack of producing. I complain enough that this book is moving slow - at about the slow ooze of snail slime - but I like what’s coming out.
So… snippet!
Slightly redacted to remove spoilers.
I went back to the truck. Lou-Lou came out of the house, whipped off the little blue booties, crumpled them up, and tossed them in with the last of the garbage. He thumbed over his shoulder. “House’s clean. What did Arthur want?”
“The usual,” I lied. Wasn’t sure why I did. Something about Arthur’s so-called old friends put me on guard. If they were [redacted], then I’d be dumb not to tell Lou-Lou. Not to tell the others. I ‘d need backup. More than just my gun. I needed Piers. Lou-Lou. Cain. Minou. The Colonel.
But Arthur called me direct. Not Lou-Lou. Safe bet that he didn’t call the others either. Not with him telling me just you. Nobody else.
“Hope you told him where to shove it. I’m done with grunt work for the night,” Lou-Lou said.
“For the year, more like, you lazy fuck.” I pulled on my coat. Found my keys. “You good to take this shit back to the shop on your own?”
“Not going to follow me back? Give me a hand?” Lou-Lou blinked long eyelashes at me. Stuck out his lower lip. There was a fainting Southern belle in his voice. A little whiny. A lot of pain. The knee must be bugging him more than he let on. But he had people back at the Nettoyages Sauvin HQ to help him unload. He didn’t need me.
For a flash, an eyeblink, a heartbeat, I thought maybe he was babysitting. Keeping me out of trouble. Making sure I didn’t fly off the handle, charge myself up, blow up a city block. Except he wasn’t the hand-holding type. I either had my shit together, or I didn’t. It didn’t matter to him which, so long as we were clear. Then there was the way he said, there’s nothing wrong with you. He thought the Tank was as big a load of crock as I did.
I spread my hands. “Come on, Lou. The clusterfuck I’ve been in the last couple days, all I want is to get home.”
He shot me a grin. Made sure the tailgate was locked in. Hand-waved me away. Headed for the driver’s side. “You go on, Nan. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’m buying the first round.”
“You trying to make sure I show up?”
He stopped, a hand on the door, a foot on the step. The grin was gone, his lips tugged down, a Vee of wrinkles growing between his brows. “Are you going to be there?”
“If you pick up my bar tab.”
Lou-Lou laughed. Wagged a finger at me like I’d told a joke. Shook his head. “First round. Make sure you’re on time.”
He got into the truck. Turned the key. The red lights on the rear came on. The reverse whites. He stuck his hand out the window. Drove down the street. Turned left and was gone.
I got into the Judge. I had twenty-eight minutes to get forty minutes away.
No problem.
.
.
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