"Sometimes, a guy doesn't need complications. Am I right?"
I gave the guy a good, long look. He might be the father of the girl I loved. Or he might be some kind of child-molester. Shit, for all I knew, he could be both. For Chloe's sake, I gave a non-committal shrug and waited him out.
"Look," he said, "I know what you're thinking."
I kept my tone even. "I doubt it."
"You're thinking, 'Why do I wantextragirls when I've got already bus-loads of 'em throwing themselves at me?'" He gave me a toothy grin. "Am I right?"
I'd never had a busload. But there was this minivan once. I hesitated. And an RV. But that was back in the old days, before I'd gotten tired of that whole crazy scene. Looking at the guy – a guy who might, or might not be Chloe's dad – I said nothing.
Leo spoke again. "But just hear me out, okay?" He pointed to the big iron fence that separated us. "The way it looks, you don't want to be bothered. And you sure as hell don't need another tabloid thing." He leaned forward. "Am I right?"
I shrugged.
"But if you call in the professionals," he continued, "you get what you want – blond, brunette, bald, you name it."
My voice was flat. "Bald?"
"Eh, to each his own. I don't judge. The point is, you pay for the stuff you want, and kick 'em to the curb when you're done. Easy-peasy." He gave a low chuckle. "And listen. You don't want your dick falling off. Am I right?"
Was that a rhetorical question? I mean, didanyonesay yes to that?
Apparently not, because the guy didn't wait for my answer. "My girls," he continued, "they're checked regular. So there's no chance of getting crotch-cooties, if you know what I mean."
I did know what he meant. But crotch-cooties weren't a big concern of mine. I'd made a lot of mistakes in my life, but having unprotected sex wasn't one of them.
Leo reached into his pocket. He pulled out a business card and shoved it through the fence. "You need something, you call me, alright? Just neighbor-to-neighbor. I'll give you a good deal."
I took the card and gave it a look. On it, I saw only a phone number. No name. No logo. No email address. But Ididsee an orange-yellow stain on the bottom corner. Mustard?
God, what a douchebag.
Behind Leo, a pair of headlights appeared in the driveway. We both turned to look. The driver cut the lights, giving me my first good look at the vehicle. It was a white service van with a dark, lightning-bolt logo across the side.
Leo turned back to me. "Electrician's here. Pricey son-of-a-bitch." He shook his head. "This time of night? I'm gonna get ass-raped. You just watch."
Right, because who didn't love to watch a good old-fashioned ass-raping?
I gave him a look. "No thanks."
Leo laughed, too long and too hard. "Not your scene, huh?" He lifted an index finger and shot me with an imaginary gun. "Good one. Anyway, nice meeting you." Turning the finger-gun into a friendly wave, he turned to go.
Not so fast, Jackass. I spoke up. "Hey. Leo."
He stopped. "Yeah?"
Before he went anywhere, Ihadto know. "How old's your kid?"
"I dunno," he said. "About your age, give or take."
In a few days, I'd be twenty-eight. Chloe was twenty-two. So it fit, right? I nodded. "Good age."
"Got that right." Leo flashed me a grin. "You'd like him, too. He's a good kid, when he's not being a smart-ass."
Chapter 26
Inside my house, the music was pulsing, and the place was jam-packed. Snaking my way through the crowd, I looked around, taking in the faces and the bodies that went with them.
