Barrett, Senator Barrett, then maybe we’ll let it go, but I can see Bear Barrett going to Congress more than I can Merrell.” He drew the name out like it was dirty. “Who did that to you, anyway?”
"Okay, McCauley, now you’re just being an asshole,” I interjected. Making fun of someone’s name, something they had no control over, was a dick move. But they both ignored me like I wasn't there.
“It was my grandfather’s name!” Merrell yelled.
“Yeah, it’s awful,” McCauley apprised him with a shrug. “Always has been.”
“I can’t believe you just––”
“Bear Barrett for Congress sounds far more badass,” he interrupted.
It took Merrell a moment to move his focus from McCauley to me, and he still sounded annoyed when he finally spoke. “I…you’re moving? Where are you going?” he asked irritably.
“Across town or something,” McCauley answered for me as though, again, I wasn’t in the room. “He needs to be away from the liquor store where all the degenerates hang out, and the motel where they go to bang the hookers.”
“You know I’m going to clean that all up, right?”
“Sure,” McCauley patronized him. “Just like every mayor before you.”
“No,” Merrell groused, “I’m the one who’s finally going to do it.”
“When you’re in office, calling the shots, we’ll get right on it,” McCauley agreed. “But for now, Jacobson’s still the mayor, and he prefers to pretend the ass-end of Barrett Crossing belongs to Loomis.”
“Which it does not.”
“No, it doesn’t,” McCauley agreed, “and everybody knows it.”
“Maybe you guys wanna take this outside,” I offered, “because this is not restful.”
“No, I…still need to talk to you,” Merrell assured me, his gaze meeting mine. “We didn’t get a chance to speak—”
“Listen, I got the shit kicked outta me last night, and I’m not feeling up to a heart-to-heart with you right now, okay? I hafta be at The Mission on Monday for my shift, and talk to Betty about moving things around. We can talk then.”
“What are you moving around?” he all but growled.
“Why are you snapping at him like he pissed you off?” McCauley wanted to know.
Merrell turned to him. “Would you leave?”
“No, I need to know where Jeremiah’s going to be. He still needs to give a statement about what happened to him, and as you know, Creese Robinson’s case is ongoing.”
Merrell glanced at me. “You’re involved in the Edison Barnum case?”
“I have to move to Sacramento,” I told McCauley, ignoring Merrell. “The universe wants me there.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I agree with Bear,” McCauley stated. “You don’t need to move out of town.”
“Yes, you do.” Cheyenne Bryson added her opinion as she breezed into the room, a grease-stained Kingman’s bag in one hand and a large Styrofoam cup in the other. “I’ve had an epiphany.”
“Did you bring me a mushroom burger and a chocolate shake?”
She nodded, smiling wide, and put the bag on the rolling tray table, pushing it closer to the bed. Then she put the straw in the cup and passed it to me.
“Did you make the shake yourself?”
“I did,” she assured me. “I put the vanilla syrup in the bottom just the way you like it, and added a shot of espresso too.”
“Aw, Chey,” I whimpered and took a sip. The shake was a bit melted and not as thick as usual, the drive from Barrett Crossing to Sac having turned something great into utter perfection. “You do love me.”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” she said pointedly, “and I wish you believed it. I swear to God, it’s like trying to help a feral cat. You want to feed it and deworm it and drown it all at the same time. But I have more important business than trying to get you to trust me.”
“I’m a cat with worms in this scenario?”
“Yes,” she assured me, nodding.
“Whatever,” I grumbled. “Tell me about your epiphany.”
She perched on my bed, holding her purse in her lap. “So last night, after closing and everyone left, I had a long talk with Lance. As you and I both guessed, he’s moving to LA.”
“No shit.” I breathed out. “He’s really going?”
“Not going, gone. He and Connie hit the road first thing this morning.”
“I’m happy for him. You know he was never gonna be satisfied at Kingman’s.”
“I one hundred percent agree,” she granted, smiling at me. “He’ll have his own cooking show on the Food Network in a few years, and we can all say we knew him when.”
I nodded.
“And since Lance decided the best thing for him was to get out, I’ve