Yeah. Good line. “Did they search you?”
“Nope.” Johnson reached into her toolbox and extracted a bottle of liquid worth about $250 on the street.
“Don’t you hate when they go easy on us? I sort of feel guilty getting paid for so little work.” Not really, but hey, sounded good.
“When the worst obstacle is getting ‘round a guy who thinks he’s a ladies’ man, then yeah. Too boring.” Johnson yawned for effect. “Now tell me what’s got you all preoccupied. That’s not boring at all.”
He trusted her about as much as he trusted anybody, and more than he trusted most of the human race. “It’s about my dad.”
“Wait, what? You mean you actually got parents? Yay! I won the bet. The betting pool says you’re a demon from the lower hells, sent here to torment rookies.”
Oh yeah. “Lower Hell’s Demon” was so going on Lucky’s next accomplishments list for his annual review. He’d claim the demon’s union demanded he get a raise.
Despite her attempt to lighten the mood, the dark cloud over his head settled in. “I haven’t seen my folks in about thirteen years, give or take.”
“Their choice or yours?” She glanced over her shoulder and steered the Jeep into traffic.
“Theirs.”
“Do they know they’re missing out on some damned good barbecue?”
“Who do ya think taught me to grill meat?” And raise it, on most occasions.
“Oh. So, now dear old Dad…”
“Needs a chunk of my liver.”
Johnson slammed on her brakes even without an errant Toyota to blame. The guy behind her blew his horn and flipped her off. She reciprocated and flashed her SNB badge. He sped away. She gave Lucky a side-wise perusal and flexed her biceps. “So, Dad who wants nothing to do with you comes begging, and you’re considering doing what he wants. Why?”
Wow. The woman getting ready to beat some ass over Lucky? Nice. “It’s not like that. You came to the department after it happened, but you’ve probably figured out by now I haven’t always been called Simon Harrison.”
“Yup.” She said nothing more on the way back to the office, and Lucky didn’t feel the need to offer info. If she wanted to know something, she’d ask.
Johnson pulled the Jeep under the SNB building, killed the engine, and reclined back in her seat, facing Lucky. “There’s probably not one single SNB agent who hasn’t heard of Lucky Lucklighter. If you’re really trying to lay low, excuse me, but you’re doing a piss poor job.”
True. “The only folks who don’t know I’m still around are mine. They were told I died in the line of duty over two years ago.”
“I’m going out on a limb here, but don’t you think if they knew you were alive, it might help your chances of seeing them again? Or did you do something boneheaded and deserve their disapproval?”
Ouch. Direct hit. “Oh, I did my share of stupid shit, but being a dumbass on occasion never seemed to bother them before. Then I got arrested and they stopped talking to me. Never said why exactly.” Pick a reason, any reason. He’d given them plenty.
“Then I shall torture them until they confess. Where do they live?” Johnson cracked her knuckles.
“They didn’t do any more than I deserved.”
“Are you feeling guilty about not coughing up your liver?”
“No, I’m feeling scared as shit because I am.” There. He’d barfed up his secrets.
“Oh. I suppose you’d shoot me for telling folks at work what a great guy you are, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. And don’t even start that rumor.” If people got wind of Lucky doing a good deed, he’d never hear the end of it. And the rookies wouldn’t be nearly scared enough.
Johnson softened her voice. “What can I do to help?”
“Bo’s still dealing with shit from our case in Mexico. He’s strong, but some things he can’t manage alone. Would you look out for him?”
“You make it sound like you’re not coming back.”
