Chapter 37

“Prove it’s stolen. Show me a police report.” A cigarette burning next to the cash register explained the wheezing.

“We should have filed one.” We hadn’t. “I don’t have three hundred,” I said. “I can get my hands on two hundred and thirty-five.” Admirers willing to pay at least five bucks to look at my ass had dropped off significantly in just half an hour. “Oh. Two forty. Come on!”

“Three.”

I looked him right in the eye. “I could just take it.”

That didn’t impress him much. “You could try.”

Good news, I remembered I knew at least one country song.

Leaning forward, my hands on the glass top counter where it looked like a thousand other handprints had been left and never cleaned, I offered my most menacing glare. “How would you stop me?”

“Eighteen-gauge shotgun right within reach.” He matched my glare, and worse than that, his hand went under the counter.

“Okay.” Backing away seemed the smart thing to do. His gun trumped both of mine. “That won’t be necessary.”