Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 94897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I’m still not feeling the fact you’ve known some woman who clearly means something to you for ten years and I’ve never heard her name.”
“How ’bout you let me have my shit, and I’ll let you in on it when I’m ready, like you have your shit, and I hang tight and wait for you to let me in on it, if you’re ever ready to let me in on it.”
“When have I had shit that isn’t yours?” Dutch demanded.
Was he for real?
“Uh…Carlyle. And you and Georgie investigating his dad’s murder,” Jag returned. “And, say, you and Georgie being hot and heavy at all and we only found out because we showed at your house as a surprise and she showed at your house and it was a surprise to us, but it absolutely was not to you.”
“Fuck,” Dutch muttered.
“Unh-hunh,” Jag returned.
“That was going on days, not a decade, Jag,” Dutch shot back.
Okay, he was done talking about this.
“Listen, there’s something between me and Archie and there’s something Archie is dealing with and something I’m dealing with and it’s ours. Just lay off. And be cool with her when she comes over. Or if you can’t be cool with her, and me, tell me now and we just won’t come over.”
“What are you dealing with?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Did you not hear me when I was talking about shit that was mine and I’ll let you in on it when I’m ready?”
Dutch went silent again.
“So, Archie and me good to come over tonight, or not?” Jag pushed.
It took a second before Dutch spoke again.
“I’m always there for you, man, you know that, don’t you?”
Jag felt that in his throat.
So much, something he was not allowing himself to lock onto, he locked onto.
He was dealing with some shit.
Some major shit.
And Archie triggered it.
“I know,” he said to Dutch.
But that was all he could say.
For now.
“You’re always welcome, Jag. Look forward to meeting Archie. And it’ll be cool,” Dutch assured.
“Thanks, brother.”
“See you in a while,” Dutch said.
“Yeah. Later.”
“Later.”
They disconnected and Jagger took in a big breath, because he didn’t know what was up with him, he didn’t know if he wanted to know what was up with him.
But he had a feeling whatever it was, it was about to come out.
* * * *
Before he left her at her shop, Archie told him that the way to her place was the door to the side of the store.
So when he showed at six thirty, he went there.
There was a call box with four buttons, and Jag guessed the one that had a picture of Grace Jones next to it was Archie’s.
In other words, he was grinning when he hit the button.
There was a speaker on top of the call unit, and through it came Archie’s voice.
“I’m door number two, brother.”
And then the door buzzed.
He opened it and it was heavy, no window, steel enforced, which was good, considering it was on Colfax.
He went in and was in the outer vestibule that was cut off from the inner by a code-lock door.
He saw color-block floors in big squares of white, black, gray and yellow, and the mailboxes were there, built into the wall. Four across, tall, but narrow with a large USPS lockbox underneath for the postman to lock bigger packages.
His phone buzzed with a text that was from Archie.
9768, it said.
The code for the inner vestibule door.
He punched it in, the lock clicked, and he moved beyond the second secure area, seeing more color-block flooring, an orange tub with some umbrellas sticking out of it, and under the stairs was caged storage that had a couple of bikes locked behind it.
The walls were white, as were the stairs. The treads black. So were the doors.
And there was an all-weather mat that said Hola on his side, and upside down on top of that (so if he was coming from the other direction), it read Sayonara.
The area was clean. It was nice. It was stylin’.
It was Archie.
He jogged up the steps and found himself in a hall that led down the middle of the building.
Her door was to the back of the building, on the left.
He barely knocked before it was opened.
And then he was knocked out.
Archie had on a Chinese embroidered, pink miniskirt and a creamy blouse that had a high neck and ruffles down the front, no sleeves. There was a hidden slit coming down from the throat that he knew, with movement, would hint at the goodness underneath. Rounding this out were her vibrant green pumps.
Her makeup was dark and smoky around her eyes, just the top of her hair was pulled back in a spiky mess at the back of her head.
And she smelled like Archie.
He’d changed into a dark blue button down and nicer jeans.
And before he could tell her how gorgeous she was, her fist was in his shirt, she’d hauled him in, slammed the door, lifted her other hand, caught him by the back of his head, and pulled his mouth down to hers.