Page 36 of Danny Hall Gets a Lawyer
Spoiler—it wasn’t a raccoon.
At least it was dead, though, so I disposed of the body and reloaded the trap. The bait looked like something had been nibbling at the edges, so I hoped that was the end of it. Otherwise, I was going to insist Bobby call in a pest guy. I was sure he’d know someone. Bobby always knew someone—or if he didn’t, he knew someone who knew someone. He was Goose Run’s equivalent of The Godfather, only with a more distinctive wardrobe. The Goosefather, maybe. But despite his eccentricities, Bobby was a decent boss, and I knew he wouldn’t balk at hiring an exterminator if we needed to.
After washing my hands for the fifth time—not-raccoons also creeped me out, thank you very much—I spent the rest of the morning using the time between customers to go through the stockroom, pulling out anything that looked like it might have been chewed on. I didn’t fuck around, and lemme tell you, that had been one hungry little bastard. By the time I was done, I had a big pile of stuff ready to be trashed. If a carton had any signs of damage or bite marks, I ditched the whole thing. Partly it was good hygiene—but only partly. We were meant to open all the packages when we dumped old stock so nobody could take them, but when I thought of Chase and Cash and how I’d met them, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead I stacked the least damaged boxes near the top, away from the actual trash. It might help someone out.
It was hot as hell outside, and I’d worked up a sweat by the time I was done hauling the cartons of corn chips and peanuts and candy bars out and dumping them. I caught Renata’s eye when I came back in and said, “I’m not cleaning the shelves in there. I’m not paid enough for that shit.” And I did mean literal shit—that rat had crapped all over the shelves.
She rolled her eyes but headed to the closet where we kept the cleaning supplies and started to work.
When I wiped my forehead with my sleeve, I accidentally caught a whiff of my armpits and grimaced. I’d have to shower before Miller came over, or he’d probably turn tail and run all the way back to his nice clean apartment in Hopewell.
I let the cool air wash over me as I checked the time on the giant fuck-ugly goose clock. I had less than an hour to go before I was done.
Anticipation prickled under my skin, and despite the fact I was hot and filthy, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. If the afternoon went the way I was planning, I’d end the day filthy all over again but in a much more fun way.
I texted Bobby that the rodent problem had been taken care of, and he rolled up in his truck ten minutes later to inspect the damage, Lucille waddling along behind him in her harness. I stepped back instinctively, making sure the counter was between me and the goose, and Bobby let out a chuckle. “You kids are scared of everything nowadays. Lucille’s a peach.”
“She’s a menace. I still have a scar on my leg from that time she attacked me,” I said.
Bobby hooked a thumb into his suspender and snorted. “That wasn’t nothing but a love tap. Lucille’s a good girl. Now show me what you dumped so I can reorder the stock.”
I took Bobby out back to the dumpster. To his credit he didn’t even flinch at the amount of stuff I’d ditched or mention the way I’d stacked it still in the cartons. He just pulled out a battered notebook and made a list of what needed replacing.
By the time he left, my shift was done, and I didn’t hang around. Chase arrived as I was in the back room grabbing my stuff, and I said, “Hey. We caught the ra—I mean, raccoon.”
“Awesome!” He grinned, but then his smile faded and he said, “Did you—y’know, take care of it?”
“Yeah, and I cleared out the stockroom and Renata cleaned. You gotta restock the shelves, though.”
Chase made an unhappy sound, but I knew he’d do it. He’d probably bitch about it the whole time, but hey, I wouldn’t be around to hear it. I’d be too busy getting dicked down by Miller. I smiled at the thought, grabbed my bag, and peeled out of there.
When I got home, I texted Miller that I was done for the day. Then I stripped out of my dirty clothes and took a shower. I washed fast because the plumber hadn’t come yet and the water was still cold, but I used the special body wash that Wilder kept hidden under the sink, the one that smelled like fresh-cut cedar and that he used when he was working as a stripper.
After that I got dressed, and then I cranked up the shitty AC, changed my sheets, and tidied up the main areas of the house so the place looked less like a trash heap and more like functioning adults lived here. Though that was kind of hard to fake when I thought of Miller’s place with all his fancy history books on his bookshelf.
We had a bookshelf too. It collected video games, dust, those special cups you got from fast food places whenever a new superhero movie came out, and the occasional issue ofSports Illustratedthat Chase stole from work.
Okay, so maybe we weren’t exactly killing it on the functional adult thing. But then Miller wasn’t coming over here to look at my bookshelf, was he?
After I’d done tidying, I spent some time fingering my ass until it was loose, lubed, and open so there wouldn’t be any of that awkward scrambling later on. Okay, so I was a little eager. Sue me.
There was a knock at the front door, and I opened it to find Miller standing there wearing a fitted white tank top and a pair of shorts that made him look mouthwateringly good. My throat went dry, but I managed to croak out a “Hey.”
He held up a box with Hole Foods written on the lid and gave me a wide grin. “Hey. You seemed to enjoy these last weekend.”
“Thanks.” I took the box and flipped the lid open and found a dozen glazed donuts. Warmth unfurled in my chest. Sure, it was only donuts, but it was more than that. It was Miller paying attention to me, to what I liked, and that didn’t happen all thatoften. In fact, I wasn’t sure it had ever happened with anyone I’d hooked up with. “That’s a lot of donuts.”
Miller shrugged. “I figured there are four of you living here, so may as well bring enough for everyone, right?”
Shit. Could he be any more perfect?
Miller raised an eyebrow. “So can I come in? Only it’s hotter’n hell out here.”
“Shit, sorry!” I moved so he could come inside and he followed me into the living room. I dropped the box of donuts on the coffee table and when I turned around, Miller was right there. He plastered himself against my front, hands circling my waist, and buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell good.”
His breath danced along my collarbone, and I squirmed a little and huffed out a laugh. “Thanks,” I said. “I stole Wilder’s fancy stripper body wash.”
Miller stopped nuzzling long enough to say, “Wait. Wilder’s a stripper?”
