More ketchup made his French fries tastier, and he dragged each one through a sea of red on its way to his mouth.
O’Donoghue taking over, surrounding himself with yes men, spelled the end of Lucky’s career with the SNB. With Lucky gone, nothing stopped the man from going after Bo, Rett, and any others who didn’t bow down and kiss his ass.
He used to worry about one day becoming another obituary on the SNB memorial page. Better to die in the line of duty than be discredited and live in shame behind a desk.
What the fuck? Death better than dishonor? Sounded like something former Marine Bo said, not Lucky.
Yet… the thought lingered.
He’d helped expand the Department of Diversion Prevention and Control, with Walter’s help and, for Walter, he’d gotten a lot of drug dealer scum off the street.
He’d built his job, like he’d built his home, with blood and sweat and years of his life.
No one would steal his pride.
***
Lucky stared out the window, relaxing back into the passenger seat of Bo’s Durango.
Bo pulled out of the parking garage. “Did you have any lunch?”
“I ate.” Bo didn’t need to know about Lucky’s burger and fries throw down.
“McDonalds, Burger King, or Hardee’s?”
Why did Bo have to know him so well? “The Varsity.”
Bo stopped at a red light, and slowly, slowly, turned his head toward Lucky. “Go big or go home, right?”
“Something like that.” Let Mr. Healthy’s sermon begin.
Bo remained quiet long enough for Lucky to brace for a good ass chewing. Instead, Bo accelerated on the green light and said, “At least you ate.”
What? No sermon? “You’re not gonna lecture me for eating unhealthy, artery clogging fast food?”
Bo shrugged. “Sounds to me like you’re doing a pretty good job of beating yourself up already. I’ll leave you to it.”
He didn’t have to sound so smug. “What did you have for lunch?” What did vegetarians do for comfort food?
“Lettuce wraps and a spring roll.”
Did Lucky detect a hint of guilt? “And…”
Bo let out a sigh. “Owen Landry asked me to go to lunch with him. Said he wanted to talk to me about something.”
Fire shot through Lucky’s veins. If not for scaring Bo, he’d have hit something—hard. Sometimes Landry stared at Bo way too long or laughed too loud at his jokes. Enough for Lucky to want to kick his ass and tell him to leave Bo the hell alone. Now. O’Donoghue wanted to make Landry, a relative trainee, Bo’s handler. Lots of time together. Lucky nearly snarled, “What did he talk about?”
“That’s the weird thing.” Bo took one hand off the steering wheel and rubbed his neck. “He never said anything worthwhile, really. Talked baseball, gossiped about coworkers, that sort of thing. He did drop hints about whether or not I planned to transfer, but I left him hanging. I learned crapspeak from the best. He’s probably just now figuring out that I never answered him.”
“What time did you go?” Sneaky suspicion happening in five, four, three…
“Eleven thirty? Why?”
Just in time to get Bo away while O’Donoghue steamrolled Lucky.
Divide and conquer.
Chapter Ten
