Think Before You Speak (26 page)

Scratch that. A few extra
hours
before
I’d make it into the bar tomorrow night. I couldn’t keep working
willy-nilly with my schedule if I hoped to break this slowly
creeping dependence on my mom’s credit card. The bedroom furniture
would have to be Mom’s final major purchase on my behalf.

For now.

Bobby was right. It was time for Mom and me
to develop a more mature relationship, which meant I’d have to once
again depend solely on my income. Break the chains. Go cold
turkey.

When I slung my purse over my shoulder and
headed out the door, I could’ve sworn it moaned and whimpered a
little. I half expected my wallet to be moist from tears when I
tugged it out to check my cash stash before tearing away from the
apartment building toward the gas station.

Instead of tears, maybe it was sweating
too.

Even though I didn’t have that far to drive,
traffic this time of the day was a real bear. It would never do to
get stuck driving in Dallas with less than a half-tank of gas, so I
pulled into the nearest station to pre-pay and pump in a few
gallons. My cell phone gave my butt a nice buzz as I finished
filling the tank. Rochelle responded for tomorrow night with a big
smiley face, which I took as a yes.

As I opened the car door, the hair on the
back of my neck stood on end – and considering sweat had plastered
it to my skin, that was saying something. Most of the gas pumps had
patrons with attention focused on rising gasoline prices. The
office complex across the street revealed continual movement of
workers leaving the building, entering cars, or driving from the
lot, which would make a stationary body stand out. Nothing.

The quick scan of chaos gave me no clues as
to the source of the sensation, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t
out there. Watching. Waiting.

With everything I’d been poking my nose into,
I was once again on someone’s radar. Might be Switch and Company.
Perhaps Ambassador Juarez had someone keeping a close eye on my
safety. Did Zeke have boots on the ground watching over me again?
Either way it creeped me out and left me feeling vulnerable and
alone in a sea of humanity – an unusual sensation given my past
penchant for being the center of attention.

Before I could think on it further, I peeled
from the station and arrived at the bar in record time. Once I got
inside and started my shift, the sense of personal space violation
gradually abated. Regulars filtered in after a long day, and I
relaxed into a comfortable rhythm.

With everything going smooth and tapping out
a steady beat to the music, I ‘bout piddled in my panties when a
hand rested low on my hip. I spun around. Grady pulled back a bit
at my reaction. Or maybe it was the sling of rum across his
shirt.

“Whoa there, Vic,” he said, taking the bottle
from my hands.

“Sorry, boss,” I sputtered, dabbing at the
splatter on his plaid button-up.

Grady grinned that slow quirk of his
mustache. “I’ll be glad to take it off for ya.”

“Not in the mood.” I slapped him with the
towel.

“Ya know, so you can wash it out before it
gets stained.”

“I’m a bartender, not your personal
laundress.”

“I’m takin’ bids on a new position.”

“How ‘bout a shot of Jack instead?” I asked,
popping the cold glass into my cleavage and giving it my standard
three-fingered pour.

Grady slid the shot glass from between my
boobs and knocked it back in one swallow like a tried-and-true
Texan. The long-played game was usually a fun and flirty moment
shared between us, but this time my boss set down the empty glass
and gave me an ice-hard stare.

“You’re tense,” he observed aloud. “What’s
happened that has you all worked up?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Family’s on my case.
Janine’s busy with a new semester. My boss has become a grade-A
stitch in my side. Life is going nowhere. Haven’t had sex in
awhile…”

“Well, I’d be willin’ to help you with that
last part,” Grady interrupted, loading dirty glasses into the
dishwasher.

I scrunched up my lips to keep from smiling.
“And I’m going to have to have a talk with Zeke.”

That stopped his forward progress.
“About?”

I mindlessly swiped the towel across the
counter. “Nothing much. Just a little matter of forgiveness.”

“You’ve been talkin’ to that pastor friend of
yours, haven’t you?”

I sprayed down a particularly stubborn smear
on the bar top and put a little elbow grease to it. “Both Bobby and
my mom said that I need to get his side of what happened when we
broke up.”

“You thinkin’ about getting’ back together
with Big Z?”

