“Peace?”he whispered.
Smithie shook his head again.“She and me, we throw back afew.She’s got time notdancin’, I hang with herduring some of it.Took her a bit.She don’t trust easy.But she shared.Andwhat she shared, Marcus, I’maskin’ you, man, justdon’t go there.”
Now Marcus was angry.
In fact, furious.
He did not show this outside the steely edge that was now inhis voice.
“I would not harm a woman.”
“Brother, you got a stable of whores.”
“I do not,” he clipped.“I oversee the management of anetwork of men who run escort agencies and I do this to make sure these men runthis network appropriately.”
“Like I said, you got a stable of whores.Or anetworkof ’em.”
“You know that story, Smithie,” Marcus said softly, the softnot gentle, just quiet.
And dangerous.
Smithie did know that story so he left that but didn’t leaveit alone.
“You got other shit you—” he started.
“Not your business.”
“It is, you tie her up in it.”
“She’s not your business either.”
Again, Smithie’s eyes got big and he threw an arm toward thewindow.“She’s a Smithie’s girl and she’s not my business?”
Marcus had had enough.
“Do you want a problem with me?”he asked.
“Of course I don’t,” Smithie spat.
“Then cut a set, cut a song in each set, no private dancesand increase her salary, Smithie.”
“Goddammit, Marcus,” Smithie bit out.
“Do it,” Marcus ordered then dropped his arms from his chestand moved toward the door.
He stopped and turned back when Smithie called his name.
“I won’t have no problemhavin’ aproblem with you if you make problems for her,” Smithie declared.“Do you getthat?”
They talked, Daisy and Smithie.
Smithie knew.
Peace.
Marcus nodded.
Smithie jerked up his chin in agitated anger and turned hisback on Marcus.
