“You know you’re a…” A slow moving cruiser passes the food joint, and I watch it closely to make sure it’s not gonna come to a complete stop. If so, we’re outta here.
“What?” he asks, taking another bite out of his sandwich.
“Huh?” I try to blow it off.
“You said I’m a… and then zoned out. What’s up?” The kid turns to see what I’m ogling. I don’t want him bolting on me because of a highly suspicious-looking cop.
“Nothing. You gonna eat or what?” He faces me again to make sure I’m not stealing his grub and that’s that. Except for the fact that I have a funny fucking feeling about that cruiser.
It’s difficult to see in through the tinted windows of the sub shop, though. Especially when it’s sunny out. I’m probably overreacting.
Hell, even I know I’m full of shit on that one.
I need to get the kid somewhere safe. Not that I have a whole lot of options. My circle of trust includes questionable suspects from over a dozen cases I’ve been involved in.
Relax, I’m kidding. I have no circle of trust.
Tricky was kind of my only choice, and with that opportunity being snuffed out like a cigarette under a church pew, I’m kinda screwed.
Speaking of which.
I pull the long, tobacco-filled paper out of my shirt pocket and set it down beside my food.
“You can’t smoke that in here, Jackson.” One of the employees, Linda, tells me from behind the counter. Like I didn’t know that shit. I give her a friendly nod anyway. I don’t need to piss these people off. There aren’t many establishments that give me free double meat these days.
Truth be told, I wasn’t gonna smoke it anyway.
I just need to see it. So I can deny it the satisfaction of owning my ass.
“Listen, I was thinking, kid.”
“Yeah.” He shoves a handful of chips into his mouth.
“You should probably stay at my place.”
“Really?” His expression lightens about fifty fold.
“For a few days. ’Til we can figure out the sitch.” I don’t want him to get all fucking giddy about it.
Too late for that, though.
“Dude, this is so awesome. I won’t be a pain, I swear, and that bathroom thing, don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”
The what?
“What bathroom thing?” I dare to ask, and when he starts to explain, I stop him. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”
He laughs, and I go back to eating my sub while scanning the street to make sure that cruiser didn’t double back.
It’d be nice to take the next half hour or so to think some things through before I head off to Green’s apartment building. Unfortunately, my offer to let Stix have a place to sleep that doesn’t entail boxes or getting killed throws the kid into a rant that lasts roughly forty-five minutes.
Once we’re done, I scope the streets one last time for any more marked or unmarked cars hanging around. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there, and I don’t wanna think about whether or not they caught a glimpse of Stix. If they did, and the cops are part of some elaborate murder plot involving Donnie Leary, we’re screwed.
X X X
Back at my place, I pull the key off my ring and hand it to Jimmy. “You can sleep on the couch until we figure out a better deal for you.”
He reaches for the key, and I snag it away. I need to lay down some ground rules before I leave him again.
“Do not touch my fucking computer or anything in the seven-square-foot area that is my bedroom. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He reaches for the key again.
“And don’t fucking break any more of my locks.”
“Okay.”
“And I want a full report, in detail, on how you managed that fuckery.”
He laughs. “Fine.”
I hand him the key.
“Where are you going anyway?”
I breathe out heavily. “I gotta get Green’s car back for her.”
The kid smiles.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” he insists before he bails out of the Chevelle. I watch him all the way to my door, making sure no one’s lurking around watching him. Or me.
When I spot Lilah across the street, I realize I probably shouldn’t have waved to her earlier. This time, I don’t acknowledge that I see her. I simply drive off. She’ll get the hint, eventually. Hopefully. Poor kid needs a life.
X X X
Green’s waiting outside her apartment building when I arrive. Sorry, Connor’s building. What the fuck does this guy do for a living anyway? The Grand is one of Redemption’s most expensive places to live.
When she slides into the car, I’m tempted to ask her how long she’s been seeing him. Then I remember, I don’t give a shit.
“You’re late.” She slams the door—not too hard—just enough to send a message. She likes punctuality.
“You’re welcome.” I send her my own message. As in, I’m doing this out of the kindness of my fucking heart.
She gets comfortable. I divert my eyes from the way her legs rub up against each other and how her breasts rise and fall in a slow, seductive way with each breath she takes.
I’m officially a hormone-induced teenager.
“Like what you see, Stiles?”