4 Bodies and a Funeral

“I used to have a motorcycle.”

“Used to? Is that supposed to impress me?”

He frowned. “No.”

“So what happened to it?”

“My driver’s license was suspended. I sold it.”

“Oh, right,” she said drily. “I forget that you’re an ex-con.”

“I’m on probation,” he said irritably. “Big difference.”

“Uh-huh.” She glanced over at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like shit.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Seriously, are you okay?”

Meg had once accused him of being hooked on something, and he’d flatly denied it. “Just hot and tired.”

She reached around her seat and rummaged blindly in a container on the floorboard behind her, then came up with a Red Bull. “Knock yourself out.”

He took the can and cracked it open. “Thanks.” A couple of hearty drinks started to revive him. He laid his head back on the headrest.

“Are you moving bodies today?” she asked.

“Not today.” And after the stunt he’d pulled, he’d be lucky if Coop ever called him again.

“Doesn’t it creep you out?”

He shrugged. “It’s not pleasant, but someone has to do it.”

“So it’s something you intend to keep doing?”

If he went to work for The Carver, there’d be no time for body moving. The realization bothered him more than he expected. “I don’t know. I have a line on a new job.”

“What kind of job?”

“I don’t have all the details yet.”

“You like being mysterious, don’t you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Does that mean you won’t be coming back to ASS?”

“No, I’ll be there for a while longer.”

Something flashed across her face—relief? He must be mistaken. Meg had been apathetic toward him from day one.

“Am I taking you home?” she asked.

“Nah—to a friend’s place.”

She grinned. “You have a friend?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Is he a dropout, too?”

“I’m not a dropout.”

“Fine. Is he also too sexy for college?”

That made him smile. The only person who thought Chance was sexy was Chance. And anyone he paid to sleep with him. “He attends Georgia State.”

Her eyebrows climbed. “Really? What’s he studying?”

“Business.” Wesley shifted in his seat over the idea of Meg being more impressed with his buddy than with him. “Chance isn’t much of a student, though.”

Meg shrugged. “Most of life is about showing up.”

Rankled, he took another long drink from the can. When it came to college, he’d shown up as much as Chance—to take his friend’s exams when necessary.

“Where am I dropping you?” she asked.

He gave her the address of Chance’s condo building a couple of blocks away.

“Nice building,” she murmured when they pulled up.

“Yeah.” She probably wouldn’t think much of the cramped town house where Wesley and Carlotta lived. Living in a “transitional” neighborhood was fine if a person did it for philanthropic or moral grounds, like Meg. But it was a different ballgame if you were there because you couldn’t afford to live somewhere else. Or if you were afraid to move because your parents wouldn’t be able to find you, should they decide to come home.

Wesley realized Meg was staring at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” he said, opening the door to climb out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow morning?”

Her smile made his stomach feel funny. “Yeah, later.”

The Prius rolled away, and Wesley dismissed the nausea as hunger pains.

For Oxy.

On the way inside the building, he called Chance again, and his friend answered on the third ring, panting. “Yeah?”

“It’s Wes. I’m downstairs, but it sounds like you’re busy.”