Page 23 of Beware of Dog

The problem didn’t arise until just after four, when they left Watercolors, and stepped out into the hall to find Sig propped up against the wall directly across from the door.

~*~

Shep swung by Hauser’s for a late lunch, and this time, he was the one who found Pongo on a stool, and climbed up next to him. He stole a handful of fries for good measure to a halfhearted “hey.”

“So,” Shep said, conversationally, his mouth full, “you’re a whiny little bitch.”

Pongo paused mid-reach for his drink and said, “Whuh?” Intelligent and suave as ever.

“You,” Shep said, still conversational, stealing more fries, “have been running your mouth about your little incident yesterday, haven’t you? Who’d you call? Maverick? Topino? Or did you go to the Moscow Mule, which, by the way, would make you even more of a little bitch.”

Pongo wiped his hands on a napkin and twisted on his stool, one elbow braced on the bar top. “What in the hell are you talking about? I didn’t tell anyone what happened.”

“Bullshit.” Whywouldn’the take the chance to land Shep in hot water? Everyone else certainly did.

“I didn’t!” Pongo’s freckles stood out stark when he got worked up, which happened now. “Jesus, why would I?”

To get my ass yanked back to Albany, Shep thought, sourly.For the satisfaction of hearing Maverik ream me out. Because you don’t like me, which is just fine, ‘cause I don’t like you, you freckled little shit.

“I dunno. For shits and giggles. But youdid.”

Pongo’s brows shot up, nearly disappearing into the curly flop of hair on his forehead. “No. I didn’t.”

Shep’s patience snapped. He’d never been good at holding on to it anyway. “Then why did Cass call to bitch at me about ‘getting you arrested,’ huh? How’dsheknow?”

As quick as they’d jumped, Pongo’s brows dropped. “Who?”

Correction: Shepthoughthis patience had snapped. Turned out, there were layers to it, and about three more splintered apart like dry spaghetti when Pongo saidwho.

“The fuck do you meanwho? Cass. Cassandra.Cassandra Green. Raven’s little sister.”

Pongo showed no recognition until the last name drop. “Oh. Her.”

“Yeah,her.” An image of her the night she’d called him filled his mind: the heavy drag of her eyelids, her smudged makeup, the trusting way she draped her limp body against his. His voice went low, and rough, and he realized his hand was shaking, faintly, and he pressed it against the bar as he said, “She called me last night wanting to know why you’d taken the fall for what I did. Sosomeonesaidsomethingtosomeone.” He punctuated the last with a sharp jab of his fingertip into Pongo’s collarbone.

Pongo swatted him away. “Dude, don’t touch me.”

Shep gripped the collar of his cut, the worn leather squeaking between his fingers. He imagined it was that little punk Sig’s collar instead. What he wouldn’t give to wrap a hand around his throat and squeeze…

“Hey,” Pongo snapped, and Shep realized he’d gone away inside his head.

He released his club brother, but reluctantly.

Pongo gave him a disapproving up-down look that was begging for a punch to the mouth. Said, “Theonlyperson I told was Dixie, and that’s only because I had to call her to come get my ass outta hot water.”

“Who did Dixon tell?”

“No one! I dunno.” Pongo flapped his hands. “She minds her own business. She’s not a talker.”

“So you say.”

“Man.” Pongo’s already-big eyes got bigger, and Shep realized that he was serious. Finally. “She’s my old lady. If I say she minds her business, then she does. You can accept that, or get out of my damn face.”

It was an effort, but Shep saw the fight brewing in his blue eyes, a rare sight, and conceded with a nod. “Fair enough.”

The bartender slouched into view, brows lifting in silent question.

“Coffee,” Shep said. He had the sense he wasn’t done for the day. When the bartender ambled over toward the pot, he asked, “So if she didn’t talk to Raven, or Mav, or anyone else, how did Cass know you got picked up?”

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