Christian extracted the straw from my glass. “Imagine the mortifying shame of it. Ass up, lying in a puddle of your own filth. The fire department would have to use the Jaws of Life to get you out of there.”
Just as he put the end of the straw into his mouth to lick off the thick milkshake, I kicked him under the table.
Crush played with an ice cube in his glass. “You know what we did to peckerheads like you in the Marines?”
“Fecking hell. I’m starting to regret all those premium steaks I bought you that time when I set you up in that fancy trailer to keep your arse safe.”
Crush’s shoulders sagged and he sat back. “I’m not denying you’ve done a lot for me and mine, but you have a mouth on you. What happened to respecting your elders?”
“Now you’re starting to talk some sense.” Christian put his arm around me. “Did I ever tell you that I was born in the nineteenth century?”
I chuckled. “He’s got you there.”
“Dammit, Cookie. You’re supposed to be onmyside.”
“I’m onbothyour sides,” I assured him. “Maybe I should buy a shelf from Ikea and have you two assemble it.”
“For what reason?” Christian asked.
“You boys need a special project to work on together. Maybe that’ll help you figure out a way to communicate.”
Crush cackled. “Maybeyou’reour project.”
Betty returned with our plates balanced on her arms like some kind of magic act. She set down the big one first, and Crush’s eyes rounded at the double-patty Angus burger with cheese oozing from the sides. When he reached for the saltshaker, I snatched it away.
Then she set down a white plate in front of Christian. A bowl of steaming chili was in the center, surrounded by saltine crackers.
“Do you think you’ll have room for pie?” Betty sounded more chipper than usual, but she also seemed enamored by my father.
My mouth watered when I looked down at my burger and onion rings. “Not today. Thanks, Betty. You’re a lifesaver.”
“That’s what they’ll put on my tombstone,” she said while striding away. “Here lies Betty McGuire. She rescued burgers from the kitchen fire.”
We all chuckled.
“I like her,” Crush remarked.
Christian lifted a cracker from his plate and studied it. “Shall I retrieve her number for you?”
Crush pounded the bottom of the ketchup bottle until his fries were drowning in sauce. “I think she’s more your speed. You seem to like younger women.”
“So… how’s the shop going?” I jumped in, trying to salvage this dinner.
Crush had just taken a sloppy bite of his burger, and ketchup dribbled down his goatee. “Fine,” he said with a mouthful of food.
“Thinking about retirement yet?”
With my help, he had recouped his losses after draining his account on bounty hunters and loan sharks.
Crush grabbed a paper napkin and wiped his mouth. “A man needs a purpose in life. I like fixing bikes and cars. You want me to sit around watching court TV all day?”
“No, but what about traveling?”
“Been there. Done that.”
“Oh?” I chomped into an onion ring. “When is the last time you’ve been to a country where you didn’t have a gun strapped to your side and were shooting people?”
He wiped his goatee. “That’s a regular Saturday night in my book.”
