Page 99 of A Quick Buck

“Might as well be.” Noah didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but the situation was not looking good for his uncle.

Frida frowned and handed him a large knife. She had a knife of her own, and she pointed at a bowl full of half-melted ice water and tomatoes.

Noah reached in and grabbed one to hand to her.

She demonstrated how to cut and peel it, gesturing for Noah to follow her example.

“Ah, don’t sweat it, kid.” Roger grinned. “It’s not like Alistair is gonna kill your uncle without talking to him. That’s not his style. He’ll give him a chance to explain himself.” He shrugged. “And then probably kill him.”

Noah chopped the tomato a little too vigorously. “Yeah. Great. I feel so much better.”

“Anyway.” Crybaby cleared her throat. “So, uh, when are you and Mickey going out?”

“Probably after dinner,” Roger replied. “He promised to take me dancing when we were in Florida, but we had a little misunderstanding, so we didn’t go.”

“A misunderstanding?” Crybaby echoed.

“Yeah, Mickey thought I was trying to fuck this gas station attendant, and it was a whole thing.”

“And you weren’t?”

“No!” Roger laughed. “I was actually trying to see what color nail polish he was wearing. It reminded me of that purple shit Cold wore. Do you remember that?”

Noah was only half listening to the conversation, letting Frida direct him as he cut up more tomatoes and some onions to toss into a big pot. Next was a can of some red goo, olive oil, and then a bunch of green stuff.

He had no idea what he was actually doing, and Frida didn’t seem like she was too interested in giving him a more in-depth lesson. Maybe he could ask her questions later.

Right now he had to listen to this weird story about nail polish.

“When was that?” Crybaby scoffed.

“When he had that meeting with the mayor. That first big one after the takeover.” Roger swung his legs. “He and Rowena had gangster tea time and whatever, and she painted his nails. And it was bright purple. Like, Barney fuckin’ purple.”

“Ha! Bullshit.”

“What? It was!”

“No, I’m calling bullshit on Cold forgetting.” Crybaby grinned. “No way he didn’t notice.”

“I’m telling you, it happened!”

“Once the sauce boils, we reduce it to a simmer and cover it,” Frida said quietly. She handed Noah a spoon. “It’ll cook for at least two hours.”

“Two fuckin’ hours? Damn.” Noah stirred the sauce up until Frida nodded her approval, and he put the spoon aside. “Okay. So, what now? Uh, are we gonna use the pasta I made?”

“We’ll have to make more.” Frida grimaced. “One of the guests from the party ate it.”

“Some drunk bitch ass ate my fuckin’ pasta? Goddammit!” Noah didn’t mean to explode, but he was angry. He’d worked marginally hard on that crap, and now it was gone and he would have to do it again.

“Oh, that mouth!” Roger snickered. “Feisty, huh?”

Crybaby shook her head. “He’s fuckin’ somethin’.”

“I’m fuckin’ crazy is what I am,” Noah mumbled. He slid his fingers through his hair and tried to calm down. He didn’t know why he was so angry, but he was on edge now.

“No, you’re just grumpy, kid.” Roger laughed. “I’m fuckin’ crazy.”

“No argument here,” Crybaby teased.