Page 25 of The Witching Hours

“We’re at Larry’s. Larry’s Little Lobsters? Some bikers are roughing up my boyfriend. And I’m probably next. Can you send somebody in a hurry? Please?”

“What’s your name?”

“Jeanette Guidry. I’m in the car, but I can’t lock the doors because it’s a convertible and we left the top at home.”

“You’re at Larry’s on Highway 45?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t driving. I don’t remember.”

“Alright. Just stay on the phone. We’ll send someone shortly.”

“Shortly?” She was shaking her head like she was on Facetime. “No. Not shortly. I don’t know what might happen shortly. Send somebodynow!Please!”

“Just calm down, miss.”

“Considering what’s going on, I think I’m pretty calm.” She was just about to say something she might regret when the door to Larry’s came flying open.

To her relief, it was Tristan jogging toward the car. He jumped into the driver’s side without opening the door.

“What happened?” she said as he was backing over crunching shell and gravel, and leaving Larry’s behind as fast as a fast sports car could manage.

“That woman got Larry from somewhere in back. Turns out Larry’s a big guy and the bikers respect him. He put a stop to the good, clean fun.” Tristan’s lip curled a little when he said‘good, clean, fun’. “That’s what he called it. Good clean fun. The biker dude said he was sorry for the misunderstanding but no harm done. Larry said those guys have a bark, but no bite and dinner’d be on the house. I said, “No thanks. We never got a chance to eat. And forget the voucher ‘cause we won’t be coming back. Ever.”

“Ma’am?” Jeanette heard a tinny voice coming from her lap. She realized 911 was still on an open line, presumably listening to the exchange.

“Shall we cancel the dispatch?”

“Just a minute,” Jeanette said as she turned to Tristan. “Do you have your phone?”

“No.”

“Don’t cancel the dispatch. My boyfriend’s phone was stolen and it’s somewhere inside Larry’s. One of those guys took it. We need you to investigate what happened and retrieve the phone. We can’t go back and get it. Obviously.”

There was a pause. The dispatcher seemed to be thinking that one over.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll send someone to get the phone. Who’s the owner?”

“Tristan Ogilve. From New Orleans.” She gave the dispatcher Tristan’s phone number and address. “Please call this number when you have the phone. We can send someone to get it.”

“Can you put Mr. Ogilve on the phone?”

She handed Tristan the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Hello?”

“Mr. Ogilve?”

“Yeah?”

“Do we have your permission to contact Ms. Guidry if we recover your phone?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Do you want to press charges for theft?”

He looked at Jeanette. “They want to know if I want to press charges for theft?”

Jeanette’s brow crinkled in the middle. “Damn right you do. Throw the book at those bastards.”

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