Page 246 of Misrule
All the women were in various styles of white dresses, the color being Joan’s request. She’d demanded the men wear suits. Of course, Mortician and the rest of them didn’t comply because, according to them, they’d made enough concessions by agreeing to wear the fucking monkey suits for the wedding.
Outlaw sauntered back to his table, while Knox stepped aside to reveal his cake. It was a golden money bag with a glittering dollar sign designed into the front, dripping coins and Benjamins. It leaned against a “bottle” of Knox’s favorite whisky and sat next to an open “wooden” humidor filled with cigars, a badge, and a motorcycle. The cake was a true masterpiece, with each segment so realistic she found it hard to believe it had started out as simple flour.
“Okay, the grooms-to-be saw the fucking cakes,” Digger said. “Can we eat now?”
“There will be nothing served until my musicians start to play,” Joan answered with smugness.
“Aww, fuck.” Digger looked at Outlaw. “If Johnnie ruining the dinner for a minute by shooting Charlotte, you going to do the same thing. Can’t you plug your fucking ears with cigarettes and let the motherfuckers play?”
“I got some weed paper,” Val offered. “That might be better, Outlaw.”
Meggie glared between them. “He won’t need those, Val,” she said primly. “He won’t kill the flutist or pianist, so it’s fine for them to play.” She sniffed. “Right, Christopher?”
Outlaw scowled at her, but Meggie didn’t back down. “Fuck, Megan, you lil’ pain-in-the-ass motherfucker, fine. Let the ear-hurtin’ motherfuckers play. But you might gotta give me an extra cock suck to calm me the fuck down.”
“Can we eat please?” Digger demanded, before Meggie had a chance to respond.
Joan stood. “I’ll ring the kitchen to bring out the first course.”
“What is this shit?” Pearllene demanded, holding her fork in the air. Squid-ink covered linguine hung limply from the utensil.
“Try it, Momma. It’s good,” Roxy encouraged.
Her look skeptical, Pearllene sniffed it, then shoved it under her gentleman friend’s nose. “Taste this, Hamish. It smell like my chooney after you fucked it. Tell me if it taste like it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Knox breathed, laying his fork against the plate as Roxy prayed the ground opened up and squished her like a fucking bug.
Digger spat the noodles back onto the plate and glared at Pearllene. “I’m not interested in eating nothing that smell like your pussy,” he grouched. “Now if it was Bunny…”
“Shut up, Mark,” Bunny ordered.
“Miss Pearllene, you sure is right,” Hamish said. “Taste a lot like your chooney.”
“Since when you started calling MeMeMiss Pearllene, Hamish?” Carissa demanded. She looked at Liza. “You ever heard him call her that, bae?”
“He got to add miss to my goddamn name from now on. If I got to pay for a motherfucker plane ticket, then that motherfucker got to put a title to address me.”
“Goddamn, you ruthless, old woman,” Mortician said, then smirked at Hamish. “Bet your ass sorry you didn’t hitch a ride on Sloane private jet.”
Hamish shrugged. “Had a roof to finish.”
“My Hamish a roofer,” Pearllene announced proudly.
“I don’t take many jobs no more,” Hamish confessed. “After that fifth fall and I broke my leg again, I decided to be real selective, so my cash kind of low nowadays.”
“As long as you got money for your Viagra, you just fine,” Pearllene reassured him.
“Can we leave?” Knox begged, his face flaming.
Too embarrassed to speak, Roxy nodded.
Pearllene got to her feet, using her cane to brace herself. “You two not going nowhere until I toast you.”
“That comes after the cake,” Charlotte inserted. “And only if you’re invited.”
“Did I ask your ass, lady?” Peallene demanded. “And they hearing my toast whether they like it or not. If I hadn’t pushed Roxanne out my pussy, she wouldn’t—”
“Okay!” Roxy cried, jumping to her feet and holding her hands up. “We get the point. “Just get on with the toast.”
