Trigger, page 17
“Ah,” I nod. “I’ve ordered vet supplies from Amazon, but not clothes or shoes. It’s difficult to get the size right.”
He leans towards me. “Ain’t that the truth. Casper ordered me some shoes on Father’s Day and had to send them back. They were too tight.”
Finally, a topic we have in common. “Tight shoes are the worst. I once bought a pair of Jimmy Choo Kitten Heels that gave me horrible blisters.” I shudder. “Never again.”
For some reason, that comment shuts down the conversation again.
After a minute of awkward silence, Bob says, “Weather’s been good. Not so hot.”
I nod. “It’s a relief.”
He shifts in his chair. “You say you order vet supplies from Amazon. Get good deals?”
“Sometimes,” I murmur.
“You got the Prime membership?”
“I don’t,” I tell him.
“Well, next time you need supplies, go through me. It’s free shipping and it arrives fast.”
“That’s marvelous,” I exclaim. Given my financial straits, free shipping is a boon.
The screen door slams back against the wall as Trigger comes out carrying the beer, wine and a stemmed glass.
Bob and I sigh in relief.
“You got a nice bottle of red,” Trigger says, winking at his father. “Same taste as I do.”
He hands his dad the beer, sets the wine on a plastic table that’s next to Bob’s chair, and moves it over to me.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling widely as Trigger pours me a glass of the same wine that he bought me the other day.
I take a drink and try to hold the grimace inside. It’s been chilled, but the look of anticipation on Bob’s face keeps me from saying anything. “It’s perfect.” I look at the glass. “These are lovely vintage glasses.”
“Almost twenty years old. Belonged to Casper’s mom.”
Shit and motherfucker and all the other swear words Trigger uses. “Well, they’re lovely,” I repeat lamely.
“Don’t gotta worry about talking about mom,” Trigger says as he rubs my back. “We’re good with it.”
Bob nods. “Ancient history.”
“Good,” I say, still uncomfortable. “Good.”
Bob takes a long swallow of beer, then lowers the can. “I like animals. Was thinking about getting a dog, but don’t know. I can barely look after myself.”
“You do fine lookin’ after yourself,” Trigger interjects.
“You should get a dog. A rescue,” I say warming to the topic. “So many of them need good homes.” I shift slightly in my chair, trying not to arch my back. “And they’re great companions.”
He looks doubtful. “What’d I do with it if I go somewhere?”
“You don’t go anywhere,” Trigger says.
Bob narrows his eyes at Trigger. “I might.”
“It’s an easy solution,” I say. “You’d leave it with us. Or if a dog’s too much trouble, you could get a cat. They can be very affectionate.”
“Dad don’t like cats,” Trigger observes.
Bob nods his head. “Accidentally killed one once. I was helping my friend, Trevor, build a cabinet. We were in his garage. I sprayed a bunch of lacquer. Cat was inside and got all woozy. Then when I was done, I walked outside and closed the garage door. Brought it right down on the cat.”
I’m at a loss for words, not because the cat was killed – cat’s do stupid things all the time that get them killed. But getting killed by a garage door? Unfathomable.
Trigger rescues me. “Cats have been out to get dad ever since.”
I turn to him. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
He and Bob shrug their shoulders together. “They have networks,” Bob says. “They know.”
A ding comes from inside and Bob jumps up. “Dinner’s ready!” he announces.
I’m not sure who looks more relieved. Me, Bob, or Trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trigger
We pull up in front of Evanee’s childhood home. It’s this huge mansion with a circular driveway surrounded by immaculate lawns that explain why the rest of the homeowners in Reno are on water restrictions. A fountain of a mermaid and dolphin sits in the centre of the driveway, the mermaid pouring water out of an urn. There are pillars leading up the stairs of the house, which has a million windows and hanging baskets of flowers.
As a kid, I imagined myself living in a place like this, but as I grew older, I started despising the assholes behind those doors. I’m meeting Evanee’s parents with a chip on my shoulder that tends to feed my inner demons. Today, I gotta a find a way to reconcile myself with who I am and what I want. Evanee grew up with this kind of money and I love her more than the air I breathe. How bad could her parents really be?