“Hell no,” I exclaimed a little too quickly,
hitting the stain double-time. I gave up with a sigh. “I just want
to be able to talk with him without the
incident
always
coming up between us. Then maybe I can really forgive him this
time, and we can become friends.”

“That’s a tough one,” Grady said, crossing
his arms and leaning against the counter. “I’m of the mindset that
once a man and woman share more than spit and a little polish, it’s
pretty much impossible to be mere friends again.”

“I second that,” a familiar voice called.

Speaking of friends sharing spit, I whirled
around to see Radioman’s lawyer friend plop down on a barstool.
Seth hadn’t taken off the freshly tailored suit jacket yet. That’s
two new suits tailored to fit this week alone. Wonder where he got
the money for that bit of business?

“Nice suit,” I sneered aloud as Grady excused
himself and headed toward his fortress of surveillance. “New?”

“Just picked it up yesterday from the
tailor,” Seth said, flicking off a piece of imaginary lint from the
dusky gray linen-blend sleeve, his gaze following Grady. “Needed
something that breathed better in this ungodly heat.”

Yeah, linen breathed better – especially when
you rubbed shoulders with the no-good, slimy criminal element.

Hmm. What did that make me? Or Radioman?

“So where’s Radioman?” I asked, placing a
scotch on the bar top.

The ice tinkled against the glass as Seth
took a long drink before answering. “Still at work. Should join me
in another hour or two.”

The thought of seeing my man sent a zing to
my nether regions. Wait. My man? When had Bruce become
my
man
? Second thought, when had I started referring to him by his
given name?

The moment Grady turned the corner and
disappeared into the office, Seth spun around on the stool and
hissed, “What in the hell were you doing the other night?”

“Me?” I leaned over the bar with a harsh
whisper like the shot heard round the bar. “You said you were
Italian, but you left out the part where you’re a lawyer for the
mob.”

“I’m not. Not really.”

“Then what were
you
doing there?” I
successfully turned the tables on him.

His lips thinned into a hard line, eyes
unreadable as he hid behind his courtroom persona. “It’s
complicated.”

I returned to scrubbing at the stubborn
stain. “You said the other night it wasn’t what it looked like.
What did you mean by that?”

“Just what I said.”

“Which doesn’t really say anything.”

He remained stoic. Silent.

“I have several friends in law enforcement,
you know,” I threw out in taunt. “Should I give them Doug and
Bruce’s names too?”

“No,” Seth said a little too sharply. “And
you can’t mention a word about this to either of them.”

And people said
I
had a loud mouth.
“Give me a reason not to.”

The cool customer, lawyerly persona had
cracked wide open. “Ricardo is a client of the firm where I
work.”

“I kinda deduced that. Give me something
else.”

He threw back the rest of the drink then
cleared his throat. “I came across something in the files that I
shouldn’t have and got caught. Now I’m doing penance.”

“By working for a drug dealer?”

Seth winced and glanced around to see if
anyone was paying attention to us. “The alternative would’ve left
me either a few fingers short or more likely analyzing the
composition of silt on the river bottom. At least this way, I can
continue to collect information and eventually turn it over to the
proper authorities.”

That last bit stopped my tirade. I poured him
another drink in consolation. “This sounds like a plot from a movie
I’ve seen. Wouldn’t you be disbarred?”

He grabbed the glass and downed half in one
swallow. “Better disbarred than jailed…or dead.”

In my peripheral vision, I caught Grady
stepping out from the office, trying not to be obvious. Damn. Now I
wasn’t just suspicious but certain he’d hidden bugs somewhere
behind the bar. I joined Seth and threw back a shot of Jack before
throwing a glare Grady’s way.

“Are you working with anyone specific in the
police department?” I asked.

He shook his head and offered up a hopeful
plea. “Maybe you could help me when I’m ready?”

He’d better get ready then. I had a feeling
Grady, Zeke or someone outside of Detective Duncan’s department
would be beating down his door real soon. Like tonight.

A gust of furnace-like proportions indicated
the opening of the employee side door. Rochelle sauntered in about
as wilted as a plucked daisy.

