“Please check the closet,” Gwen says.
“Oh yes, please do!” Lucky says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Their closet is enormous. At least six hundred square feet.
I walk through it as slowly as possible, trying to decide where Gwen might have hid the device. We’re talking about a white piece of ceramic that’s smaller than a dime. I notice twelve custom drawers on her side, six on his. There are numerous rows of shoes and boots and several racks of clothes. Lou Kelly told me Lucky and Gwen got married five months ago after a very brief courtship. That being the case, I’m amazed how many clothes she’s managed to accumulate this quickly. I move my hands through her dresses, pretending to check that no one’s hiding behind them.
As I exit the closet, Lucky says, “Don’t stay up late. We’ve got a breakfast meeting at eight.”
“I’m not going,” Gwen says.
Lucky says, “You might wish you had, if Connor Payne shows up.”
“He can’t be much worse than you,” she says.
Lucky looks at me. “It’s such a joy to be home,” he says. “You can’t imagine.”
Gwen looks at him and says, “If your ass still hurts, I’ll be glad to pound some ice up your rectum.”
24.
Gwen decides to go with us to breakfast after all, which tells me Lucky convinced her how badly they need the cash. Lucky’s mark is Hampton Hill, who insists on meeting us at Hometown Hearth. When he orders ham and hash Gwen and I exchange a look.
“Everything is double H’s with this guy,” Lucky says, by way of explanation. Then, filling his voice with warmth, he adds, “While I’ve only known Hampton a short time, he’s already one of my dearest friends. He says the Double H has always brought him luck.”
“H’s are like undertakers,” Hampton says.
“How’s that?” I say.
“They’re the last ones to let you down.”
Gwen, bless her heart, pretends to giggle, which brings a broad smile to Hampton’s face.
“You’re so cute!” she squeals. “I can see why Lucky adores you so!”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing!” he says.
“Why, thank you Hampton!”
He looks at Lucky and says, “Fifty the waitress is married.”
Lucky says, “No way. You eat here all the time.”
“Then you pick the bet.”
Lucky says, “Fifty her youngest kid was born after June 30th.”
“Bullshit bet. There’s three less days in the first half of the year.”
This goes back and forth until they finally agree on a bet. Hampton calls the waitress over. She says, “Your food’s not ready yet, hon.”
Lucky says, “Think of a number between one and a hundred.”
She smiles. “You boys bettin’?”
“We might be.”
“Seventy-three,” she says.
Hampton claps his hands. “Pay up!”
Lucky frowns. “How’d you come up with that number?”
“Just entered my brain,” she says. Then winks at Hampton.
“Son of a bitch,” Lucky says, forking over the cash. “How many things does she have to remember for you?”
“’Bout a hundred.”
Gwen smiles and says, “That’s smart planning.”
Hampton gives her a long look, licks his lips and says, “I bet kissin’ you is like lickin’ sugar off a baby’s arm.”
Gwen looks gobsmacked, but recovers quickly. She winks at him and says, “I wonder if you’ll ever get the chance to find out about my kisses.”
“I’d pay good money to find out right now!” he says, grinning like Death eating a cracker.
Hampton has wretched teeth and long, stringy hair and reminds me of the pervert we used to see sniffing bicycle seats at our junior high school.
I notice Lucky’s content to sit back and let Gwen charm the mark.
“What do you do for a living, Hampton?” Gwen asks.
