Page 7 of Junkyard Dog

Chapter Three

Max climbed intoCharlotte’s truck, his mirrored sunglasses sitting on the brim of his hat and giving her a rare glimpse of his hazel eyes. “Slow night.”

She passed him a peanut butter sandwich and nodded. “I only counted four tents on the west side. Two less than yesterday.”

“I’m not eating that again,” Max stated, tossing the sandwich onto the dash. “Gimme your radio.”

Giving him the handheld, she snatched the sandwich and tucked it back into her bag. “You say I’m picky? Three nights of the same thing won’t kill you, you know.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you calling at two a.m.?”

Putting the call on speaker, he grinned. “The station,” he proclaimed, shushing her with the wave of his hand. “Yeah, James? Can you patch me through to the tavern?”

She frowned before her mind connected the dots. “No! No way! Hang up!”

“Too late,” he sang as the telltale ring of a phone echoed in the cab. “I overheard Alex’s suggestion Monday night and figured you were probably too chickenshit to go in there and feed us properly.”

She lunged at the handpiece, his long arm holding her back as the dial tone ended and a familiar voice came over the speaker.

“Tom’s Tavern.”

With a Cheshire cat smile on his face, he angled his head away from her. “Hi, Alex. It’s Max from the other night.”

“Hey, man,” Alex replied, a touch of confusion in his tone. “What can I do for you?”

“Not for me,” Max said, placing his body between her and the radio. “Chuck has something she wants to ask you.”

She dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head frantically.

“Charlotte? Yeah, of course.” The music of the lounge drifted through the truck. “Fire away.”

Swatting blindly at Max, she lifted her head. “Uh, yeah. Um, I, well, we—”

Max rolled his eyes. “Do you guys do delivery?” he called out. “I’m in the mood for a hoagie and Chuck needs a lot of meat…ouch…a grilled cheese sandwich like only Thomas can do.” He glared at her. “Stop pinching me.”

The low laugh that came through the speaker caught her attention and she froze, midpinch. “I’m off in ten. How far into the park are you?”

Max went on the defensive, sticking his elbow out to block her attack.

“We’re fifteen minutes north of the south entrance,” she panted, breathless from the effort it took to pay Max back.

“Be there within the hour.” Alex chuckled before the line disconnected.

“Oh, my god,” Max howled, throwing his head back. “That was so painful! Uh, um, uh, um. Damn, Chuck.”

She fixed her hat in the mirror, running her fingers across the brim. “I hate you,” she stated clearly. “I hate you with every ounce of my being.”

“No stammering through that statement, huh?” he teased. “Seriously, though, any guy willing to drive food out here in the middle of the night can’t be too bad. Think of it as a test.”

With her lips tight, she glared out the window. “This isn’t a test. This is a pity-feed.” She refused to look at her best friend. Her traitor of a best friend. “I can’t believe you’re making him do this.”

“Oh, Chucky. I’m not making him. You heard him. He was game right out of the box.”

*

Recon.

Nothing more than a little recon work.

Alex glanced over at the Styrofoam containers on the passenger seat of his SUV.

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