“I said shut the fuck up.”
Costello’s my weak spot, always has been. Boys like these, once they find that weak spot, love nothin’ more than to push your buttons, hoping you’ll break. It’s a game that started in the academy. I sure as hell won’t break, but that doesn’t mean they won’t piss me off.
“You’re getting pretty defensive there, Frankie. What’s up with that?” McGuire asks.
“Just overworked, brother, and looking forward to a few drinks here with you guys, or at the end of the bar with Costello if you keep up with this shit.”
“But seriously, you two an item?” McGuire asks.
“Move on with that, or I will. Shit,” I say. “So how’d the search warrant go?”
“It was a good hit,” Luna says, just as the waitress returns.
She sets down our drinks.
Luna downs his bourbon, hands her the glass. “I’ll have another. Thanks, hon,” he tells her.
“I’m good for now,” McGuire says.
The waitress returns to the bar.
“Yeah, it was a damn good hit,” Luna continues.
“Just found out there’s another missing teenager,” I say.
“You get that from Davidson?” Luna asks.
“No. Costello got a call from another family whose daughter went missing. Anything you can tell me about those boys you arrested?”
“Davidson and his Fed partners took them right away. We didn’t have a chance to talk to them. Heard they lawyered up right away, too,” Luna says.
“I’ll get you the info on this other girl next week. You get them to debrief in the future, maybe you can work this girl into the deal.”
“Of course, brother. Keep us informed. And why are you working something like this?”
“I’m not working it. Just trying to help out, that’s all.”
“I could never work that kind of shit,” Luna says.
“Me either,” McGuire adds. “Makes me both mad as hell and sick as hell at the same time. Can’t even think about it. Something like that ever happened to my daughter, you’d have to take my gun from me or I’d be wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
Costello returns. She has a little cigarillo. Must have bought it at the other end of the bar. After she sits, she grabs a box of wooden matches near the ashtray and lights it. She’s a social smoker, something I’ve never been able to understand. I fire up the cigar.
“So you guys need me to find a seat at the bar, or can I join you now? God forbid having to sit with the enemy.”
The waitress returns with Luna’s drink, sets it before him.
“Thanks, babe,” he says. After she walks away he adds, “It’s not personal. You know that.”
“No, just ignorance,” I say, and take another sip of rum. “You two think about it—I do most of my work for her. Maybe you shouldn’t trust me ’cause I’m on the dark side, too.”
“Hell no,” Luna returns. “You’ll always be one of us.”
If only that were so, I think to myself. That honor’s long gone.
Twenty-one
I’ve had to go to the men’s room only two times since I’ve been here. For some reason self-control has always been easier in a social environment. It’s when I’m home alone that I need more practice. That’s a whole different monster. It’s like chain-smoking when you’re sitting alone with too much on your mind.
They ordered food for the table. I return to several plates of appetizers spread out along the round tabletop, leaving barely enough room for our drinks.
Costello’s nursing her second martini. She’s a lightweight. She does one more and I’ll probably have to hold her up while we walk to the car. Which might not be such a bad thing. I miss her scent, especially the area at the nape of her neck where her hair falls.
I’m on my third rum and fourth beer. Don’t even know how much McGuire and Luna have had, but I’m sure the food they’re stuffing down their pieholes will absorb most of the alcohol. The hardest part of what I do is when I have to force myself to eat, like now. The stuffed poppers are tasty enough, but the food fucks up the high. I’ve gotta eat, though, or I’ll be a mess in the morning. There is a certain benefit to potentially heart-attack-inducing comfort foods like poppers and fries. Consuming them, and downing four ibuprofen and a full glass of water at bedtime, will seriously reduce the risk of waking up to a bad hangover.
I can’t remember the last time I had a hangover. A bit of a headache, maybe, but that’s about it. I ain’t so stupid that I think it’s something that’s gonna last. I think about that sometimes, mostly in bed when I’m having a hard time falling asleep, or when I’m depressed because I’m running low on my supply. My body will start falling apart at some point, no matter how much grapefruit I consume. The worrying has a way of disappearing soon after I wake up, and the body starts craving what has become part of its essence.
After I take my seat, I light a cigarette.
“You still have that bladder problem?” McGuire asks.