Page 7 of Love Me Tomorrow

How the hell did I miss this place being sold?

At the sound of activity coming from down the short hallway, my ears perk up and I follow the voices:

“Are we fucked?”

“No, dimwit. We’re notfucked. We just have to fix the damn thing before the boss finds out, which means we’re in the clear. You know they never come down here on Tuesdays.”

“You know what makes Tuesdays my favorite? Tacos. Titties. Not exactly in that order but I’ll take what I can—”

“For the love of God, someone pleaseshut him up.”

The end of the hall yields to a large room, and I spot a group of construction workers standing around the hole that’s an even match for the one on my side of the wall.

Letting the sledgehammer’s weight fall from my shoulder, I swoop it up so that it’s standing vertical, the base still clutched in my palm. “Y’all lookin’ for this?”

As one, they all turn in my direction.

I’m enough of a people watcher that I immediately notice a short-ish dude, who’s wearing a Saints T-shirt, blanch at the sight of me. Kid doesn’t even look old enough to grow facial hair, let alone work a full-time gig. Either way, he looks guilty as hell.

A fact he confirms a second later when he mutters, “Shit,” like he’s been caught red-handed by a teacher for cheating on a test.

The beefy guy behind him bops Shortie on the head, then steps around him. “Shut it,” he grunts out of the corner of his mouth to the kid. He casts his attention to me, all cordial-looking. “Hey, man. You must be from next door.”

Good deductive reasoning skills on this one. The sledgehammer had to have been a dead giveaway.

I dip my chin. “I own the place.”

“Double shit,” Shortie utters, and if I’m not mistaken, his voice sounds like a perfect match for Tacos-and-Titties Lover. He scrubs a hand through his messy hair. “Listen, it’s our first day on the job and these assholes shared this video with me and I lost control. But if you’d seen it, you would’ve messed up too. Tits, bare tits.” He makes a show of cupping a giant pair of knockers in front of him, going so far as to tweak the nonexistent nipples. “From a club up the block—”

His buddy cuffs him on the back of the head, a little harder this time. “Kurt, dude. What the fuck?”

Kurt lets out a frazzled breath. “Did I say too much? I probably said too much.”

I don’t know whether to laugh at the kid or side with his friend. Something tells me that it’s not just Shortie’s first day on thisjob site but on anyjob site. Kid is about to be in for a rude wakeup call, I bet.

“Accidents happen,” I say evenly.

I’m sure as shit not going to touch the whole video topic with a ten-foot pole. I spent my fair share of nights at those same titty bars once upon a time. At almost thirty-seven, though, that’s not the sort of entertainment I need to have a good time. Sometime in the last decade, the strip clubs lost their luster. Maybe I’m getting old or maybe it’s because now I actually know the women who’re working their asses off to earn a living. They’re not nameless faces when you work in the Quarter and see them every night in passing.

“But I’m still gonna need to talk to y’all’s boss.” I set the sledgehammer down, poised against the wall. “They in?”

“She,” the beefy one says, wincing. “The boss is a she.”

“She’s not in though,” Kurt pipes up. “Handles everything through email. So far, at least, since she’s been out of the country. I hear she’s pretty though. That’s what Chad said. He’s done work for the family before.”

“Dude,” mutters another guy, this one in the back of the pack, “d’you have to sayeverythingthat goes through your head?”

“Honesty is the best policy.” Kurt elbows his friend in the side. “Ain’t that right, Chad?”

I don’t know how it’s possible, but these dudes might have Shirley beat when it comes to gossiping. And that’s saying a lot, considering the woman only shows up to bingo so she can get the 411 on the elderly community in her neighborhood.

Give me the strength to not punch Tweedle Dum right in the mug.Exasperated, I pass a hand over my jaw. “I’ll take a phone number.”

Five sets of horrified gazes swing in my direction.

Chad’s the first one to speak. “We can fix it, man. Tomorrow—first thing. No need to get the boss lady involved.”

Kurt thrusts a hand up in the air, only to have it swatted down by the same dude who called him out earlier. Scowling, the kid clutches his hand to his chest and solemnly vows, “Screw tomorrow, I’ll fix the wall right now.”

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