Bone Music (Burning Girl #1)(33)

“Thanks. I guess.”

“None of it’s a load off my back, Deputy Prescott. But it might be helpful information for you.”

“Thanks . . . I guess.”

“Mona tell you to come over here and make this right?”

“She didn’t have to.”

“Would she say the same?” Marty asks.

“No. Probably not.”

“There’s a reason she’s sheriff.”

“Yep.”

“And there’s a reason you’re one of her deputies now and not working for the FBI, from what I hear.”

Well, that was a turn, Luke thinks.

“Oof. Got you there, didn’t I?” Marty asks.

“I got to go to some kind of class for my face.”

“A class for your face?”

“So I can keep it from giving everything away.”

“I imagine that’s probably important for a career in law enforcement. Even if it’s not the career you planned.”

“You’re good, man. Real good. Those drunks aren’t gonna get anything by you.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“I’m not a drunk.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Marty says.

“So what’d you hear?”

“About what?”

“About my career, or lack thereof?”

Marty’s jaw tightens. “Heard you rolled all your chips on a job with the FBI. Even got yourself fluent in a couple different foreign languages ’cause you heard all they want is linguists now. But it didn’t work out, apparently.”

“Is that all?”

“Is it?”

“Is that all you heard?” Luke asks.

“Yes.”

“You lying?” Luke asks.

“You gonna take me in if I am?” Marty asks.

“I told you I’m off duty. Don’t even have my cuffs.”

“You might be able to take me bare-handed if you tried real hard.”

“Fight’s gone outta me. Remember?”

“Yeah, it’s all I heard. It’s not like you kept in touch with anyone from here. Up until you called Mona asking for a job. But, you know, thanks for letting me know there’s more to the story.”

Luke grabs for the first thing he can think of to change the subject.

“Trina,” he says. Her name comes out sounding like a grunt. “Trina Pierce.”

“What about her?”

“How is she?”

Now Marty’s the one struggling to hide his reaction. He brings his coffee mug to his lips, looks out the window as if he’s suddenly planning the route he’s going to take to the recovery house. “She’s fine.”

“I’d like to talk to her.”

“Why?” Marty’s full-on pissed now.

“Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure if I apologize to you for what I did to Trina, you’re just gonna tell me it doesn’t mean anything unless I say it to her face. So I’m trying to save us both some time. Is she still around? I mean, I know Luanne’s store is gone but . . .”

So much of this day has been about Marty having the upper hand on him; Luke is stunned to see the man so visibly thrown off his game.

“She’s all right, isn’t she? I mean . . . she’s alive, right?”

“And why would you care?”

“I just told you why, Marty.”

“All right, well, let me tell you something. Apologies aren’t worth shit. Apologies are a string of words people put together so they can off-load their guilt in five minutes.”

“You didn’t have a problem accepting the one I gave you.”

“That’s still pending. You go back to being the little son of a bitch I remember, it won’t be worth horse dung.”

“OK, well, maybe Trina should have that opportunity, too. Horse dung and all.”

“She doesn’t want it!”

It’s not exactly a shout, but it’s loud enough to draw the attention of the waitress, and it embarrasses Marty enough to turn his face red and make him reach for his fork even though his plate’s only got bits of pie crust on it.

“Look,” Marty says, once he’s caught his breath. “I appreciate you coming over and—” The man’s cell phone rings, and Luke figures he’ll ignore it. But maybe that’s not a luxury you can afford when your vocation is talking fragile drunks away from the bottle. Whatever number Marty sees flashing on the caller ID, it drains some of the recent color from his face.

He looks up at Luke, confusion in his eyes. It’s like he thinks Luke might have something to do with whoever’s calling.

“I gotta take this,” Marty says.

“You want me to go?” Luke asks.

Marty shakes his head, slides out of the booth, and gets to his feet. He takes the call and brings the phone to his ear. “Give me a second,” he says to the person on the other end. Luke watches as he peels a twenty out of his wallet and drops it on the table.

He’s a few steps from the table when he seems to realize he’s left Luke sitting there without much of an explanation. He turns.

“Later, Deputy Prescott,” he says.