“No,” he answered without looking up. “No, it doesn’t.”
I took my normal spot at the bar, nodding to Grizz as I sat down. As usual, the old man barely acknowledged me. Grizz was a Marine sniper with over fifty kills, or he was a decorated Green Beret, and an expert at hand-to-hand combat. Or he was a daredevil chopper pilot, who’d served four consecutive combat tours. It all depended on who you asked.
No one really knew the truth, and whenever he was asked about his service, Grizz would only smile through a mouthful of missing teeth and cackle. Whatever he’d once been, the man was now scrawny and old, and completely innocuous-looking. But it was his eyes that were most interesting to me. Heavily-lidded and turned nearly gray with cataracts, there should’ve been abone-tired weariness to them. Instead, those eyes were oddly youthful, and full of life. They also seemed to be everywhere at once; constantly shifting around the bar as if gauging and assessing everyone in it.
Carter continued filing through the mail as I took stock of things. Though its dusty beams were barely holding the old roof up, the bar still had strong bones. In most places it was well-lit, clean, and inviting. There was one thing missing though: the usual stream of music emanating from the now broken jukebox.
“Want me to file a claim for that?” I asked, pointing at the darkened machine. “Insurance might cover it.”
“Yeah, and they’ll raise my rates,” Carter said bitterly. He shot the jukebox a sideways glance of his own. “No thanks, man. I know a guy who knows a glass guy when I’m ready to get it fixed.” He sighed and dumped another three bills on the pile. “It’s just gonna take a while.”
We’d only been away for a weekend, but the stack was larger than I expected it to be. I, of all people, knew exactly how deep he was.
“Give me all that when you’re finished,” I told him. “I know I can work a deal with at least two of the suppliers. And you overpaid on one of the balanced billing cycles,” I added. “Maybe we could claw that back, apply it toward something more pressing.”
“Yeah,” he said wearily. “Sure. Thanks, man.”
“Hey, that’s what CPA friends are for.”
Carter slid me a pint glass, without me asking. At this time of the day, I didn’t have to look down to know it was filled with crushed ice and diet Coke.
“Too bad you’re not a banker,” Carter added. “You could get me a loan.”
We both knew I could definitely get him a loan. We also both knew it would be areallybad idea.
“You talk to the boss since you got back?” Carter asked.
I frowned and wrapped my hand around the glass. “He’s not my boss.”
“He’ssomeone’sboss,” he countered. “Lots of people, actually. And since you’ve been doing his books…”
Carter let his voice trail off, before it became admonitory.
“I’m doing him a favor. That’s all.”
“Yeah, and you’ve been doing that favor for almost five years now,” he pointed out. “And for some reason, he’s the only client you never charge.”
“Not the only one,” I grinned, and shot him a wink.
We’d had this discussion before. He didn’t like me ‘doing math’ for the Visconti family regardless of my repeated non-affiliation with them. But they were old family friends. The blood ties on my mother’s side ran several generations deep.
“Still,” Carter finished, “I don’t like the idea of them owing you. It doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Better than owing them,” I countered. “Besides, things are different now. The old man’s harmless.”
“Yeah,” Carter sniffed, rolling his eyes. “Right.”
I took a long pull of cold soda, rather than answer. The burning, fizzing bubbles tickled my nose and throat.
“So, have you heard from her?” Carter asked abruptly.
“Heard from who?”
“Yeah,” he shook his head. “Like we have all these girls we hear from on a consistent basis. You know who. Hayden.”
Of course I knew who.
“No,” I answered. “I haven’t.”
