a thumbs-up, and he blew out a breath and went to answer the knock at the door.
Vince stood with his back to me and his weapon drawn and down at his side while he cracked the door an inch to see who was there. He opened it wider and let two men inside.
They were older, probably in their early sixties, and I could tell by looking at them they were cops. Or at least they used to be. Cops all looked the same—not in physical appearance, but there was something in the eyes that was a dead giveaway. My father had the same look.
I didn’t recognize either of the men, but Vince shifted where he stood so when they faced him they didn’t have a clear shot of the kitchen window. Vince put his weapon back in the holster.
“Jimmy,” Vince said, shaking the man’s hand.
Jimmy was tall and lean, and he seemed to be in good shape even though he looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair was thick and silver, and his face clean shaven, showing a little dimple at the chin.
“Bruce,” Vince said, reaching out to the other man. Bruce was considerably shorter than Jimmy, maybe a couple of inches taller than my own five foot eight. His hair was dark and thinning on top, but his mustache was Super Mario Brothers quality. He was also quite a bit thicker through the middle than his friend. They both wore khakis and loose button-down shirts that screamed retirement.
“Thanks for coming,” Vince told them.
“Anything for you, Vince,” Bruce said, clapping Vince on the back. “It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do. Retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I raised my brows at that tidbit. Called that one right. “I’ve remodeled every room in our house, and Helen told me if I didn’t get out of her hair she was going to put me in a home. Thirty years of marriage, and the woman wants to put me in a home.”
Vince snorted out a laugh and seemed to relax some. “Could be worse. She could want you dead. Cop wives are very resourceful. Remember back when Johnny Russo kept getting those stomach aches and no one could figure out what was wrong with him? I swear his wife was poisoning him.”
“Well,” Bruce said. “Johnny Russo was a horse’s ass. Who could blame her?”
“I heard he died in a car crash a few years ago,” Vince said.
“May he rest in peace,” Bruce said, giving the sign of the cross and then spitting on the floor. “Probably drunk, the worthless bastard.”
“It’s been too long, Vinny,” Jimmy said. “It’s like you disappeared after you retired. How come you don’t come to none of the get-togethers with the old crew? Too good for us?”
“Nah,” Vince said, hands on hips. “I just discovered there’s more to life after retirement. I don’t want to sit around and drink beer and talk about the good old days. I moved to Whiskey Bayou and started over. Now I get to travel and do all the things I never got a chance to do when I was on the job.”
“I heard you started your new life with Charlie Holmes’s wife,” Bruce said, waggling his eyebrows. “How come you didn’t send us invitations to the wedding? More than twenty years we worked together and you can’t spare some wedding cake?”
“You were always first in line for cake,” Vince said.
Bruce put his hands on his round stomach. “Yeah, but now my metabolism is shot, and Helen has me eating celery sticks and gluten-free everything.”
“Doesn’t seem to be working,” Jimmy said.
Bruce gave a boisterous laugh. “That’s ’cause she don’t know about my secret stash.”
“She only wants you to think that,” Jimmy said. “Wives know everything.”
Bruce pursed his lips. “Says the guy that’s been divorced three times.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “I’ve been divorced three times because wives know everything.”
Vince shook his head, his smile wide. It was clear these men were his friends, and he enjoyed their company. I couldn’t figure out why I was standing on a stilt in the swamp and not inside where the floor heater was going full blast.
“In this case you didn’t miss out on any cake,” Vince told them. “Phyllis and I got married by Elvis in one of the little chapels in Vegas. We said our vows and they gave us buffet vouchers and a bottle of champagne.”
“That’s the smart way to do it,” Bruce said, nodding his