Page 9 of Doozer

“Fair enough,” I said.

“Besides, I’d like to think we’ve got enough miles together to where I can tell if somethin’s stuck in your spokes.”

“You probably know me better than anyone, Cowboy,” I said, softly.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, using his most affectionate nickname for me. “Is this about your old man?”

I nodded, and before I could stop them, tears began to stream down my face. “I think it was the cigarette smoke. The smell brought back some bad memories and sort of set me off, I guess. I really am sorry, Cowboy. I’ll work off the money to pay for that guy’s medical bills. Whatever it takes to make us even.”

“Look at me,” Cowboy said, lifting my chin to meet his eyes. “We’re even, right here, right now. I’ve got your back, one hundred and fifty percent. You got that? My main concern is for you.”

“I’m straight,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Like I said that guy just set me off, is all.”

“Then we’ve got some work to do on your anger management skills,” he said with a chuckle.

“And you’ve gotta work on your math skills. Specifically, how percentages work.”

“Okay, how about we solve this little math problem? If Trouble has one illicit piece of weaponry in her pocket and she gives it to Cowboy. How many does she have left?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“None,” I replied, sheepishly, pulling the brass knuckles from my pocket and handing them to him.

“Are we sure?”

“One hundred and fifty percent,” I replied.

He laughed, turned off the hazards, and pulled back onto the road.

CHAPTER THREE

Doozer

“I’M SO GLAD you could make it tonight.Buon natale,” my father said in an uncharacteristically cheery tone.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Pop,” I replied, caught off-guard by his unexpected display of warmth.

My father turned to my sister. “Gia, can you do me a favor and go say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Garcia? They were asking about you earlier and I told them you’d stop by their table. They’re seated next to the ice sculpture.”

“Sure thing, Pop,” Gia said, before turning to me. “See you later, Markie,” she said, using the childhood nickname reserved only for my sisters.

“Did you get something to eat?” Pop asked. “The food this year is dynamite. I finally got Henry and Karl to agree to having Marconi’s cater. Who knew it would only take me retiring to get my partners to finally go along with my choice?”

“No, I just got here about ten minutes ago,” I replied.

“Oh, yeah. I think I saw you come in,” Pop said, lying far more convincingly than Carmen had.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked and waited for him to unload on me about how I was dressed, showing up late, or whatever the hell else he wanted to get off his chest.

Instead, all he said was, “I sure am glad you’re here, son,” and, then he hugged me.

My father fucking hugged me.

Now I knew he must be drunk. I’d never seen him drink more than the occasional glass of red wine with dinner at Vincenzo’s, and he didn’t currently smell like booze, but it was the only explanation. Either that, or he was dying.

I froze in place, unable to process what the hell was going on. In my entire life, I could only remember receiving one hug from my father. When I was ten years old and broke my arm after falling out of the treehouse I’d built all by myself. Looking back, he was probably trying to keep me from going into shock. It was a long fall and a bad break.

“Happy to be here, Pop. Congratulations on your retirement,” I said, awkwardly pulling away. “Who would have thought we’d see the day, huh?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replied. “Now I’ll have the time to travel the country with your mother.”

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