Page 39 of Sor

“That bag is twenty grand,” he told them.

“Twenty… What the fuck?” muttered Frank. “How is that possibly twenty grand? There’s not even enough leather there to make a pair of shoes.”

“Don’t ask me,” said Ben. “I’m still wearing the same belt I wore in the Army.”

“Do you see him anywhere?” asked Sor.

“We have to think like his twisted brain,” said Frank. “If he’s here trying to get to unhappy housewives and their daughters, then we need to think like him. He wouldn’t stand outside the fancy kitchen and cookware stores. He wouldn’t stand near anything for men.”

They all looked around, hoping to see a glimpse of him somewhere.

“There,” said Sor, nodding toward the store over Ben’s shoulder. It was draped in the store’s logo, made to look like a leather suitcase.

“Seems a bit over the top,” frowned Frank.

“Yep. But that’s him talking to those two women.” Sor walked toward him, Beck’s back to him so he couldn’t see him coming. When he stood directly behind him, Frank and Ben behind the two women, Beck looked up.

“Hey, buddy, do you mind? I’m having a conversation with these two lovely ladies.”

“Actually, I do mind,” said Frank.

“This guy your boyfriend or husband?” frowned Beck.

“I wish,” smirked the woman. “No. Listen, you’re cute, but no thanks. Come on, Chelsea.” She pulled her daughter away from the men, walking away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I was working those women.”

“Yeah, that’s what you do, isn’t it, Beck?” said Sor. The man froze, then slowly turned around, staring at Sor.

“I’ll be damned. Mark Teller. I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be long,” he smirked.

“Oh, you mean the big plan that DeWitt has for me?” Beck’s smile disappeared, his frown more than evident, as was his nervousness. “Obviously, the two of you weren’t very succinct in your plans. You got Marshall, but here I am still standing.”

“What do you want?” frowned Beck. Frank noticed his feet turning slightly, and just as he tried to bolt away from them, he gripped his neck, squeezing so hard that his face turned a pretty shade of purple.

“Don’t make me run, you asshole,” growled Frank. “I don’t have my good running shoes on.” He lessened his grip so Beck could breathe, and he nodded.

“Where is DeWitt?” asked Sor.

“I don’t know. He called and asked for a few favors but didn’t tell me where he was,” said Beck.

“How did he expect you to deliver the favors if you didn’t know where he was?” asked Ben.

“Who the fuck are you guys?” snapped Beck.

“My apologies, these are my friends,” smirked Sor. “Ben and Frank Robicheaux.” Beck’s face paled, and he looked around the mall as if trying to find a way out.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered. “Listen. I don’t want any trouble with you guys. I’m just trying to make a buck here. I wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“No? Looks to me like you were trying to scam that woman and her daughter. And don’t get me started on what you did to the colonel’s daughter.”

“How the fuck did you know that?” he whispered.

“I know a lot more, Beck. What are you doing for DeWitt? What favors does he want?” asked Sor.

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