“I should f**kin’ say that especial y f**kin’ includes Hank.”
“You do that, I leave,” I threatened.
“You leave, I’m siccin’ Lee on your ass. He’l send Vance or Mace to track you down. You won’t even make it to the Colorado border.”
Man, oh man, I was undoubtedly, seriously, official y in trouble.
“Uncle Tex—”
His big, beefy hand came out and enveloped mine. “Just got you in my life, darlin’ girl, ain’t no weasely-assed motherfucker gonna take you back out. He’l have to split my skul open with that f**kin’ sledgehammer before that happens.”
The fear crawled up my throat again mainly because I was worried Bil y’d do it.
“Uncle Tex—”
“Don’t worry, Roxie. Before he cracked open my skul , he’d have to crack open half a dozen other ones. Trust me, I know how these f**kin’ guys work. He wouldn’t get through the first wave.”
“I don’t know these people and you barely do.”
“Don’t need to know much more of them to know what they’re made of. Seen a lot of it these past months.” He squeezed my hand. “You came to the right place.” Then he leaned back in his seat and tipped his head back, “Bring it on!” he boomed.
Good grief.
Yes, I was undoubtedly, seriously, official y in trouble.
Chapter Five
Phone Calls
Uncle Tex took me to my car and I fol owed him to his house and I helped him clean litter trays. After, we went down to the corner store where he introduced me to Mr.
Kumar, his friend and grocery supplier. Then, I found out Uncle Tex needed to get ready for his date with Nancy.
On the way back from Mr. Kumar’s store, I sang the
“Uncle Tex and Nancy, Sitting in a Tree” song again and he picked me up, carried me to my car, set me down on the street, turned around and, without a backward glance, walked back into his house.
Hee hee.
* * * * *
I went to my hotel and tore through my suitcases (yes, I had two, I was high maintenance and high maintenance women didn’t go anywhere without at least two suitcases) looking for an outfit to wear for my date. I was staring at the exploded suitcases in despair because, even though I had more clothes in those two suitcases than most of the earth’s population would own in their lifetimes, I did not have an outfit to wear on my date with Whisky. My cel phone rang.
I tensed and stared at my purse like it was a living thing out for my blood and I yanked the phone out of my bag, expecting it to tel me Bil y was cal ing.
Instead, it told me Daisy was cal ing.
In shock, I flipped it open. “Hel o?”
“Hey Sugar Bunch, what’re you wearin’ for your date?” Daisy asked.
I sat on the edge of the bed. I’d known this woman for less than twenty-four hours and she acted like she’d known me for twenty-four years.
“I’ve no idea,” I told her.
“Cal Indy, she’l know. She’s good at that stuff. Listen, you gonna be in town awhile?”
What now?