He grunted, glared at me for a moment longer, then jerked his head.
“Come into the clubhouse.”
“Yes, sir,” I said cheerfully. “I am yours to command!”
I followed him into the garage and then through another door into a spacious living area that was covered in old-fashioned 1970s style wood paneling. There was a massive leather sofa, TV, and various in-progress mechanical projects.
To the side there was a kitchen with avocado green appliances, and a long, well-made wooden table.
“What is this?”
“This is where all the vested members of my club live. You’ll meet them later. Everyone has their own separate wing and we meet here for meals and club business.”
“Really good idea,” I chirped. “I’m also looking forward to learning more about motorcycles while I’m here. Maybe I can even ride one?”
He looked expressionlessly down at me.
“I don’t let anyone ride my bike.”
“Oh, that’s ok,” I hastened to assure him. “I didn’t mean yours anyway. I meant, like, a different one. But let’s shelve that topic. Do you have a preference for what I should call you, Mr. Mangler?”
He looked down at me, as if he hadn’t heard what I just said.
“Whatdid you call me?”
“Mr. Mangler? Or do you go by Bone? Mr. Bonemangler? What do you want to be called?”
“Brothers call me Bones.”
“What do you wantmeto call you? What do the club bunnies usually call you?”
“I don’t usually let them call me anything. I don’t particularly like women.”
“Oh.” I digested this as I followed him down one of the dark hallways.
“Maybe until we know each other better, I could call you Bonemangler. Or even Mr. Bonemangler.”
“My first name is Abraham.”
“My first name is Pollyanna. But you can call me Polly.”
“I don’t need to call you anything.”
“But how will I know when you need me?”
“You’ll know.”
That gave me a little shiver, and he opened the door to his room.
“Mac posted that job ad without telling me, which means the room where the club girls stay isn’t exactly ready. I can bring in a bed for you here.”
I stepped past him, goosebumps rising on my skin as my hand brushed by the solid width of his chest. It was like making contact with a granite wall.
Privately, I thought his bedroom looked kind of impersonal, with those high, sloping ceilings. It was like he hadn’t done anything to make it cozy. The bed was dark iron, the blankets gray and utilitarian. Otherwise, the room was very sparse, only a side table beside the bed and a single chair.
But I was always one to look on the bright side.
“You have a very nice place here, Mr. Mangler. But I suppose it’s because you are involved in all these criminal enterprises.”
