Page 82 of Wicked Pickle

Symphony: Should I come?

Me: No. I’m not supposed to tell you.

Symphony: What should we do?

Me: We’ll figure it out if there’s any trouble. She’s already caught a few eyes. You think she’ll do something crazy again?

Symphony: Honestly, she might. She’s always been quiet and studious. I think she’s going through something.

Me: So her metamorphosis is at my bar.

Symphony: I can come. It’s no trouble. I kind of want to do you on your desk.

Down, boy, I tell my dick.

Me: That’s definitely going to happen. But let’s see how this plays out. Stand by.

Symphony: Roger that.

Merrick stands across the bar from Marietta. They appear to be deep in a conversation, both of them leaning across the surface so they can hear each other.

I wonder if something’s going on there. Shouldn’t be. When would it? As far as I know, this is only the third time they’ve laid eyes on each other.

The band takes the stage and cranks the noise level. I’m relieved that we won’t have any trouble from that quarter. We’ll get Marietta out of here before their set ends, and the drummer tries to shoot another shot.

Patrons line up at the bar, and Vicki calls for six Jack and cokes while she pulls out a cigarette.

Jake and I handle the influx easily, and I wave off Merrick when he looks like he’s about to leave Marietta to help. I need him there to make sure that girl’s shirt stays where it ought to.

But Stone waves Merrick over, leaving Marietta alone. That will not do. As soon as Vicki’s off with the tray, I sidle over to her end of the bar. “Is Merrick going to give you that ride?”

“I think so.” She stares into her glass. “Do you know a lot about your brother?”

“Yeah.”

She keeps her eyes cast downward. “Do you tell him everything?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

“It’s about your brother.”

I figured. “Are you asking how to murder him in his sleep? Because I’ll gladly tell you the steps.”

Her mouth falls open. “No!”

“All right, lay it on me.”

Then she does. “Has he ever been with a virgin?”

I work hard to keep a straight face. “Heisone.”

She sits up straight, her face bright and excited. “Really?”

I laugh. “Hell no. And he’s probably broken more cherries than a pastry chef.”

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