There passed a moment of mutual alpha-male staring. But Eli had the badge and the gun and his penis size was more than adequate, even if he wasn’t famous and didn’t own a Porsche.
He was also aware that he might be behaving like a slightly bigger dick than usual.
He was man enough to own up to the realization that a breezy, self-satisfied person can only make you irritable if you’re not precisely content with your current life circumstances.
He couldn’t shake a peculiar sense of premonition—an ominous one—and it had to do with Mr.Francone. Not the sort that told him who might have stuffed drugs down his pants five seconds before Eli appeared. This was something else. Like he was picking up the sound of an advancing army from a long, long way off.
“I enjoyed your show, Mr.Francone,” he offered. Every-so-slightly conciliatory. “Used to watch it with my dad.”
He and his dad had actually enjoyed making fun of the law enforcement inaccuracies inBlood Brothers, the wildly popular cop show that had starred Franco Francone and John Tennessee McCord. To be fair, they were pretty scarce, though the show had taken some wild liberties with procedures. For the most part, it was a well-written drama, even if the pithy exchanges and one-liners made his dad snort.
He was surprised there was enough innocence left in him to be disappointed that the guy who had played such a heroic cop onBlood Brotherswas so cavalier about the law.
“Glad to hear it.” Francone had likely heard this a million times in his life, but he managed to make it sound more or less gracious.
“You here on business?” Eli was writing the particulars on what was going to be a very expensive ticket.
“Have a three-episode arc inThe Rush. Filming on location nearby.”
Eli wasn’t entirely positive he knew what an arc was, but he could hazard a guess. “Oh yeah. I’ve met J.T. McCord. Good guy, J.T. Just met a makeup artist named Bethany. Her grandmother lives at the Heavenly Shores Mobile Estates here.”
“Mobile Estates, huh? So quaint. I don’t often find myself in small towns. Usually it’s L.A., New York, Paris, London. The odd tropical island.”
Eli didn’t know if the guy was joking or bragging. He frankly didn’t care.
“More deer than Kardashians in Hellcat Canyon, Mr.Francone. They don’t often look both ways before they cross the street, and a deer could do some major damage to this beautiful machine. Not to mention those sharp sunglasses. And that would be a damn shame, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure,” Francone said tautly. After a moment’s pause, during which he’d probably entertained and discarded various other sardonic things he wanted to say.
“Thirty-five,” Eli said again, pleasantly. “That’s the downtown speed limit. I’ll hold you to that during your visit with us. Which I hope is otherwise enjoyable.”
He ripped the ticket from his pad and held it out. It fluttered in the breeze for another second.
And then Francone’s hand extended slowly.
Giving Eli a chance to change his mind.
Finally, he took it gingerly.
And when he had it in his hands, he looked down at it, as if to ascertain it was real.
Then looked slowly up at Eli again.
There was another little moment of silence. Quite stunned on Francone’s part.
“Must be tough, working in a small town,” Francone said thoughtfully, finally.
If this was meant to be a dig, it didn’t come close to penetrating Eli’s hide.
“Tough is relative,” Eli said evenly.
Franco sighed, as if a favorite child had disappointed him. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Deputy.”
“Maybe. I’ll be easier to spot if you drive the speed limit. You give my regards to J.T.”
He gave the Porsche roof a pat and headed back to his cruiser.
He was pretty sure he and Franco Francone weren’t going to be friends.