“Speaking of which,” Seth said, switching to
courtroom persona to cover our conversation, “when are you gonna
denote a fun nickname on me?”

“I’m still working on it,” I said, attempting
to match his grin. “I didn’t think you’d like Courtroom Harpy, so I
wanted to give it a bit more thought.”

That got me an outright laugh, but his eyes
told me this conversation was far from over. I had to agree.

“Hey, Rochelle,” I called over my shoulder.
“Thanks again for tomorrow evening.”

“You bet,” my co-worker said. “I’ll take all
of the extra hours I can get if it means getting my own place
sooner rather than later.”

I handed her a mug from the tap as Seth slid
the second empty glass toward me.

“That’ll be all for me for now, Vicki,” Seth
said, then turned his attention on Rochelle. “Let’s see if I can
help you with that goal. Ready to sign some paperwork?”

“You bet,” Rochelle responded.

I debated whether I’d gotten yet another
friend in trouble by association. I continued wiping the spot like
a dog returning to its own vomit as I watched the legal proceedings
at the corner table. It’d be nice if Rochelle could finally get her
due from that lousy excuse of an ex-husband. Those kids deserved a
father who’d actually be a part of their lives, not just someone
who offered up a casual sperm here and there only to renege on
responsibilities.

Then again sometimes having a negligent
father around was worse than a deadbeat dad. It took more than a
proffer of sperm to make a loving and concerned parent.
That
I knew too well.

Grady meandered toward the bar and loosed a
few dormant cogs in my brain. Dangerous, I know, but this time it
wasn’t thoughts or worries for myself. Regardless of my on and off
again frustrations with him lately, the boss was a man of honor.
Responsible business owner. Sense of humor – most of the time. Good
secret keeper when necessary. Texan through-and-through. All the
qualities for a good husband and father. And they were closer in
age.

“You’re thinking hard there, Vic. Care to
share?”

The only problem was whether or not Radioman
could get a couple more tickets. I tilted my face his way with the
tug of a smile. “Hey, boss. What’re you doing Sunday
afternoon?”

I could hardly contain my excitement. In mere
hours the bedroom furniture would arrive and get set up just in
time for Sunday’s post-date festivities. ‘Course I still had to
finagle my way around getting both Grady and Rochelle on the same
page.

After all, folks, it takes a lot of planning
and mismanagement to work this hard at throwing two people
together. And a little white lie – or two. Is it my fault when
someone misunderstands my intentions?

Don’t answer that.

At just after four, a knock clunked against
my apartment door. But instead of Reggie standing there when I
dragged the door open, it was an unexpected surprise.

“Mom?”

Rubbing her knuckles, my mom swept inside
dressed in a floral number as if she’d just left the Thursday
ladies luncheon at the church. After a quick peck on the cheek, she
surveyed what I’d done with the place since the remodel.

“Reginald called to say they were delivering
the bedroom suite today,” Mom explained. “I had to come see it in
person.”

First complication of the day. I’d planned to
discuss the blackmail potential candidates with Reggie after
everyone left, but with my mom thrown in the mix and the past any
indication, she’d be around long after everyone else disappeared.
There wouldn’t be any opportunity to inconspicuously coordinate
with him either, as Mom tended to commandeer every moment of
Reggie’s attention. Then again, she
had
paid for
everything.

Maybe I could send him a text to let him know
when Mom left and he could return. Yeah, that might work.

“That’s great, Mom, but it isn’t here
yet.”

“Oh,” she responded, disappointment in her
tone.

“Matter of fact, I thought you were Reggie,”
I said.

Mom sat on the sofa all prim and proper, with
knees together and ankles crossed and tucked like a properly
trained former beauty queen. Now me? I simply plopped down beside
her.

“Do you have to work tonight?” Mom asked.

“Yeah,” I responded. “But one of my
co-workers is covering for me until I finish here.”

“That’s nice of her…or is it a him?”

“Her.”

“Ah.”

Silence. Mom fiddled with an imaginary
wrinkle on her skirt. Then she pulled a tissue from her purse and
swiped at the coffee table like a matador in a bullfight.