Page 72 of Hiss and Make Up
While progress was a relief, that relief didn’t erase his anxiety about meeting a potentially unsavory dude to dig up dirt on his brother-in-law.
“What the hell was that about?” Freddy asked.
Marc nodded to the door, and Freddy followed him outside to meet the rental car guy. He didn't want to involve Freddy, but he figured someone should know about this in case Marc turned up…missing.
“I’m having lunch with a sketchy guy to possibly pin the fire on my brother-in-law.”
Freddy froze mid-step and stared wide-eyed at Marc. When the shock wore off, he flashed a devilish grin. “You’re nuts if you think I’m gonna miss this. Shotgun!”
17
Marc used the drive to fill in the investigation gaps for Freddy. The call from the mechanic that morning. His suspicions about Josh. Even the mess with Sierra. Freddy took it all in, nodding like Marc was recapping a movie he’d watched the night before. When they arrived at the meeting place, Freddy finally balked.
“Hold up. We’re having lunch with the guy who slashed up your car so he could set fire to your sister’s house? Is that what you’re telling me?That’swho we’re meeting here?”
“I don’t know ifthisis the guy that did any of that. Maybe this is the guy Josh owes money to. Or maybe he’s just some middle man. I don’t know. All I know is it’s the closest thing I have to answers right now.”
Freddy stared at the entrance to T-Roy’s. With metal walls and a metal roof, the place looked more like a warehouse than a restaurant, but they had the best burgers in the whole parish.
“So what’s the plan?” Freddy asked. “Can you just give this guy whatever he’s after from Josh?”
Marc shrugged. “Didn’t get that far. I’m gonna ask questions for now. You still in or you want to wait in the car?”
He didn’t want to do this alone. Now that Freddy had come with him, he’d grown to like the idea of having someone in there with him. But enough people were in danger already, and he sure as hell wouldn’t take his best friend down with him if the guy wasn’t up for it.
Freddy cleared his throat, then patted his thighs. “I’m in.”
When they walked through the door, they both scanned the dark, open room. It was noisy with multiple TVs hanging from the ceiling, all playing different stations, and grill smoke hovered in the air. Marc spotted an empty booth in an area noisy enough for conversation privacy and central enough to provide witnesses. A gigantic young man stood in the next booth and waved them over.
Marc glanced back at Freddy, who gave him a tiny shove in the back. Too late for chickening out.
Maybe this wasn’t their guy. Lighter-than-normal lunch hour traffic put them there ten minutes early. Since when did criminals start practicing punctuality?
But another look at the guy—tall, big arms, menacing, and kind of dirty like he’d just stepped off a shrimping boat—told Marc this had to be him.
“You Marc?” He extended a hand. “I’m Johnny.”
Marc nodded and shook the guy’s massive hand. They slid into the bench across from Johnny, who leaned with his arms propped on the back of the booth like he ruled the place.
“I’m Freddy.” He and Johnny exchanged a handshake across the table.
A waitress arrived to ask if they wanted to order yet. Without opening his menu, Marc ordered a Big Roy with fries and a Coke. Freddy glanced at his menu and ordered the same.
“And you?” She jotted down their order, quite disinterested as she smacked a wad of gum.
“Water,” Johnny said. “And a grilled shrimp salad. No dressing.”
He closed his menu and slid it to the waitress. Marc caught himself mid-surprise and forced his face back to a neutral expression. But not fast enough.
Johnny patted his waist. “Gotta keep in prime fighting shape.”
Freddy chuckled, and Marc wondered if he’d made a serious mistake bringing the guy in with him. Did he have a death wish or something? Sure, let’s laugh about the giant guy’s eating habits. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.
But Johnny didn’t seem to notice or care and cleared his throat as he rested his thick, muscled forearms on the table. “You wanted to know about Josh, huh?”
Marc nodded. He swallowed hard, hoping Johnny didn’t notice. Maybe bookies or hitmen or whatever this guy was could smell fear. Like dogs. Or bees. Sierra had once told him all about how bees could smell fear.
“Yeah, so you see him, right? In your line of work. Or business. Or whatever.”
