Copyright © 2008 Marla Cordle
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
Roby removed a towel from the waistband of his work pants and tried to clean some of the grease off his hands.
He entered his office. Cori waited for him in one of the red plastic chairs that lined one wall. She stood abruptly and folded her hands over the purse clutched to her side. Her expression indicated she might've just robbed a bank, and that did more than just a little damage to the calm exterior he'd managed to cloak himself in when his mechanic told him she was there. He wasn't big on surprises, and this had the markings of one.
"Luke said you wanted to talk to me?"
Now she fished around in the purse for something, propped it against her thigh, and performed a good rendition of a bag lady with her murmuring. Robert Keen and Chester Bumgardner were in there with them, and each wanted to bend his ear about something, but he saw they were going to have no problem entertaining one another until he got freed up.
Over the din of the air conditioner that Luke claimed still needed to be on, despite the fact it was October and only in the sixties outside, the two men discussed Chester's '53 Studebaker Starliner.
He played through the last couple of encounters he'd had with Cori and wondered if her plan in regard to today's surprise visit involved blowing up on him. More than that, he worried her rummaging through the eBay knockoff would produce an eviction notice. Whatever she searched for, it boded him nothing good. Of that he felt damned certain.
"This yours?" she asked, coming out of the purse with the item she'd been pulling the seams apart to find.
He took the small bag from her extended hand and gave it a cursory inspection. "Just the fact you're here is an indication that it is." Opening it, he pulled out the contents. His fingertips left fresh smudges on the already soiled paper. He saw where he'd jotted down a part number and some other information that Jeff Richardson phoned in a couple days ago.
He'd called around, eventually conducted an on-line search at home, and located the particular bearings for him. In his mind, that should have been the last of the matter.
"Turn it over," she said.
By the time he finished reading the words written on the back of his invoice, a muscle in his jaw ticked. It was like an angry bug beneath his skin, and he scrubbed his hand across his face.
"Let me take a guess. You think I'm out to get this kid?"
"Wouldn't that be your assumption if you were me?" she choked out.
He shook his head. Though her penchant for thinking the worst of him wasn't breaking news, he still resented she wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt on this. "Knowing Banks, how weird he is, he wrote this himself, Cori. Hell in Hades, you really think a lot of me, don't you?"
"Well, he's damn good at forgery then because this handwriting is identical to yours."
"Why would I bother with this? This is bullshit." He waved the paper in her face, drawing the attention of the two men across the room. Indifferent to their stares, he glared at her until she glanced down.
"You should know by now that this isn't my style," he said. "If I wanted to give Banks a hard time, I'd do it to his face."
"He's threatening to press charges," she said, and he glanced at the paper in his hand, seeing it now for what it was.
Shit. Someone wanted to fix him up good, and though he didn't give a damn about himself, he sure to hell didn't want her or Sky to have to deal with this kind of garbage.
Cori's voice dropped in pitch, almost to a whisper. "Someone's framing you, Roby?"
The childlike expression on her face would have been endearing if not for the fact her eyes doubted him. Always the bad guy. That was Roby. Damn her.
He took a deep breath. "Rob, Chester, would you give us a moment?"
After his patrons stepped out into the parking lot, both of them casting furtive glances through the glass in the door, he turned back to her. "The invoice came from my apartment. The last time I saw it, it was next to the keyboard on my computer desk."
"Someone broke into your apartment and took it?" She gripped her purse. "Alright, so it must have been Chris. Who else would know about what you caught him doing in the bathroom?"
He offered a one-shoulder shrug. "Fuck if I know. Except for you, I never told anyone about it." His brows lowered. "Didn't I tell you he was too much of a misfit to be of any count?" She didn't supply him with an answer, and he sighed. "Way my luck is, he found more than that invoice and plans to call in a tip to the police. That's all I need, the cops getting a warrant to search my apartment."
"What?" She blinked. "Wait. You're telling me they would find something?"
"Yeah," he said, his head going down. "Marijuana."
She gasped. "You smoke it or sell it? Or both?"
He lifted his head only to have her glower at him, and a knot of anger formed in his gut. "Don't you dare judge me, Hubbard. I've never pretended to be perfect."
"How much?" She angled back from him. "How much do you have up there?"
He knew his defensive reaction made him appear guilty as hell, but she thought the absolute worst of him, and it was getting old, damned old. "Doesn't matter. I'm more worried about that note. A written threat to do bodily harm to someone is a Class Six felony. I heard Harvey Bledsoe talking in the diner one night about someone getting a death threat. That damn invoice, my invoice, makes it pretty clear I'm capable of the kind of malicious intent behind having someone drawn and quartered."
"Why would he do this?" she cried.
Aware of how devastating she found all of this and how much she'd detest him going apeshit over it, he still wanted to plant his fist in something. Right then, he wanted to demolish his office.
He massaged his jaw, probably smearing grease over his skin, and didn't bother to answer her.
She averted her gaze to the floor, her expression mutinous. "You've got to get the marijuana out of your apartment, Roby."
"Alright, so this isn't the best news," he admitted, more worried about her becoming panicked than he was anything else. "But you freaking out over a nickel bag of dope is only going to make matters worse."
"If you come home now, it will draw attention, and Banks might get excited and call the police about the threat," she said. "Where is this crap? I'll transport it to a safe place and make sure no one sees. Then this evening, you can get rid of it, and I never want it in my boarding house again. Ever."
He folded the invoice, crammed it in the bag, and stuffed it all in the front pocket of his pants. "You're not going to do anything, Cori. Calm down."
She just stared at him. "Where is it, Roby?"
"I'll deal with it this evening," he said.
After a moment, she marched to the door. Hesitating a couple feet away from it, she turned and glared at him. "Chris is expecting me to bring the note back to him."
"Make up something," he said. "No way, no how is he getting it back."
He wished he knew just what she thought about him. With it being Cori, it could be anything and probably nothing short of awful. He shifted on his feet, suddenly very tired. "I'll take care of the marijuana as soon as I get home, so quit worrying, alright?"
She left his office without another word, and he knew she hadn't ruled him out as a suspect in the business with Banks.
In fact, at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if she decided to throw him out on his ass...