Page 22 of Bombshell

When the pizza was ready, I sliced him a large piece and made him a glass of chocolate milk before preparing some to take to Ringer and Harold. Telling him I would be right back and to get another piece if he needed it, I headed for the door with my two plates of pizza and a bottle of water tucked under each of my arms.

When I stepped outside, Ringer was leaning against the wall, texting on his phone. He lifted his head and looked at the pizza, his eyes lighting up before meeting mine.

“Hungry?” I asked, handing it to him.

He took it. “Yeah, that looks great. Thanks.”

I took a water and gave that to him too. “Enjoy. I have more if you are still hungry when I get back.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, straightening his stance, suddenly alert.

“Just to walk this down to a friend. He is one block over. No need to go with me.”

He smirked. “You go. I go.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Eat your pizza while it’s hot.”

He picked the large slice up and folded it, then placed the water and plate by his feet. “I’ll eat while we walk.”

“Seriously?” I asked, frustrated.

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Fine. Come on then.”

We walked in silence the small amount of time it took to find Harold. He was sitting on an upturned plastic crate with his harmonica, playing an upbeat tune, when he spotted me approaching. A smile lit up his face as he lowered the instrument from his mouth.

“Got me somethin’ good, do ya?” he asked when I reached him.

I held out the pizza to him, wishing I could do more for him than stopping by with food. “My homemade pizza,” I replied.

“That just might be my favorite,” he told me as he took the pizza from my outstretched hands, then raised his shaggy white eyebrows as he looked behind me. The way his mouth tightened into a firm line made it clear he wasn’t happy about Ringer following me.

“Harold, this is, uh, well, this is my friend’s…uh, friend. Ringer,” I explained.

“Friend’s friend, is it?” he asked, still studying Ringer closely. “Sweet girl like you ought not to have friends like that. Ain’t right. You got the world at your feet.”

I gave Harold’s arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s Pepper’s brother’s friend. I assure you, he is just here to protect me.” I stopped then as his eyes narrowed.

“What you need protecting from?” Harold asked.

Why had I said that? Explaining my way out of this one was going to take time I didn’t really have. Not with Jeremy waiting on me in my apartment.

“It’s overkill,” I assured him. “I don’t think I need any protecting, but a guy I was dating turned out to be not such a good man. Anyway, all is well. I promise. You eat that pizza. And where is the blanket I brought you?”

His concerned frown didn’t ease. “It’s folded up real nice under my box here. I like to keep it clean until it’s time for bed.”

“Good. Well, Jeremy is back at the apartment, needing help with an art project. I have to head back, but I’ll make sure we have time to chat next time.”

He nodded. “And you let me know if’n these boys protecting you step out of line.” His eyes were locked on Ringer, making sure his threat was clear. It was sweet really.

Harold was sixty-three, but living on the streets the past fifteen years made him appear closer to eighty. He had arthritis something awful and refused to take any of the medications I had brought him, saying that taking pills was what had gotten him here.

“Enjoy your pizza,” I told him and wished he’d take money, but I already knew he wouldn’t. I’d tried too many times to offer it to him.

“Always do,” he assured me.

Turning, I glanced up at Ringer, who was grinning like an idiot. Nothing about this was funny. I shot him an annoyed glare before starting back to the apartment.

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