Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(24)
“Well, I couldn’t get much out of the madam running the joint, naturally, without blowing my cover. I was wondering if you might at least have some inspectors on your payroll, you know, for your dispensary, your pot farm.”
Lytton brightened. “Of course! I’ve got an associate at the State Department of Health. I can reach out to ol’ Saul Goldblum, see if he can rattle some cages.”
“Maybe flush Tormenta out,” Sax suggested. “Listen. Beatrix was supposed to be on her way up here and I’m worried. Let me try calling her again.”
Lytton frowned. “Of course.”
Sax wandered to the end of the long deck where he could get a view of the approaching driveway. No texts from Beatrix. No voicemails either. At the risk of appearing to be a Dom with no control, he thumbed her phone number. Straight to voicemail.
Sax grunted, a tight sound of frustration. If she truly had left The Citadel when she said she had, she would’ve been here twenty minutes ago. Hands on hips, he paced angrily, not accustomed to having no control. The idea to hop back on his scoot and shoot back down the highway to find her was just a seed in his brain when the unmistakable rumble of a Dyna’s tailpipes approached.
Yes, the white Dyna seemed to be circling some square looking cage, maybe a Jetta or a Passat. The two vehicles were at war with each other, the Dyna swerving to the right, then the left, staying just inches abreast of the VW’s front bumper. They were playing chicken, and Sax wasn’t surprised to realize the Dyna was operated by none other than Wolf Glaser, Prospect Extraordinaire. But who was the nerdy driver, and why was Glaser harassing him?
Lytton must have heard the motorized tug-of-war, too, because he was also racing through the house toward the front door. June came from the kitchen area, her hands covered in flour.
“That’s Tobiah Weingarten,” she told Sax, her eyes wide. “He’s our Leaves of Grass business manager. I don’t think he likes Wolf Glaser very much.”
That was the f*cking understatement of the year. The three stood on the front portico while the Jetta burned gravel, coming to a sideways stop. Wolf didn’t seem to expect this maneuver and practically did a high side over the Jetta’s hood. Sax had to admire the Prospect’s save. Tobiah only got a mouthful of gravel when he turned his head to shout at Wolf. Wolf leaped off his ride triumphantly, doing a dance on the tips of his toes.
“Ha! Ha! Sorry to keep you from your comic book signing, nerd boy!”
Tobiah was a bowl-headed nerd boy, as far as Sax could see. He sprung from his cage utterly apoplectic, his spidery little legs clad in burnt umber jeans, his belt so white Sax had to put his shades back on. Tobiah pointed with a shaky hand, the hand of The Ghost of Christmas Future. His voice oozed with loathing. “You. You embarrassing little baby. Every time you come around to ‘help,’ you wind up doing nothing but hinder. You’re like a giant diaper-clad infant whose sole business is to ruin everyone’s attempts at doing their jobs.”
Tobiah whipped his spindly torso to face Lytton. “Do you know what this worthless excuse for a Prospect just did? He’s jealous that I stole a girl that he never had in the first place, so he nearly erased the one vital piece of evidence I found that I know you’d want to see, the one transient piece of evidence that was about to be zapped from the interwebs for all time immemorial, never to be recovered again!”
Wolf’s dance lost some of its zip, but he still pirouetted around Tobiah. “I could care less about Tracy—you can have her! She’s got limp, mousy hair and a pear-shaped body anyway.”
That did it. Tobiah lost his decorum then. Like a mathlete protesting a ruling, his arms waved uncontrollably, and he took several threatening steps toward the dancing Prospect. “This is no game, you overgrown toddler! You were breathing so far down my neck the steam practically shorted out my motherboard, and your hands dripping with pizza grease almost slipped and hit the ‘delete’ key!”
The mirth fell from Wolf’s eyes now. He stopped dancing, tugging the bottom hem of his cut down with authority. “Oh yeah? Well, if anyone hits the delete key around here it’s you, when you go to delete the entire history of your nonexistent love life!”
Sax and Lytton looked at each other, like “That’s it? That’s all Wolf has to offer?” Sax knew Wolf’s propensity for mayhem, though, so he jogged down the steps to stand between the two rivals.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said to Wolf Glaser, causing the buffoon to back off with respect. “Why aren’t you with Beatrix?”
Tobiah leaned to see around Sax’s arm. “Yeah! Why aren’t you with Beatrix?”
Wolf gestured as if to shove Tobiah, but Sax stood solidly in his way. “Because I’m assigned to work with you, you gaywad!”
Sax had to hold Wolf by the biceps to steady him. Apparently this Tracy chick had really gotten under his skin. Sax was sure he’d chuckle about it later, but now wasn’t the time. He shook the Prospect. “Listen. Where the f*ck is Beatrix.”
Wolf had the nerve to shake off Sax’s hands, backing off. He held his palms toward Sax in innocence. “I don’t know! She was at The Citadel when Ford told me to head on up to Leaves of Grass and deal with this dorkwad here!”
Tobiah sneered, still standing behind Sax like a human shield. “Oh yeah? Well no one asked for your worthless help, you goon!”