So much for Mister Bigshot. "So who the fuck are you?"
"Me?" He swallowed. "I'm just the guy who pays the light bill."
"Uh-huh."
He gave a shaky laugh. "Hard to keep a place rented when there's no juice, am I right?"
"And what about the girls?"
"What girls?"
Through gritted teeth, I said, "Hoover, Spanky, Whoever. Any of them live around here?"
"What? No." Again, he tried to pull away. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"Myproblem?You'rethe one selling pussy in my backyard." I gave another glance toward Chloe's house. "The girl who lives here? Is she for sale, too?"
"What? Her? No, never met her. Swear to God. My partner handles the rental stuff. You know, dealing with leases, credit checks, all that shit."
"Sohe'sthe property manager?"
"Well, uh, yeah. But I help. I collect and stuff." He gave another nervous laugh. "It's always something, right?"
Yeah, it was. I wasn't letting go. "And who's your partner?" I asked.
He blinked up at me. "What?"
"Your partner. Who the fuck is he?"
"He's a nice guy, totally legit." Again, the guy swallowed. "You got it all wrong. I don't know what you think, but I don't do my side-stuff around here." He made a show of looking insulted. "What kind of guy do you think I am?"
From the look on his face, he knew exactly what kind of guy I thought he was – the kind who peddled pussy in a nice neighborhood.
As I watched, his gaze shifted to something across the street. I looked to see some elderly lady walking out to her mailbox. Her steps faltered as she spotted us.
I knew exactly what she saw – some tattooed guy roughing up a man in a Mercedes.
Shit.
In a low voice, I told the guy, "If you're smart, you'll do your business someplace else."
With a push, I let him go. A split-second later, his car squealed out of the driveway and disappeared down the street, leaving me and the neighbor lady – whoever she was – staring after him.
Walking back to my own place, my thoughts were churning. I didn't regret running the guy off, but I wasn't blind to the downside. What would I say if Chloe found out?
And chances were pretty good that she would.
Screw it, I decided. I'd tell her the truth. That the guy was pimping pussy out of her driveway. If she blamed me for what I'd done, well, then we had bigger problems than I thought.
Back at my own house, I found Bishop in the kitchen, making a sandwich.
When he saw me, he said, "Thanks a lot, asshole."
"What?"
"Why'd you sic Amber on me?"
Likehewas one to talk. "Why'd you sic her onme?" I said.
