noises. He went to the playpen and smiled down at her.
Chuckling quietly, he quipped to an observant Summer, “I guess learning her schedule is a good idea, huh?”
“Things are a bit off right now. The past couple of days have taken a toll.”
She was referring to herself. It was on him to fix things.
“Okeydoke, kids, you’re all set. Three complete sets. Caribbean Blue,” Stan said while looking at Summer. “Everything rolls, spins, and holds plenty. Samsonite. This guy right here,” he told her after swiftly punching him in the arm, “will hook you and my niece up with designer crap once everything settles down.”
He asked, “When will it be here, or do you have to go pick it up?”
Stan looked at him and let loose with a smirky snort. “Dude, this is LA. I can get anything delivered.” He consulted his watch. “An hour tops, depending on traffic.”
Arnie glanced at Summer. She less than enthusiastically lifted a shoulder. “I can make it work.”
Thumping Stan on the shoulder, he drawled, “Thanks. Now get out.”
“How rude.” His brother cackled.
Surprising the holy shit out of him and judging by her reaction, Summer too, Stan bent to quickly kiss Summer’s cheek. “If Sir Lord of the Manor gives you trouble, call me, and I’ll take care of it.” He straightened and gave Arnie a ten-thousand-watt shit-eating grin. “She has my number.”
Summer’s amused snort pretty much summed up the gotcha moment.
He’d had enough and strong-arm marched Stan from the guesthouse. “Clear everyone out,” he demanded. “Go on over to the renovation house and give Summer some space.”
In a hushed voice only he could hear, Stan said, “Understood. I’ll keep everyone away. Um, I think Dottie said King was handling LAPD.”
Relief swept through him. Good. With King and Dottie running interference, he could stand down and concentrate on his family.
He nodded. “One more thing. Get me a car. Oh, and food.” Summer’s fuel tank had to be running on empty, and he knew what a handful she was when hunger overtook her.
“Order everything you think of. Ask Dottie to help. I need to focus on my girls.”
My girls. It was the first time he framed things that way.
Stan smiled. He might have even teared up.
“Fuck,” Arnie grumbled. “I suck as a brother. I haven’t even asked how you’re doing.” He gave the sling a baleful glare. “How bad is it?”
“They offered narcotics for the pain. The good stuff, too. I politely declined.” Stan smiled awkwardly. He looked a tad embarrassed. “Dad went with me to a meeting straight from the hospital. Try to imagine me sharing how my demented mother put a bullet in my shoulder while trying to kidnap my brother’s kid. I mean, come on! Isn’t anyone writing a screenplay about this? Privilege Incorporated or How to Put the D in Dysfunction.”
Their laughter had a bitter ring.
“Oh, and by the way, you fucker.”
Arnie blinked, taken aback, and gave Stan a “What did I do?” face.
“Next time, warn me before dropping Aliyah Hawkins into the mix. Jesus Christ, Arnie. She marched into the hospital and totally took over the emergency room. It was so funny that Dad and I had to bite our tongues.”
He snickered. “Who was she this time?”
“Tough lady hard-ass in a dark blue power suit. She gave off a Secret Service vibe, looked down her nose at everyone, and barked orders. It was so fucking hilarious the gunshot was almost worth it.”
“It’s always best to let the pros handle the dicey stuff. Gunshot wounds especially. She’ll make sure the report gets handled properly.”
“One more thing before I forget. There’s a Jimmy Olsen character sniffing around. Local reporter, one of those hungry-for-a-headline types with a police scanner and a case of Red Bull in the trunk of his car. He was part of the press gaggle last night.”
“Name?”
“Douglas P. Shitforbrains?”
Stan didn’t care for reporters. One of the guys featured in his ex-wife’s porn performance was a writer for an adult magazine. He liked to post videos under the “big cock destroys ass” category.
Arnie laughed. “I think I know him.” They fist-bumped.
“Anyway, he’s going to be a pest.”
“What the hell for? There’s no story here.”
“Unfortunately, there is. My mother didn’t do things by half. Gloria Dinkins might turn out to be the lynchpin of an aggressive trafficking organization preying on single moms. When they arrested her, an overabundance of aliases came up. The equipment they used and how prepared she was to take custody of an infant weren’t a fluke.”