Page 18 of Hot Ghoul Summer

“Wanna come exploring with me, doggie?” I whisper, holding the leash.

Three heads cock to the right in perfect unison.

Okay. It’s actually adorable.

“Come on. We’re going to go see if we can get out of here. It’s not your fault that your owner is a psycho.”

Chapter Six: This is why Reapers don’t babysit.

Theo Cross looks just like his older brother, but way more drunk and violent. I watch as he shreds his tires on a curb as he finishes a bottle of whiskey and throws the bottle out the window. It shatters on the surface of the hotel parking lot where Garmin is staying.

Well. Maybe I won’t have to get involved at all.

The hotel Garmin has picked is the seediest sort of truckstop. A gunshot heralds Theo’s arrival, and it doesn’t even come from the gun that’s tucked in his belt.

A glowing, smoking hellhound tears past me, flames pouring from his mouth.

“Stick around, guy! Might have another pick up for you in a few minutes,” I shout.

“Sounds good! Let me go get this guy to JH and I’ll be back,” a thick, growling voice calls back.

(Judgment Hall, in case you were wondering).

I follow Theo Cross into Gary Garmin’s grungy hotel room after he kicks it in, shoots off the security chain, and wrenches the door open. I’m invisible, a dark satisfaction washing over me as I observe Garmin cowering, his body black, blue, red, and swollen. He’s in no position to fight, and he immediately starts to plead, but Cross isn’t listening.

“You stabbed my brother.” Cross comes in with the gun waving and tears running down his face.

I guess Theo loved his big brother. Good for him.

“I didn’t!”

“You have his banking bag.”

“I—I—”

I frown. How did Gary get that? Slick little bastard. He must have doubled back to Nicky Cross’ car at some point—I didn’t think he would go back to the body.

Then again... He’s not entirely bright. But he’s smart enough to save his own neck.

“It wasn’t me! There was this thin guy with a black sweatshirt. He killed Nicky, I swear. I had the money to pay you guys back, I promise. The kid took it. He took my money—and Nicky’s money! He took it and—”

“Bull!” The butt of a pistol cracks down on Gary’s head, adding another spray of blood to the blackened eyes. “Both eyes—nose—hand? Nicky was beating you up ‘cause you didn’t have the money. You killed him, broke into his car, and took the bag with the night’s deposits. Our boys checked the car before the cops got to it, and the money and the bag were gone. No one else took it to the bank’s night drop.”

I guess Nicky owned some sort of business as a front, or maybe there’s good money in thuggery. Both, probably.

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