Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(38)

But that man had stolen Mick’s opportunity. He eased back into the woods, taking his time. Dead leaves formed a damp and quiet carpet under his boots as he sneaked away from the house. He crossed the street and ran back to his car, concealed behind some trees.

In the vehicle, he cranked up the heat. The temperature had dropped thirty degrees since they’d left Vegas. Maybe he and Sam should head south after they took care of business here. Forget the frigid Northeast. Everything about this trip had sucked.

He drove back to the house. The dogs were barking so he went out back and tossed them some more food. Sam had wanted to shoot them all, but Mick talked him out of it. The dogs hadn’t done anything wrong. Inside, Sam was sitting on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, remote in his hand, eyes fixed on the TV.

“No one’s come looking for our host?” Mick asked.

“Nope. Phone hasn’t even rung.”

“We can’t stay here long. Someone will come looking for her eventually.” Mick jerked his thumb toward the back wall. “And the owners of those mutts will start showing up.”

“Closest neighbor is a half mile away, but you’re right. We should leave before we wear out our welcome.” Sam looked up. He took one look at his brother’s face, pointed the remote at the TV, and turned it off. “Let’s go out.”

“Where?” Mick went to the table and scooped a spoonful of coke. His supply was getting low. He hated this town. He hated the whole fucking state of New York.

“I don’t know. Must be a bar around here somewhere.” Sam stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “We need some noise. The quiet is creeping me out.”

Mick drove to the highway and cruised a couple of miles. They passed one restaurant. “Is that it? A fucking Applebee’s? This sucks.”

“Keep going. I’m not in the mood for screaming unless it’s female.”

Mick was feeling itchy, too. He’d been pumped to take care of the blond tonight. A couple of drinks would smooth him out. His stomach growled for a meal that didn’t come in a white paper sack.

“I see something.” Sam pointed.

Mick steered the Charger off the next exit. They spiraled the ramp and emerged at an intersection. Andy G’s Sports Bar occupied the near corner. A hundred yards up the road, a Hampton Inn glowed. A strip mall sat dark on the other. It was only ten, and the grocery store was closed. Small towns fucking sucked. Vegas started to roll at midnight.

“Doesn’t really look like our kind of place, does it?” Sam commented.

Mick didn’t feel like driving for another hour. He backed the Charger into a spot in the rear of the lot. Not that there were many other cars, but he didn’t want some asshole to ding his door. “It’ll do.”

They got out of the car. The wind blew straight down the back of Mick’s neck. He flipped up his hood. Fucking A, he hated the Northeast.

Locking the car, they crossed the asphalt to the entrance. The skinny white bitch who greeted them had a dozen eyebrow rings and ear gauges the size of quarters. A talent show played on a flat-screen mounted on the wall. Across the bar, another TV played a UFC fight.

“I wanna watch the fight,” Mick said.

“?’Kay.” She deposited them at a table with a direct view.

Mick pulled out a chair and sat, still edgy.

Sam tapped his fingers on the table. “Where the fuck is the waitress?”

Only two tables were occupied. A family of four sat in a booth near the door, and a single businesswoman read an electronic tablet over a plate of pasta. The two white-blond rug rats yammered. The nonstop whining tempted Mick to pull out his knife and slit both their pasty little throats. “Place is dead. Probably isn’t one. Go on up to the bar and get drinks and a menu.”

On his way back, Sam eyed the lone woman as he passed her table. He set two menus and a double shot of vodka in front of Mick. He jerked his head toward her. “I’d be interested in some of that.”

“That’s not on the menu tonight.” Mick unfolded the laminated cardboard.

“It could be.” Sam’s pupils were big as manhole covers. No wonder the coke supply was low.

The woman glanced around as if she could sense his scrutiny. The family gathered up their belongings and headed for the door. The two young boys shoved each other.

“Knock it off.” The father separated them. A pleasant quiet fell over the bar as they left.

Mick sipped his vodka. “Kids are fucking annoying. Why do people want them?”

But Sam didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the woman. Mick glanced at her. Wearing a black suit jacket and pants paired with a white shirt, she was in her mid to late twenties. Her brown hair fell in shiny waves just past her shoulders. With little makeup, she was normal-pretty. Wedding ring on her left hand. She was the sort of woman Mick wanted. Sam usually went for T and A. This woman didn’t have much of either. Course, that hadn’t stopped him with Joleen Walken.

Mick studied his brother. “Not your usual type.”

“I know.” Sam’s eyes gleamed with malice. They should have brought some weed to mellow him out. Coke brought out Sam’s mean streak, honed his nasty edge ’til it was switchblade-sharp. “Women like that don’t want anything to do with the likes of us. You got to make her do what you want. Woman like that might put up a good fight, too.”