Page 98 of College Town

As if summoned by that thought, an oily-haired man appears in front of them, with a woman who looks like she just got off shift at a boat show hanging off his arm.

Noah perks up beside Lawson, in a ready way, rather than a happy one, and Lawson feels his spine stiffen in response.

“Julius,” Frank greets.

The man grunts in return, his gaze pinned tight on Lawson.

Shit, shit, shit.

The man – Julius – clears his throat in the phlegmy manner of a lifelong smoker. He gives Lawson an ugly up-and-down look that Lawson resists bending beneath through sheer dint of will. “This is the new one?”

His thick New England accept, garbled by what is likely the early stages of lung cancer, means Lawson has trouble understand what he says at first. By the time he does, Frank’s saying, “Yeah.” And gripping his shoulder like a vise, a clear warning. “This is Lawson.” He doubles down on his squeeze, and Lawson sticks his hand out.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr…?”

Julius glares at his hand as if Lawson’s just offered him a dead rat.

Noah leans in from his other side. “Lawson, this is Julius–”

Before Noah can get out the last name – if it’s to be offered at all – Lawson makes a snap decision. Blame it on the whiskey, but really, it’s Tommy’s influence. Tommy doesn’t takeshitfrom any of these people, and Lawson’s not going to either.

“Yeah,” Lawson drawls, loudly. He schools his features, aiming for derisive; manages to kick his head back and look down at Julius though he’s the one seated. “I heard it when Frank said it. I was just being polite.” He fishes out another ice cube and pops it in his mouth, speaks through the crunching. “That’s okay. I don’t really want to make his acquaintance. He doesn’t look like he can afford what we’ve got anyway.”

The man’s eyes bug.

Lawson snorts. “Look at that suit. And her.” He nods toward the woman. “Which Hyatt ballroom did he find you in? That hair’s not fooling anyone, honey.”

The woman shoots him a dark look, but she’s been busted, and she’s not going to raise a stink.

Julius, however, flushes and glowers at him. “Who the fuck do you think–”

“I think I’m the one working the cash register in Eastman, and that you should play nice with me if you want me to pass anything over the counter to you.”

He’s keenly aware that Noah and Frank each have a hand on his shoulders, now, and that neither of them is breathing.

Julius holds his glare another moment, and then a shockingly broad grin breaks across his face, transforming it completely. From a jowly villain, he morphs into a jovial Dionysus.

He coughs out a raspy chuckle and claps Frank on the arm. “Ha! I like this one. Reminds me of Tom.” He twists around to make note of Tommy, holding court across the room, gesturing with his arms and visibly cowing the men he’s talking with. Back to Lawson, Julius says, “Well, maybe if somebody stretched Tom out on the rack.” He winks, and chuckles again.

Then he offers Lawson his hand. “Julius Maynard.”

Lawson grips back, firm, but not crushing. “Lawson Granger.”

“My wife, Melody.”

Lawson freezes. “Oh, shit.” He looks at the woman – the wife – and stammers out, “Oh, um, ma’am, I’m…” She laughs, her voice as smoke-rough as her husband’s, and leans in to pinch his cheek, which he allows with a deserved wince.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You’re cute, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, and turns a scowl first on Frank, then on Noah. “You knew,” he accuses.

Frank laughs.

“Get over it,” Noah says. “You held your own alright.”

“He did,” Julius agrees. Then he leans in and drops his voice to a whisper, “Does this mean you guys are pushing out Giacoletti?”

“Working on it,” Frank says.

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