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Chapter 10

“You want to be my wingman? This weekend?”

No. “Absolutely, Beau. I’ll take you around.”

* * * *

The music was a wet, smothering blanket, thrown out the door and into Vin’s face. The beat was so loud that the pavement vibrated underfoot. Some barely discernible guitar chords screamed somewhere in the mess of bass and tempo. DJs, Vin reflected, were convinced that louder was in some complicated algorithm better than comprehensible. Or conversation, but hellwazzamatter with you, you wanted to talk to someone? Really?

Vin rolled his eyes at his inner monologue and gestured grandly to Beau. “After you,” he said. The bouncer went through the routine and stamped his forearm with a blurry rendition of an eagle after inspecting his ID so closely that one might have supposed Vinyl Elvis Reyes was on some terrorist watch list somewhere. He was used to it. One of those things that happened when you had an unusual name.