Page 59 of No Romeo
Chad dropped his notepad to his side on a sigh. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”
She didn’t tell me she’d quit. She’d let me believe she was coming to work tonight. Blondie Fuckenstein was here. So, where the hell was she? “What?” I said.
“I probably shouldn’t—”
I pushed out of the booth, towering over him. “You probably should.”
“She got fired last Sunday for dumping iced tea all over a girl.”
And that sounded exactly like Lola. “Jesus Christ…” I shoved past Chad, calling for Wolf.
Wolf fell in step beside me, shaking his head as we maneuvered through the people crowding the entrance. “Told you your ass was doomed.”
“Shut the hell up, Wolf.” I shoved through the door. “She doesn’t have a job, which means she can’t pay rent. Tony’s in jail. I’m fucked!” Zepp got out of prison in a month, and me saying, “Welcome back to life on the outside, the crappy house that was left to us is in foreclosure,” wasn’t exactly the welcome home I wanted him to have.
I stopped in front of Wolf’s truck and kicked the tire.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said, unlocking the doors. “We always do.”
But I wasn’t so sure about that this time
The evening news played in the background as I counted my cash, then recounted. I tossed the crumpled stack of two hundred and seventy-five bucks onto the coffee table. That was my cut from the past two weeks of selling weed. Four hundred bucks in a month wasn’t enough to cover bills. Much less bills and food. I dragged a hand over my face, then reached for the pile of statements and shuffled through envelopes.
Netflix could go.
Cell phone couldn't.
Power, water—necessities, both of which only had a sixty-day delinquency.
Mortgage…absolutely necessary, but it had a ninety-day grace period.
“Fuck…” I dropped my head against the couch cushion, staring up at the cracked ceiling while I listened to the newscaster on TV list out the day’s shootings.
Was this really all life was about? Fighting just to scrape by, just to exist? It was hard to imagine anything else. The only people who didn’t have to do this shit were the uppity fucks in Barrington. And one thing I knew, I would never have a rat’s fat ass chance of reaching that level of financial stability.
Hell, I didn’t really have a chance of reachinganyfinancial stability.
I chucked the bills onto the coffee table, then shot off a group text to Wolf and Bell.
Me: I’m gonna have to pull some shit on my own to get on top of the bills. Just didn’t want to seem like a shady fucker.
Stumpy Ass: I get it.
Stumpy Ass: I don’t mind helping, either. You and Zepp have helped my ass plenty.
Hell’s Bell: Us poor assholes have to stick together.
And that was the damn truth. They had my six, and I had theirs.
I flipped through the channels for a few minutes before my stomach grumbled.It was past nine, and I hadn’t eaten anything since the incinerated fried catfish sandwich at lunch. Stress was a ball ache.I shoved off the couch and went to the kitchen, grabbing a pot of water and putting it on the eye to boil.
Bubbles broke the surface just as the front door opened. Work my asshole.
I crossed the kitchen, stopping at the threshold of the living room when Lola came in—wearing that ugly plaid work shirt from The Squealing Hog. Man, she was going to some lengths to keep that damn lie.
The jealous dick in me wanted to ask her where the hell she’d been, but where was the torture in that?
I leaned against the doorframe, cocking a grin I hoped screamed smartass. “How was work?”