Evanee is nervous.
“Whatcha worried about, babe?” I ask as I help her out of the SUV I borrowed from Coyote. The ride was a concession that Evanee didn’t ask me to make. I figure I may as well get used to drivin’ a sled, ‘cause with Evanee and maybe kids, I’m gonna need one occasionally.
“My parents can be… difficult,” she says under her breath. She knows I’m carrying. I’m always carrying. “Please don’t shoot them.”
“I promise I won’t, even if I don’t like ‘em.”
She throws me a strained smile as she tugs at the collar of the jacket I’m wearing over my T-shirt. My cut is hanging safely in the closet at home.
Evanee is lookin’ smoking hot, if not a little more conservative than usual. She’s dressed in a tight skirt down to her knees, the usual high heels, but she’s wearing a looser blouse.
We’re barely up the stairs when the whole family comes out the door. Based on the briefing Evanee gave me on the way over here, I’m up-to-date on who’s who. There’s mom and dad and Evanee’s older brother, Mason, and his wife, Jennifer. Evanee’s sister, Alison, the oldest, is in her thirties and still not married. Not to be uncharitable, but the girl unfortunately takes after her dad.
“Daddy!” she exclaims as she hugs him, then does the same with everyone else as various greetings ring the air.
I stand with my arms crossed, thighs spread, and watch. It’s my tough guy pose. I’m not intimated by these people. I already don’t like dear old dad for the way he’s been treating Evanee. Don’t like the mom because she lets the old man get away with it. The brother wears a sneer as he looks down his nose at me. The wife is examining me with interest and the sister’s watching the brother’s wife with the eyes of a pissed-off cat.
Greetings are made. Mr. and Mrs. Whittaker. Lyle and Brooke. Mrs. Whittaker offers me a limp handshake and a smile that could freeze hell. Evanee looks like her except my girl’s perfect and the bitch in front of me thinks her daughter’s slumming.
Mr. Whittaker shakes my hand in an iron grip trying to convey to me that he’s the head of the household and criminals like me don’t intimidate him. I let him carry on with his posturing because I know who I am. I have nothing to prove.
Neither suggests I call them by their first names. Too bad for them.
Mason attempts to emulate dad with his handshake. “Nice to meet you, Casper. Good that Evanee’s finally met a nice guy.”
His wife tickles my palm as she takes my hand, her eyes holding mine in the same way the passarounds used to look at me. Not happening sweetheart. Not now. Not ever.
Alison is introduced but doesn’t offer her hand. “Nice ink,” she says with a sour face.
I throw her a half-smirk. “The artist’s a club brother. An asshole, but talented. You want the name, I’ll pass it along.”
The hostility between sis and me flies right over Mama Brooke’s head. “Alison, you will not disfigure your body with such a disgusting practice.”
“Mom!” Evanee scolds while Alison smirks like the pot-stirring shit she is.
“No problem, babe,” I say, watching as her parents cringe. “I’m not a fan of dye jobs, but not everyone agrees with me.”
Mom gasps in outrage as she touches hair the wrong shade of red for her pale complexion. I don’t give a fuck. Fair’s fair, bitch.
“Let’s go inside,” dad says as he puts his arm around Evanee’s shoulders and guides her inside. Everyone follows, me bringing up the rear. Naturally.
I look around the big marble-floored foyer. It’s typical rich folk – got the money so spend it on shit they don’t need. “Nice place you got here, Lyle,” I say thinking the first thing we’re gonna get straight is I’m never gonna call him or his wife by anything other than their first names.
“We make do,” Lyle says carelessly. “Sometimes I think it’s too big, but when family gets together like this, I think it’s not big enough.”
Alison rolls her eyes at her father as I say, “Don’t have that problem, Lyle. One dad. No kids.” I look at Evanee who’s watching me with bemusement. “Yet,” I say with a wink.
“Is that the engagement ring?” Jennifer says, grabbing Evanee’s hand and checking it out. “It’s so cute.”
Evanee pulls her hand back. “Yes. Like yours. Adorable.”
