Those were all much more acceptable.
After breakfast, Frida had personally supplied Noah with pink rubber gloves and a roll of black trash bags. He didn’t have a chance to talk to her though because Junior was there and had immediately steered him back to the patio to get to work.
While Junior lounged in one of the patio chairs watching him, Noah had the awful task of picking up the trash from the party, lost swimming trunks and all. He filled bag after bag with soiled napkins and half-filled cups, and he never wanted to smell alcohol ever again.
“Oh! Missed a spot!” Junior would call out cheerfully, happy to point out the tiniest bit of garbage Noah had overlooked.
Noah wasreallypissed off.
By the time the sun was hanging high up in the sky, Noah had managed to fill six trash bags, soak his shirt in sweat, and imagined at least fourteen different ways he would enjoy killing Junior.
He hadn’t seen any sign of Alistair since breakfast. Mace and Crybaby were also missing, though they were probably with Alistair. He didn’t know where either Medina or Erasmus were, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he ever saw Medina’s nasty face again, and Erasmus…
He was just fuckin’ creepy.
Once the patio and pool were clear, Noah flung off the rubber gloves and flopped in the chair next to Junior.
“What are yous doin’?” Junior asked suspiciously.
“I’m taking a break!” Noah closed his eyes. “And don’t you dare tell me I missed somethin’ else, or I am going to scream.”
“Meh. I guess it’s lookin’ all right.” Junior glanced around. “Maybe good enough for our very fuckin’ esteemed guests, maybe fuckin’ not.”
Noah wiped off his sweaty brow. “Yeah, and who are they again? From Strassen Springs, right?”
“Uh-huh. They’re two of Boss Cold’s original fuckin’ Gentlemen.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Noah grinned. “How about you give me my phone and lemme Google it?”
“His original gang, okay? Cold’s original fuckin’ inner circle of fuckin’ ball bustin’ gangsters.”
“Neat.”
“Fuckin’ ‘neat’ is all you have to say? For fuck’s sake. You really gots no brains in that dopey head, huh?”
“No, I sure don’t.” Noah smiled sweetly, knowing Junior was about to tell him everything he wanted to know.
“The Shadow and Roger fuckin’ Lorre. Hello.” Junior scoffed.
Noah stared.
“Mickey Tamerlane is a fuckin’ assassin. They call him the Shadow. Probably killed hundreds. Never misses. Worked for the Italians before he went to Boss Cold. Served some time, but pffft, Cold got him out quick.”
“Wow. He sounds great. What’s the other guy do? Is he fuckin’ Rambo or something?”
“No. He’s a thief, you dumb fuck.”
“That kind of language is super hurtful, Junior.” Noah smiled. “Maybe you should find other ways to express yourself.”
“How about you express yourself all over my fuckin’ balls, huh?”
“That doesn’t even make sense, dude.”
Frida suddenly appeared, gesturing wordlessly to the full trash bags. Without waiting for a response, she tried to pick a few of them up and was clearly struggling.
“Oh, yeah. Hey!” Noah sprang up, and he hurried over to help her. “Hey, let me get those, okay?”
Frida frowned.
