My brother snorted and turned to Nolan. “Appreciate the help with Dilton and his crew last night. Maybe you don’t totally suck.”
“Lina did most of the dirty work. I came along just in time to help with the cleanup.”
“What the hell are you two talking about?” I demanded.
Nolan looked at me. “You come walkin’ out of her apartment this morning half naked with bedhead and you don’t know?”
“Talk. Now,” I snapped.
“Did you unfuck things with her?” Knox asked.
“What happened with Dilton?” I repeated, ignoring my brother.
“He and his buddies were gettin’ a little rowdy at Honky Tonk. They pissed off Max the server, which given the timing of the month was pretty fucking stupid. Then Lina caught his eye,” Nolan explained.
Of course she did. She’d catch any man’s eye.
“What happened?” I reached for my phone. I was going to track Dilton down and kick his ass. Then I’d track Lina down and yell at her for an hour or so for not telling me she’d tangled with my problem.
“Slow your roll, Romeo. Fi said Lina eviscerated the moron with words. Now, back to what you were doin’ sneakin’ out of her place. She didn’t say jack about you this morning when she borrowed my truck,” Knox said.
“Goddammit. Why did she need your truck?”
“Lina was holdin’ her own,” Nolan continued. “But another customer—big guy—stepped in when it looked like Dilton might be too drunk to make good choices. Your manager threatened to call the cops just as I walked in. So I got to escort the assface outside.”
“What did he say to her?”
“Dunno. She just said he was being a dick,” Nolan said. “After my chat with him, I assumed it was drunken misogyny. Hey, do you guys think I should lose the ’stache?”
“Yes,” Knox said. “It makes me want to punch you in the face.”
“Damn it. It was supposed to be my freedom facial hair. You know, get divorced, grow some hair, magically turn into a new person.”
“I’ve got a barbershop and a straight razor. Just say the word.”
I left the two of them to their facial hair and walked away already dialing.
THIRTY
SURVEILLANCE WITH A SIDE OF DRAMA
Lina
The smell of pizza wafted through the open windows of Knox’s truck. I was camped out in a strip mall parking lot in Arlington. Across the street was a block of row homes that had seen better days.
I was waiting for Wendell Baker, a.k.a. Chubby Goatee Guy. He was beefy, white, balding, and an enforcer for the Hugo family who wore too many gold chains and always had a toothpick in his mouth. According to Tina’s questionable intel, Baker collected a paycheck from Anthony Hugo but was tight enough with Duncan that his loyalties were divided.
Authorities hadn’t been able to tie Baker to the abduction and shootout, which meant he was free to go about his business. And I was free to follow him…hopefully to a pristine 1948 Porsche 356 convertible.
So far, however, Baker had gotten out of bed at 11:00 a.m., grabbed a Grande at Burritos to Go, and then paid his brother’s girlfriend a visit that involved unzipping his fly on the front porch before she even answered the door.
Classy guy.
My phone rang again.
“Seriously, people? When did I get so popular?”
I’d already had calls from my mom about Dad’s birthday gift, Stef wondering if I was planning to sweat with the oldies at the gym this week, and Sloane, who had forced me to volunteer for something called Book or Treat the following night at the library. Not to mention the text from Naomi telling me she’d given my number to Fi and hoped that was okay. That was followed by a group text from Fi, Max, and Silver from Honky Tonk recapping all the best fictional versions of my run-in with Tate Dilton.
Apparently I had broken a bottle over his head, then shoved him backward into a vat of fryer oil. No one was sure where the vat of oil came from but everyone agreed that it was hilarious watching him crawl out of the bar like human escargot.
That was when I saw the caller ID.
I almost let it go to voicemail before deciding that was the coward’s way out.
“I assume you found your way out of my apartment,” I said by way of a greeting.
“Why the hell am I hearing about you and Dilton from a U.S. marshal and my dumbass brother instead of you?” Nash demanded.
“First of all, I’d like verification that you did leave my place. Second, when exactly did we have time for a conversation last night? Third—and this is the most important one, so pay attention—what business is it of yours?”
“We spent the night together, Angelina.” His voice went gravelly on my name and I pointedly ignored the delicious shiver that rolled up my spine. “That’s plenty of time for you to say ‘Hey, Nash. I was accosted in public by the asshole you suspended.’”
His impression of me was terrible.
“And then what? You’d have said ‘Don’t you worry, little lady. I’ll make sure you’re never alone so the big, drunk wolf can’t be a dick to you’？ Also, I don’t remember it fostering a chatty atmosphere when you showed up mid panic attack at my door.”
“Dilton is my problem, not yours. If he’s trying to make it yours, I need to know.”
That at least made sense. “Fine.”
My agreement temporarily shut him down. “Well, okay then. Now, I heard that he approached you, then you threw him through a plate glass window,” he said, sounding amused.
I snorted at that one. “Really? Because I heard I dunked him in a vat of fryer oil.”
“But what I’m most interested in is he approached you and started running his mouth. Why and about what?”
“I made eye contact with him. He was drunk and disorderly and getting rammy so I looked at him until he looked at me back.”
“Need I remind you that with great female power comes great female responsibility?”
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t trying to become a target or start shit, Chief. I was just trying to distract him from riling up the staff. Max definitely would have deep-fried his ass last night.”
“Still don’t like it, but fair enough.”
“How generous of you.”
“Tell me what he said to you.”
“He asked if I was your bitch and then gave me a message to give to you. Said it was time to take you down a peg or two. I, of course, insulted his intelligence.”
“Of course,” Nash said dryly.
“Then he tried to pretend he was a cop who could take me downtown until I found my manners. I may have mentioned that I knew he didn’t have a badge anymore and wondered how you’d feel about him impersonating a police officer. Then he insulted me and the women of Knockemout, and just when things were getting interesting, as in fried food being thrown, a bystander and Nolan stepped in.”
There was a stony silence on Nash’s end.
“You still there, hotshot?”
“Yeah,” he said finally.
I didn’t know it was possible to pack so much anger into one tiny syllable.
I rocked my head back against the seat. “It was fine, Nash. He was never going to get physical. Not in there. Not with me. He was drunk and stupid but not drunk and stupid enough to forget that a physical altercation with a woman in a public place would be the end of him.”