LITMIR.BIZ

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about. You don’t have my natural defenses.”

      Or as some would say, her natural repellants. “Want to order a pizza?”

      “I got an organic veggie lasagna in the back of the van. Will that do?”

      “Sounds great.”

      “Am I spending the night?”

      “Would you mind?”

      “Can I sleep with Wesley’s snake?”

       “No. “

      “Spoilsport. You don’t look so good. Did Wesley do something again?”

      “Not that I know of. This time it’s someone else.”

      Hannah opened the van door and rummaged through containers in a cardboard box. “You have a lot of disturbed people in your life, Carlotta.”

      Carlotta spotted a magnetic Body Transport sign leaning against a shelf. Hannah had a wild crush on Wesley’s boss, Cooper Craft, and had allegedly convinced him to hire her as a body mover for the morgue. Employing her own brand of twisted logic, Hannah had concluded that her catering van could do double duty, health codes be damned.

      Carlotta shook her head behind her friend’s back. “You can say that again.”

      6

      “Dude, wake up. I’m starving.”

      Wesley cracked open an eye and winced at the sunlight streaming into the room. God, his head felt like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. After leaving the card game, he and Chance had really tied one on. He slowly became aware that he was fused to the leather couch in the living room of Chance’s condo. He rolled his eyes upward to see his buddy standing over him.

      Chance laughed. “Hung over, huh? What a wuss.”

      Wesley groaned and pushed himself up on one arm. “Do you have to shout?”

      “Let’s go to the Vortex and get a burger.”

      The thought of food made his stomach churn, but he sat up and pulled a hand down his gritty face. “What time is it?”

      “Almost noon.”

      Wesley reached for his T-shirt. “I should go.”

      “Moving stiffs today?”

      “I’m on call.”

      “Man, you were awesome last night. That guy didn’t know what hit him. You played that final hand like a pro.”

      Despite his pounding head, Wesley smiled. “Thanks, but that was a pretty easy crowd.”

      Chance handed him a few pills and an open can of Mountain Dew. “Here.”

      Wesley looked at the pills. “What’s this?”

      “Aspirin, man. Don’t you trust me?”

      Not entirely, since Chance had his hands in lots of illegal shit. Wesley downed the pills and swished the sugary drink to dispel the god-awful taste in his mouth. Then he pulled his wallet from his pocket and opened it to reveal a thick wad of cash. Relief flooded him that he hadn’t lost it or spent it all in his drunken stupor, although he seemed to be down a few bills.

      “You sprang for some choice weed last night,” Chance said, nodding toward a plastic bag on the coffee table. “I smoked a joint as big as my dick.”

      Chance’s favorite topic was his Johnson.

      “Take the leftovers,” Chance offered.

      “No thanks. If I fail a drug test, I go to jail. Keep it, my compliments.” Wesley counted off several bills and handed them to Chance. “And here’s the money I owe you.”

      “Thanks. What are you going to do with the rest of it?”

      “Pay off some other debts.” Wesley thought of Tick and Mouse, the two thick-necked collectors for the loan sharks he owed, Father Thom and The Carver, who showed up every week. He’d be glad to get those two off his back for a while.

      “Oh, come on. Aren’t you going to celebrate a little? Buy something for yourself? A new computer? I know how you dig that shit.”

      “I’m not allowed to have computer equipment under the terms of my probation,” Wesley said, jerking his thumb toward Chance’s extra bedroom. “That’s why I’m storing my good stuff here, remember?”

      “What about a car?”

      “With a suspended license?”

      “You’ll get it back sooner or later.”

      “In like a year, dude. I don’t want something sitting in the garage that I can’t drive. That’s why I sold my motorcycle.”

      Although a top-of-the-line bicycle would be cool and would give him some mobility.

      “How about a kick-ass stereo system?” Chance suggested.

      “I’m good with my iPod.”

      “Some blowout speakers, then. Dude, you gotta buy something fun with the money. You deserve it.”

      “Yeah, maybe,” he said, thinking that he should buy something for Carlotta for all the crap he’d put her through. Maybe something for the house, something they both could enjoy.

      “Come and hang out while I eat.” Chance laid his meaty arm across Wesley’s shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about a partnership.”

      Wesley was immediately wary. “What kind of partnership?”

      “You always said you wanted to make it to the World Series of Poker.”

      “Yeah, so?”

      “So I’m thinking that with my trust fund and your card smarts, maybe we can make it happen.”

      Wesley’s pulse jumped: Chance definitely had the cash to bankroll his dream. Sure, with the body-moving gig, the community-service job that was supposed to start soon and delving into his dad’s case, he had a lot on his plate. But after a bumpy couple of months, his luck seemed to be changing. And while he’d promised Carlotta that he’d give up gambling, with Chance behind him, last night’s take was trivial to the money he could potentially win.

      Besides—if he were careful—Carlotta wouldn’t have to know.

      He looked at Chance. “I’m listening.”

      7

      “I appreciate the ride to work,” Carlotta said to Hannah. She took a drag on a cigarette, then handed it back with a shaking hand.

      “No problem.” Hannah inhaled on the shared smoke. “Sorry you’re having such a crummy time. Have you decided whether to tell the police about your father calling?”

      “Not yet. And you can’t tell anyone, Hannah. I haven’t even decided whether or not to tell Wesley.” And she hadn’t mentioned that her father had called Peter because she wanted to keep him out of it.

      “I’m as silent as the grave.” Hannah clicked the barbell in her tongue against her teeth for emphasis, then squinted. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like hell.”

      “I didn’t get much sleep,” Carlotta admitted. None, actually. Not even after pleading exhaustion to Hannah and turning in early, leaving her friend to sit on the couch watching cable on the small television with the distorted picture. She’d been on edge all night, hoping the phone would ring, praying it wouldn’t. And on top of everything else, there was Peter burnt into her brain, into her heart. And the disconcerting image of Jack Terry’s face, looking as if he actually cared.

      “Give yourself a break. You’ve been through a lot lately, with Wesley’s arrest, then Angela Ashford’s murder and now all this.”

      Carlotta

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