Page 97 of Junkyard Dog

He snorted and gathered up his phone and keys, slipping his wallet into his back pocket before he locked up the trailer. “Speaking of hot women, I saw Charlotte last week.”

Bo exhaled loudly into the mic. “She buy you a squeaky toy?”

“Shut up.” He laughed, backing out of his site and giving the elderly woman a wave. “I kind of told her everything.”

Nothing but the long draw of smoke followed for a few seconds. “Were you drunk?”

Only on her eyes. “No. She showed up at my place and A led to B.”

“So you got laid?”

“You’re an animal,” he muttered, turning into the Tavern lot. “I meant she showed up and asked and I answered.”

Bo covered the mic and yelled over to someone, returning to the phone with a huff. “Goddamn tire busters,” he grumbled. “Look, it sucks you didn’t get laid, since Charlotte’s probably the only woman around who can tolerate your ugly ass for more than a week. How’d she take it?”

Ignoring the insult, he ran his hands through his hair and let the SUV run in the heat. “Good, I guess. She didn’t freak out or scream.”

“Good sign,” Bo replied, the flick of a lighter coming through the earpiece. “You going to hook up with her again?”

He turned the SUV off, unbuckling his seat belt. “This time, she sought me out. I don’t think I can abuse that loophole again without ramifications, so…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Hell, if she ever calls me again, I’ll be happy with that.”

“I wouldn’t if I was her,” Bo stated. “You’re one hideous bastard. And you smell like wet dog.” When Alex snorted, he exhaled. “Smoke break’s over. My advice? Go for it. Ryan and I already discussed this shit, and we’ll go to bat for you with Seph and Hades once we catch this last asshole and return home for good.” The noise of the shop returned to the background. “It would be weird to be down there without you, but we get it.”

Refusing to allow himself to contemplate what Bo was suggesting, he leaned forward. “Cerberus is a package deal, brother.”

“And I’m not spending the next nine centuries listening to your moping ass whining and whimpering over a chick,” Bo yelled over the clanging. “Now go get a job, you useless fuckwad.”

He tucked his phone into his back pocket and walked into the lounge, spotting the new bartender immediately. “Hey man, Thomas around?”

The guy gave him a once-over and nodded. “I’ll go get him. Name?”

“Alex.”

Taking a seat at the bar, he watched the man disappear into the back, returning moments later. “You can head on in.”

He pushed through the familiar kitchen doors and waited for Thomas to emerge from the cooler, arms loaded with vegetables.

Thomas looked him over, dropping everything onto his prep counter. “Make yourself useful and pass me those bowls behind you.” When Alex complied wordlessly, the elderly man handed him a knife and a bag of onions. “How’s it going, boy?”

“It’s going,” he replied, washing his hands off in the sink. “The place looks good. Insurance cover the repairs?”

Grunting, Thomas reached over and corrected his hold on the knife. “Everything but a few bottles that hadn’t been entered into the system yet.” He stepped aside and appraised Alex’s dicing skills. “Is this a social call or a business call?”

“Both.” He scraped the first onion into the bowl. “I don’t suppose you’re hiring anyone under the table for a few shifts a week.”

“Nope,” Thomas replied, opening a bag of tomatoes up. “The last guy I brought in like that snuck out on me in the middle of the night and left me scrambling to fill his rotation.”

He kept his attention on the blade in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled, squinting at the uneven sizes of his onion pieces. “I had some family stuff come up.”

Thomas leaned over and looked at the onion, wrinkling his nose for a moment before handing him another one. “That brother of yours is trouble,” he stated. “Did he have anything to do with your disappearance?”

“Kind of.” He widened his stance and bent closer to his cutting board. “I’m thinking of maybe staying around the area. Settling in and all that home-boy crap.” He slapped the knife down. “Looks as good as yours.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Thomas grumped. “If you consider getting some legal identification, I might consider hiring a dishwasher and prep guy.”

He held his hand out for a tomato. “Not even my license is legal. I told you, man. I don’t even have any birth records.” He pushed the knife into the tomato, swearing when it crushed and sent juice onto his shirt. “This is probably a really dumb decision.”

Thomas pointedly exaggerated his movements, angling his arms so Alex could watch his technique. “What’s making you consider staying?” When he didn’t reply, Thomas returned to his work. “Have you seen Charlotte since you got back?”

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