Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(129)

Yes, that was what I said. I might not have a hit out on me anymore but my entire life was still up in the air. Even so, I promised to increase my indeterminate stay in North Carolina an indeterminate amount just so Sam would have the opportunity to cook for me.

This was my dedication to my mission. I’d do anything.

“Good,” he muttered and it was then I realized I’d scored.

It wasn’t huge. But he talked about his brother, his mother and himself. He’d shared. And he’d made it clear I was going to be around awhile and back often, enough to lease a vehicle.

And that was what he did. He leased me a deep, forest green Cherokee. I drove it back to his place and even though I wasn’t used to that big of a car, I still thought it was the shit.

That evening, Sam did not thrill me with his culinary brilliance and spoil me with carbs.

He took me to Skippy’s Crab Shack.

And it was just that, a shack out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but dense trees accessed by a single-lane, dirt road. It was so dilapidated, how it stayed standing was anyone’s guess. The only part of it that had walls was the kitchen. The rest of it was a long, cement porch covered in a rickety roof that drunkenly slanted.

I also met Skippy who was the antithesis of Patrizio. And not just because Patrizio was an older man who clearly enjoyed his food but neither of these things hid he was once very good-looking and still had it and Skippy looked like his mother birthed him in the blazing hot sun and, although that blessed day was apparently one hundred and fifty years ago, he’d never been indoors since such was the weathered look of his skin, the complete absence of his hair and brawny, bulldogedness of his frame.

No, it was also because Patrizio was warm and funny and Skippy was so hard and surly, he was crusty.

I learned this immediately.

As we made it to the edge of the patio under his censorious glower, he took one look at Sam then he looked at me then he declared, “You call me Skippy even once, I’ll piss in your beer.”

I decided not to reply and spent my energy focusing on not looking freaked out or offended by this greeting.

“His mother named him that, as in, put it on his birth certificate,” Sam explained to me while grinning at Skippy. “But everyone calls him Skip.”

I could see a brown-skinned, leathery-faced, burly old guy with a serious attitude wishing to lose the “py” on his name. It was clear he’d never been a boy even when he was a boy so he’d not want a boy’s name when he was most definitely all man.

“I’ve never tried urine but I’m also relatively certain I don’t want to so you have my word you’re only Skip to me,” I assured him.

He didn’t give any indication he heard me speak when he continued laying down the law.

“I also don’t do substitutions and if you got a lactose intolerance, a nut allergy, you need gluten-free, you’re on some stupid-ass diet that means you can’t have ketchup or whatever, I don’t give a shit. The menu is the menu. You order, you get what it says you’ll get and you’re happy with it since I also don’t do complaints.”

“So noted,” I replied.

“And I got beer, Coke, Sprite and Diet Coke. You’re on an asinine diet, you order Diet Coke. I do not do light beer. I do not serve water. You want light beer or you wanna do something moronic like drink water with fried food, you can find another crab shack,” he announced.

“Message received,” I assured him.

Skip wasn’t done.

“You’re with Sam and you feel like tyin’ one on, I’ll pull out the bourbon. You’re with Luci, I’ll bring out the vodka. You become a regular and don’t get up my nose, I’ll keep a bottle a’ whatever you like in the Shack. You ever bring Hap back here; you’re eight-sixed for life, just like him. Got me?”

Hmm. Wonder what Hap did. I couldn’t see him ordering a light beer so I suspected it was something else.

I stared at Skip’s craggy face and decided to ask Sam later.

“Got you,” I told him.

He examined me head-to-toe and took his time.

So much of it, Sam asked, “Skip, Ma’s comin’ to town tomorrow. Need your approval of Kia before we have to hit the road for Raleigh. We got any prayer that’s gonna happen?”

Skip glared at Sam while he spoke and when he was done, his eyes sliced to me.

“So, Maris is comin’ to check you out?”

I bit my lip and shrugged.

“Sam was my boy, you’d get approval just because you got a great rack,” he informed me.

Jeez. Seriously. What was up with the men Sam hung out with?

“Uh… cool,” I muttered.

Skip looked at Sam and continued, “And a mouth made to be kissed.”

That was better… ish.

“Noticed that, Skip, now can we sit and eat?” Sam asked, sounding amused.

Skip looked back at me. “Two fried crab sandwiches, two beers, comin’ up.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the Shack.

Sam led me to a picnic table, one of the kinds where the seats were attached with angled boards. We mounted the seat on the same side and Sam claimed me by pulling one of my legs over one of his thighs then twisting his torso to me and resting his arm over my lap.

“Skip’s a character,” he told me.