I did have the chance to turn around, I caught Indy’s eye and I mouthed, “Thank you.” She cocked her head and smiled a confused smile before I was pul ed through the door. She had no idea what I was talking about but I didn’t care, I had to say it al the same, for my Grams, my Mom, my aunts and myself.
* * * * *
I didn’t look at Hank. Hank had ceased to exist for me.
He had to.
For his own good and mine.
Chapter Three
Naughty Girl Martini
This is how it got better, and worse.
* * * * *
I met the cats. There were a lot of them. As in, a lot.
Some of them Uncle Tex was getting paid to watch, most of them were Uncle Tex’s.
“Is it legal to have this many cats?” I asked, jiggling a laser light on the wal and watching a cat named Petunia, who had splotches of ginger and splotches of white, try to crawl up the wal to get at the red dot.
“Nope,” Tex said standing by where I was sitting on his couch and gazing at my laser cat play like I was the Master Cat Queen and no one could jiggle a laser light as wel as me.
I couldn’t help myself, even with al that was on my mind, I laughed. After al these years, and al our letters, it was good to know Uncle Tex felt the same way about me as I felt about him.
“I thought Hank and Eddie were cops. Do they know about your cats?” I asked.
“Those boys have had bigger fish to fry these past months. What with Indy gettin’ kidnapped and shot at al the time and Jet wrestlin’ with a loan shark carryin’ a knife and runnin’ from a crazy ra**st.”
The red dot arrested on the wal as I blinked at Tex.
“Petunia’s goin’ loco, darlin’ girl, jiggle!” Tex said, staring at the wal .
“Kidnapped… shot at… rapist… ” I said, or kind of, spluttered.
Uncle Tex turned to me. “It’s a long story.”
“I think we have time.”
“It’s actual y two long stories” he said.
“I stil think we have time.”
He sat down next to me on the couch, took the laser light away from me and started jiggling it another direction, trying to get a cat named Rocky interested.
“Rocky’s too damn lazy, gettin’ fat,” he muttered.
“Uncle Tex.”
He sighed.
Then he told me two long stories.
* * * * *
“Can we cal Mom?” I asked after I’d gotten over Indy and Jet’s stories of murder, gunplay, pot farms, strip club mayhem, knife wielding men, rampant kidnapping and assault by taking a shot of Uncle Tex’s homemade, gut-dissolving hooch (okay, maybe it took two shots, one for each story). “Not ready for that,” Tex answered me.