None of them were jacked near as badly.
Dewey studied him again then said, still talking quietly, “I’ll keep ears and eyes open. Anything you need to know, I’ll get word to you.” He paused then offered, “Freebie.”
“No shit?” Walker asked and Dewey, being Dewey, grinned.
Walker did not grin back.
Instead he reminded him. “Three weeks today, Dew.”
Dewey’s grin faded, he nodded then he replied, “Three weeks.”
Walker turned away and went to his workout bag. Dewey disappeared back through the window. Summer, long days, it was early evening, still light. Even so, no one would see Dewey. He could be a shadow standing in the middle of a field at noon. With that kind of talent at hand, him still getting tagged made him all the more stupid.
Walker bent and grabbed his bag, moving out of the locker room into the gym. The instant he hit it, he did a scan. It was automatic. He clocked everyone there, knew who’d arrived since he went to the locker room, who’d moved stations or machines, in or out of rings. Years of playing poker successfully, he’d learned to notice a shift of the eyes, a twitch of the finger, the way a man would move the cards around in his hand or what it meant when he didn’t considering what he would eventually turn over. This served him well inside and he’d spent five years polishing this skill, facial expressions, the set of shoulders, the clench of fists, a man’s gait, his position in a room, in the yard. Anyone sent down with half a brain used their time to hone this skill or they didn’t last long. Seeing as Walker’s was already amplified, he could read a man and gauge a room at a glance.
Second nature.
This freed him up to set the meeting and the frustrations it caused aside. He had other contacts but considering his first choice was Dewey, he wasn’t fired up to connect with his second runner up. The other choice was, without a tail, start digging himself. Risky and time consuming, time he’d have to take away from Lexie, something he did not want to do. An elevation in risk that could conceivably take him away from Lexie, something he really did not want to do.
Thinking about Lexie made his gait quicken. Workout done. Pain in the ass meet with Dewey over.
Time to get home.
A home without Ella, Bessie and Honey.
The last two weeks had been insane. When he told Tate that Lexie would want to pack it all in, he had not been wrong. But she wasn’t the only one who wanted to pack it all in, all four of those women didn’t want to waste a single breath.
So they didn’t.
This was good, it meant he could avoid the meet with Tate. A meeting where Tate would try to take Walker’s pulse, dig and see if Walker was up to something. Then expend the wasted effort to try and talk him out of it. Then get pissed when his effort was wasted.
Walker didn’t need that shit. Neither did Tate. He owed the man his time and he’d give it to him and then try to manage the meeting so feelings wouldn’t turn hard.
But he couldn’t say he wasn’t f**king glad he’d had genuine excuses to delay.
These included Ella treating them all to her “famous Texas chili”, shit so hot, Walker couldn’t taste the meat or beans, just the heat. This started a contest for each of those sisters to one-up themselves, something he could have saved them doing since he hadn’t enjoyed Ella’s treat but he couldn’t exactly say that, as much as he wanted to, so he didn’t.
Honey’s offering was worse. Thankfully the bitch was dim so Lexie and Ella were able to draw her attention away while Bessie confiscated plates and dumped vast portions of whatever the f**k it was supposed to be in the garbage so they didn’t have to eat it. Walker thought he’d have to go to bed starved but Lexie had snuck down to the kitchen and made him sandwiches then came up with them to tell him she’d run into Ella and Bessie doing the same.
At this, she’d laughed herself sick. She’d laughed herself sicker when she presented him with bologna and an excuse of, “This was the best I could do, baby, Ella was distracting Honey, I didn’t have time to do more.”
It was the first time since he was a kid and learned better that he preferred bologna to the alternative.
Luckily, Bessie knew her way around the kitchen. Her meat pie with cornbread topping was the shit.
When they weren’t cooking, Lexie had talked him into taking them to The Rooster. And she’d talked him into taking them to the Italian place then to Bubba’s. Further, Maggie had thrown a barbeque in honor of their visit which meant they had to go. The next week, not to be outdone, Laurie had invited them all to dinner. He’d barely step foot at the top of the stairs before Lexie was telling him he needed to get his ass in the shower because they were off somewhere.
And even if they weren’t, the women latched on and his time was full.
One night, they seated him at the island with Lexie’s photo albums, ten of those f**kers. Clearly, she hadn’t just discovered taking photos; his wife had made a habit of it for two decades. They all stood around him, the best part being Lexie standing behind him, tits pressed to his back, arm reaching around to flip the pages, finger pointing to pictures, her body moving against his as she giggled, pressing closer and circling his chest with her other arm while she reminisced, sometimes she’d drop her chin to his shoulder and go quiet as the other three shared stories. And all four of them told their tales over photo albums and they’d done it for hours.
Through it, Lexie was having the time of her life and he couldn’t say he wasn’t interested, seeing the pages turn, seeing their lives in pictures, getting to know her family and, as the photos passed by, watching his wife grow older, mature. He wasn’t surprised to see she was a knockout from age fourteen, she’d always had beauty but also there was no way to miss the promise of what it would be when it ripened. Then the page would turn and he’d see it ripen. It was exactly what he expected. And he expected this because Rodriguez, who in the beginning with his talent could have any pu**y he wanted lie back and spread but he knew, no matter the choice, nothing compared to what he had at home.
She didn’t hide Rodriguez, quickly turn pages he was in or skim over his photos, not from Walker, not from her family. That was Lex. Nothing hidden. No bullshit. Rodriguez was a part of her life, their lives and she didn’t feel there was a reason to bury him. Walker guessed this was because he was buried, literally and that was enough. He’d been a major component in her life, now he was gone. That was it.
Picture night happened once but if he was not dragging their asses to restaurants, the women in his house could yammer and they did, sitting around the kitchen or on the deck furniture, Lexie sipping beer, her girls sucking back cocktails and, as with the pictures, they did it for hours. He tried to make a point by sitting in front of a game but not only Lexie but all of them would call out his name or come to the door to the deck, tell him a story, share a joke, tell him what one of them had just said. He didn’t have any desire to be in their hen huddle but he couldn’t say the four of them weren’t f**king funny, they were. Every last one. Including Honey. And the sound of their jabbering and laughter, he had to admit, was far from annoying.
Deep in the second week, Tuku’s framed pen and ink had been delivered. This night included him and Bessie holding the frame up in various places in the living room while Ella, Honey and Lexie studied it, fingers to faces, heads tipped to the side, uncertain and directing them to move it somewhere else. Walker tired of this about five seconds in, knowing exactly where he wanted it. Bessie tired of it ten seconds later and started throwing sass. She put up with about fifteen minutes more then announced, “Ya’ll got two seconds to make up your minds, you don’t, I carry this motherfucker to the deck and throw it over the side.”