I got the basic background about the family from Evanee, but not the dynamics. Gonna be a fun night.
We enter the room off the foyer, which is this big room with sofas and chairs, lots of pictures, even a baby grand. “Nice,” I say to Evanee, nodding.
She tries to move towards me, but her mother sidelines her. “Notice the George Rodrigue?” she asks, pointing at a painting of a blue dog. “It’s an original.”
“It’s beautiful,” Evanee says, her eyes filled with appreciation.
I don’t get it, but I file the name of the artist away for future reference. I may lack in a lot of areas, but my memory ain’t one of them.
“You a scotch man, Casper?” Lyle asks as he heads towards a bar.
“I drink it. Prefer beer.”
Mason and Jennifer are sitting side by side on a sofa that looks as hard as Hangman’s chair. Brooke has seated herself on the love seat, dragging my girl with her. “Evanee will have red wine, of course.”
Gonna be a long night if I can’t get my girl alone so I can fuck her under her father’s roof. I know it’s juvenile, but emotional maturity has never been one of my strengths.
“Just a moment,” Lyle replies as he digs around in the bar fridge. “Casper, are you a Guinness man or do prefer Stella Artois?”
I prefer something I can spell, I think, but don’t say. “Either will work, Lyle.”
Lyle pours a beer into a glass and hands it to me, then fixes everyone else’s drinks. I take an intentional gulp, draining half the glass, still standing because I haven’t been invited to sit.
Evanee seems to realize the oversight as she shoves her mother over with her butt. “Come sit beside me, darling.”
There’s space enough for a small woman, but I squeeze my big ass in next to my girl then run my hand up her thigh. “Perfect fit,” I say with a leer.
Brooke nearly chokes on her wine.
As we drink, conversation flows like I expected. Work and golf games and parties. Evanee and I don’t get a word in edgewise. No one asks how her clinic is doing, where she’s living, how she’s getting along in Sagebrush.
Lyle gets everyone a refill, then leads us into the dining room when dinner is announced by a man I can only conclude is the butler based on his dress and stiff manner.
I’m trying to be on my best behaviour, but it’s not easy. I can’t figure out how Evanee comes from this gene pool. I mean, I get that she’s this posh girl with a skewed sense of life, but at the same time, she’s genuine to everyone she meets – no judgement. She’s a miracle no matter what side of the tracks she came from.
Dinner is a long arduous affair with soup, then a starter salad. Another appetizer, then the main meal, followed by dessert. The red wine flows and I choke down the shit for Evanee’s sake. My inner demon tells me that I don’t do that for anyone, but it’s fading, because I’d do almost anything for my girl.
I’m seated between Alison and Jennifer while Mason and Evanee sit across from me. Lyle sits at the head of the table with Brooke at the opposite end. It pisses me off that Evanee ain’t beside me – seems like they did it deliberately.
Over the course of the meal, the conversation is as boring as it was in the living room until Mason asks me what I do for a living.
He knows, they all know that I’m a member of Hell’s Jury. If Evanee didn’t already tell them, I’m pretty sure Lyle had me checked out. I’m not gonna pretend otherwise, but I decide to toy with them a little.
“I’m a businessman, like you, Lyle,” I say wiping the fuckin’ seared scallops off my lips and trying not to hurl into my plate. “I’m part of a business group that has its hand in a variety of ventures, including,” I nod across the table at Evanee. “My darlin’s vet clinic.”
It’s news to Lyle, who chokes on a forkful of stewed tomatoes. When he’s done coughing, he says to Evanee, “You’ve let his gang invest in your clinic?”
Evanee gets her back up. “I did not let them, daddy. I asked them and they said, yes.”
“How much?” Lyle demands.
Evanee starts to answer, but I get out in front of her. “Well now, Lyle. That’s business between me and Evanee since we’re engaged.” I look at her with steel in my eyes. “Private business.”
I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but I got a feeling she don’t like me speaking for her. Something we can talk about later. “Anyway,” I add to distract them from the topic. “I run Dick’s Pick’s near the border of the Pyramid Lake Reservation. They don’t say we can’t do business out there and we reward them for being open-minded.” I try to suppress my grin. “You ever heard of it, Lyle?” I wink at Evanee, then add, “My business, not the reservation.”
