Page 52 of Rastor

"I'm just saying, if you like 'em sweet, I got them, too."

Through gritted teeth, I said, "Sweet?"

"Hey, don't get me wrong. I'm not talking kids or nothing. I'm talking college girls, high-end stuff." He gave a laugh. "Tuition is crazy, right? You wouldn’t believe the shit some chicks'll do for extra cash."

I gave him a long, cold look. "What chicks?"

"You know, regular girl-next-door types, the kind you could take home to mom." He was nodding now. "And hey, if your mom's into threesomes–"

"She's not."

But only because she was dead. Who knows the shit she'd do if she were alive. The way it sounded, she and this guy could've been best buddies.

"Hey, don't get all mad," the guy said. "I was just messin' with you." He laughed. "Not that the girls wouldn't do it. I'm just saying, most people's moms aren't into shitthatfreaky, you know?"

I glanced at Chloe's house – except itwasn'ther house, was it? It wasthisguy's house. Whowashe to her? Just a landlord? Or something different? Wasshethe "something sweet" he was offering me?

No. I refused to believe that. But he was up to something, and suddenly, I knew that I couldn't let it go without finding out. It wasn't just for me. It was for Chloe, whether she got pissed off or not. Because when it came down to it, I'd rather lose her forever than see anything bad happen to her.

I mean, what the hell? The guy was flat-out pimping where Chloe lived. Even if she wasn't involved, how long would it take before someone showed up here, looking for Spanky or whoever?

No. That wasn't going to fly. Not if I could help it.

Chapter 24

Deliberately, I moved toward the guy. "You conduct your businesshere?"

"Hell no," he said. "You think I’m stupid? I don't shit where I eat. Come on, man. Get real."

I didn't want the guy shittingoreating anywhere near Chloe. I leaned down until I was practically inside his car. "So then what's the deal with the house? You live here?"

He leaned back. "What?"

"You heard me." My jaw was tight, and my fingers were clenched. "Just what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Woah." He held up his hands, palms out. "No need to get all funny about it."

Funny? Like a head through the windshield? His head, his windshield, with some help from me. Right about now, it would be fucking hilarious.

Before I knew it, I'd reached in and grabbed the guy by the lapels of his shiny-ass suit. "Listen, asshole," I said. "You peddle that shit somewhere else."

"Hey!" He tried for another laugh. "We're just talking, right? No harm in that." He licked his lips like they'd suddenly gone dry. "Sorry man, I didn't take you for no choirboy, but hey, I got the message. Loud and clear. Alright?"

I stared at the guy, wondering if an elbow to the face would send a better message. I was still gripping his suit. "I've got a question," I said.

"Uh, sure," he stammered. "Anything."

I flicked my head toward the house. "The girl who lives here. You know her?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, asshole."

"No," he said, trying to tug away from my grip. "Shit. I'm just the property manager."

"Yeah?" I gave him a hard look. "Just the property manager? I thought you owned the place."

"What? No? I mean, I'm gonna buy it. I'm just working to get the money together, you know?"