Chapter 8

As he fiddled with his bag, his .40 Glock, still holstered, fell out, making a thud on the floor. “Damn briefcase.”

“Holy shit, Noah!” What if your gun went off? You’d freak out Lou Ann.”

“Lou Ann knows I carry. It’s no big deal to her. The gun’s safeties are on, so just calm down. Besides you have your own gun.”

“My dad left me my grandpa’s old Walther PPK from World War II. It’s locked up at home. I don’t walk around with it.”

“You should for your safety,” he said. “Especially around here and the line of work we do.”

“I’m not going to walk around with a weapon.”

“Whatever. By the way, what did that asshole, Anton, want? He seemed pretty insistent whatever it was.”

“You saw us talking? You could have come over and said hello.”

“Okay then.” He threw his bag on the chair. “You want talk. Let’s talk and be fucking honest. I’m still pissed about the other night and if you weren’t my boss, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”