Lyle clear’s his throat like the tomato’s still stuck in it. “Is it a photography business?”
I laugh. “Sometimes, I guess, but it’s a brothel.”
“Oh my god!” Jennifer says. “A brothel! Did you know?” She’s lookin’ at Evanee but side-eyein’ her husband.
“Of course, I knew,” Evanee tells her. “Trigger and I don’t have secrets.”
“It’s legit, anyway,” I say with the same puffed-up importance Lyle has. “One of the few brothels that are.”
Allison pretends to be outraged, though I can tell she’s intrigued. “It’s an offensive business. Brothels exploit vulnerable women.”
I’m about to counter her point, but Evanee cuts me off. “You can’t pass judgement like that until you’ve spent some time understanding it. Trigger’s brothel is a well-run place, clean and organized.”
“You’ve been there?” her mother gasps.
Evanee twists her lips, probably wishing she could take back her last words, but soldiers on. “Yes, mom, I have been there. I’m as interested in Trigger’s work as he is in mine.”
“Trigger.” The brother homes in on my road name. “Is that your nickname?”
I take a careful bite of the hibiscus tart the server just set in front of me. “Road name. Most of my club brother’s have one.”
“What’s yours mean?” Mason asks slyly. “Got something to do with premature ejaculation?”
“Mason!” Brooke exclaims. I can tell by the panic on her face that she knows she’s losing control of the dinner party.
I smirk at Mason. As insults go, that’s as weak as they come. “As Evanee can attest, my ejaculation timing is pretty much on target.”
“Oh my god,” Brooke moans.
“Then why?” Jennifer’s thigh brushes mine.
I shrug as I shift towards Alison who shifts further from me. “Ain’t always a reason. Sometimes a name just sticks.” I don’t tell them that mine came about because I shot four men in three seconds. Didn’t kill them all but earned the reputation as being quick on the trigger. Hence, the road name.
For about a minute all I can hear is the clinking of forks on plates. The butler offers me coffee, but I hold up a hand. “Another beer’d be welcome,” I tell him.
He nods and moves on.
Finally, Alison breaks the silence. “Have you been to jail?”
Brooke gasps. “Alison, we don’t ask questions like that.”
Don’t know who ‘we’ is because I’ve been asked it a hundred times. Mostly by cops. “Yep, I have. Juvie record then a small stint in county for B & E.”
“You have a record?” Brooke says. She locks eyes with Lyle. “Did you know?”
“Of course, I knew,” Lyle tells her with a furrowed brow. “I know everything about Mr. Horne.”
I’m waitin’ for him to list my deficiencies, but Jennifer jumps into the conversation. “So you’re a criminal?” She’s takin’ shallow breaths and her eyes are glassy.
Mason glares at her from across the table. “He just said he was in prison, so yes, wife, that makes him a criminal.”
Time to settle the family down. “The jail stint was five years ago. I’ve kept my nose clean since.” Meaning I’ve never been caught again, but they don’t need to know that. “So, formerly, I was a criminal. Just like Lyle here, formerly knew Jeffrey Epstein.” I do my homework too. Well, Coyote does my homework for me, but he don’t mind. Callin’ out assholes is one of his favourite things to do.
“Business dealings,” Lyle says defensively as his eyes dart towards Brooke. “Met him maybe three times, all in the boardroom.”
I shrug. “Exactly like that, Lyle. In the past.”
Silence intrudes and I’m proud of myself for shutting down the conversation.
Turns out Alison isn’t about to let my lifestyle go. “Do you carry a gun?”
“I’m a fu… an American. Of course, I carry.”
“Not all Americans carry guns,” she counters. “Psychopaths do.”
“The successful psychopaths do.” I pretend I’m thinking. “The rest are puffed-up wannabes.”
“Sweetie,” Evanee says to me, her head lower, her pretty eyes looking up at me through her thick eyelashes. “Let’s talk about the wedding.”
