Page 127 of Fury

“As local as you got.”

“Coming right up.” Jerry sprang down the bar.

“How are things?” I asked Tania.

“Still in Chicago. I was roaming around here on family business and me business. At least I like to think so.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The me business was looking at antiques, buying, reselling. Going to garage sales, estate sales, stopping on the road whenever I notice fascinating junk piled in someone’s yard.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“I like the scavenging, talking with the collectors, the artists. I’m good at it. Actually, I was supposed to be on this trip with this guy I’ve been seeing, but he decided to do something else. Or I should say, do someone else.”

“Asshole.”

Her black eyes flared. She was angry. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, something more!”

“Fuck him.”

“Yeah, fuck him.” She held up her glass. “Let’s drink.”

“We are.”

“Keep it coming then.” She gulped down her margarita.

“You drink. I’ll get you home. Meager’s on my way.”

“How gallant.”

I pushed aside my empty whisky glass as Jerry popped open a large bottle of a local craft brew. “Yeah, that’s me, gallant. I’d only do that kind of shit for you.”

“I’m touched.”

I chuckled. “Chicago still being good to you?”

“Still struggling for bucks, but it’s better.”

I raised my beer bottle at her. “Drink.”

She told me stories about her art dealing business struggles and recent travels through Michigan. I told her stories about my bros and their women.

“You don’t have an old lady?”

“Nah.”

“Why not? No, wait, don’t tell me—”

“Don’t you fucking say her name,” I said on a hiss, my eyes holding hers.

Her back straightened. “Okay. Well, she probably got herself a new name anyway, right?”

“She did.”

---