Page 8 of Bad Habit
I touched the icy, metallic-blue paint job on the hood as I passed. The finish looked liquid, and I was almost surprised my hand didn’t sink right in. What I wouldn’t give to own a car like that—even drive one for a day.
I made pretty good bank with my brothers and had saved up a lot, but I didn’t waste cash on luxuries. Maybe if we did this job my youngest brother Shane wanted us to…
“Hand me that monkey wrench?” Dillon’s hand reached from behind the bike as I got close.
I grabbed the wrench off the tray of tools and slapped it into my twin’s outstretched palm. “How’s it coming?”
“Great.” He adjusted a bolt, then set the wrench onto the floor and reached up with his grease-stained hand.
I took it and pulled him to his feet and into our typical backslapping hug.
I glanced over my shoulder. “We okay to talk here?”
“Let’s go out back.” He led me to the alley behind the garage and then leaned against the graffiti-tagged wall on the shaded side, opposite the open garage door.
“Does Shane have a date for the job?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then why call me over?”
“The container’s in port.”
I drew a long breath. Our younger brother Shane was a mess since prison, but this job he’d proposed seemed interesting. What my bro needed was rehab, but he had yet to admit to it.
“You think we should do this job.” I studied my brother, younger by ten minutes. We were far from identical, but I could read my twin better than anyone.
“It’s a six-figure payoff for each of us…” Whistling low, he shook his head. “Man, it would be nice.”
“Not if we’re all inside.”
“At least we’d see Da more often.”
I laughed at Dillon’s joke. Not exactly a joke. Our dadwasin San Quentin, but I got Dill’s dark humor.
“Keagan’s on board?” I asked.
“Seems to be.”
I kicked a bottle cap against the wall. Keagan, our oldest brother, became the de facto CEO of our family business when Da went inside. It’s not like I followed Keagan blindly, but the guy did have smarts. I had to admit, if he was going along with this plan, I was tempted. I looked through the garage door at the Vette.
“The only one not in is Nick.” Dillon pushed his too-long hair off his forehead. How he’d ended up with straight hair when the rest of us were curly was a DNA mystery.
“Nick will cave,” I said.
“He seems serious this time.” Dillon pulled out his phone and read something.
Our youngest brother was by far the biggest of the five Downeys. He had a reputation as a brute, but Nick was more like a teddy bear—a teddy bear that had teeth and fists if someone he loved was threatened.
Rumor had it, Nick was sleeping with the girl next door. But the idea of Nick, or any of my brothers, in a serious relationship didn’t fit. I tried to imagine a woman at our family gatherings—or five women if we all found girls.
An image of Faith flashed in my mind, and I laughed.
“What?” Dillon looked up from his phone.
“Nothing. I was thinking of someone I met this afternoon.”
Dillon raised his eyebrows. “She hot?”
