the arm. “Stupid.”
He hesitated to ask. “What did you do with it?”
“What does it matter? You don’t need a gun.”
“Yeah, but you can’t just throw it away. Where is it?”
“I’ve got it in a safe place. Don’t worry about it.”
Maybe she had it on her—perhaps it was strapped inside
her thigh. Or maybe he’d seen too many B movies. He scanned her body, from head
to toe, and got distracted on the way down. Danny never got tired of staring at
her long, sexy legs.
She didn’t seem to notice he was ogling her. “I think
I convinced Ginger that I had nothing to do with Navy’s death. Hopefully she’ll
convince the police.”
“Good. What about the panties? They really are yours,
aren’t they?”
Lacey threw her cigarette down in disgust and snuffed
it out with a violent twist of her shoe. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “I want to know.”
She just stared at him.
“I deserve to know.”
“Okay, yes—they’re mine,” she said.
“I knew it.”
“I put them in his car to make Kayla jealous. It was a
stupid thing to do.”
“So, you still have a thing for him.”
“Not anymore.”
“Not anymore.” He said calmly. Then he yelled, “You
mean since he’s dead?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t love you . I
was just confused about my feelings.”
Danny was so angry he didn’t know what to say. He was
about to blurt out something he’d probably regret.
“But I know you’ll forgive me—just like I’ll forgive
you…for the gun.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Do you want me to forgive you?”
“Yes, but—”
“—no ‘buts.’ Do you want me to forgive you or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have to forgive me.”
“Fine. I forgive you.”
“Good.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, took his
hand, and led him back inside.
Danny wondered if he would get paid for the job. His
secret employer had provided the gun. His instructions were to hide in the
bushes along the back parking lot of the nursing home on Saturday morning and
wait for Navy to arrive with the coffee cakes. When Navy stepped out of his
car, Danny was to shoot and kill him.
But Danny didn’t like the idea of using a gun. And
what did it matter now? His employer had gotten the result he wanted. Navy was
dead.
Danny should get paid.
17 - Just Business
Almando Monet sat in his small, but plush upstairs
office waiting on a client who was late for his appointment. Almando was a
self-made man, and had no patience for those who didn’t understand that time is
money.
Manny, as he liked to be called, looked like a
thirty-year-old Antonio Banderas. He had legally changed his last name ten
years ago to that of his idol, Claude Monet. Manny had rejected the family
grocery business to become an artist—just as the famous French impressionist
painter had done many decades before him.
Even at the age of twenty, Manny’s oil paintings were
magnificent. But nobody was willing to pay hundreds of dollars to a poor
Hispanic kid. He dreamed of the day when the wealthy would commission him to
paint great works of art that would be passed down from one generation to the
next.
Manny had been desperate to get away from his
overbearing father. So, he had written to a distant cousin who operated a small
business in an East Texas town named Coreyville. He boldly asked Cousin Hosea
for a job and a temporary place to live. Manny told him he would work hard and
help pay the rent.
To his surprise, Hosea replied that he would be happy
to give him a job, and that Manny could live with him until he could afford his
own place. He even said he would hang Manny’s paintings on the walls of his
business and sell them to customers.
Manny was so excited he couldn’t sleep. He spent his
last few dollars on a one-way bus ticket to Coreyville.
Hosea’s business was a tiny shoe repair shop, located
on town square. Manny’s job would be to shine each pair of shoes
He hesitated to ask. “What did you do with it?”
“What does it matter? You don’t need a gun.”
“Yeah, but you can’t just throw it away. Where is it?”
“I’ve got it in a safe place. Don’t worry about it.”
Maybe she had it on her—perhaps it was strapped inside
her thigh. Or maybe he’d seen too many B movies. He scanned her body, from head
to toe, and got distracted on the way down. Danny never got tired of staring at
her long, sexy legs.
She didn’t seem to notice he was ogling her. “I think
I convinced Ginger that I had nothing to do with Navy’s death. Hopefully she’ll
convince the police.”
“Good. What about the panties? They really are yours,
aren’t they?”
Lacey threw her cigarette down in disgust and snuffed
it out with a violent twist of her shoe. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “I want to know.”
She just stared at him.
“I deserve to know.”
“Okay, yes—they’re mine,” she said.
“I knew it.”
“I put them in his car to make Kayla jealous. It was a
stupid thing to do.”
“So, you still have a thing for him.”
“Not anymore.”
“Not anymore.” He said calmly. Then he yelled, “You
mean since he’s dead?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t love you . I
was just confused about my feelings.”
Danny was so angry he didn’t know what to say. He was
about to blurt out something he’d probably regret.
“But I know you’ll forgive me—just like I’ll forgive
you…for the gun.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Do you want me to forgive you?”
“Yes, but—”
“—no ‘buts.’ Do you want me to forgive you or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have to forgive me.”
“Fine. I forgive you.”
“Good.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, took his
hand, and led him back inside.
Danny wondered if he would get paid for the job. His
secret employer had provided the gun. His instructions were to hide in the
bushes along the back parking lot of the nursing home on Saturday morning and
wait for Navy to arrive with the coffee cakes. When Navy stepped out of his
car, Danny was to shoot and kill him.
But Danny didn’t like the idea of using a gun. And
what did it matter now? His employer had gotten the result he wanted. Navy was
dead.
Danny should get paid.
17 - Just Business
Almando Monet sat in his small, but plush upstairs
office waiting on a client who was late for his appointment. Almando was a
self-made man, and had no patience for those who didn’t understand that time is
money.
Manny, as he liked to be called, looked like a
thirty-year-old Antonio Banderas. He had legally changed his last name ten
years ago to that of his idol, Claude Monet. Manny had rejected the family
grocery business to become an artist—just as the famous French impressionist
painter had done many decades before him.
Even at the age of twenty, Manny’s oil paintings were
magnificent. But nobody was willing to pay hundreds of dollars to a poor
Hispanic kid. He dreamed of the day when the wealthy would commission him to
paint great works of art that would be passed down from one generation to the
next.
Manny had been desperate to get away from his
overbearing father. So, he had written to a distant cousin who operated a small
business in an East Texas town named Coreyville. He boldly asked Cousin Hosea
for a job and a temporary place to live. Manny told him he would work hard and
help pay the rent.
To his surprise, Hosea replied that he would be happy
to give him a job, and that Manny could live with him until he could afford his
own place. He even said he would hang Manny’s paintings on the walls of his
business and sell them to customers.
Manny was so excited he couldn’t sleep. He spent his
last few dollars on a one-way bus ticket to Coreyville.
Hosea’s business was a tiny shoe repair shop, located
on town square. Manny’s job would be to shine each pair of shoes
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