Page 228 of Remiss

“You think you’re so fucking bad, Caldwell? Prove it. Fight me for the right to breathe in the same space as Harley. When I drop you, I’m going to make you beg me.”

“Motherfucker, the day I beg you is the day hell opens up.”

“Fucking bitch.”

“We can trade insults all fucking evening, but I have a fucking life and I’m wasting it talking to you.” CJ wished that motherfucker swung on him to give him the excuse of beating the fuck out of him. He snatched his bookbag, keenly aware of Nardo’s balled fists and how his legs were braced apart in a fighter’s stance. “I’ll leave you with this warning. If I discover you’re hurting Harley inanyfucking way, you’ll find out whatthe fuck begging is when I strap you to a goddamn table and slice small little pieces out of you until you fucking bleed to death.”

By the look on Nardo’s face, he took CJ’s words as hyperbole.

According to Diesel, most motherfuckers did. Until they were introduced to the autopsy table in the meatshack.

Harley was jumpy. Every time the door opened and a breeze swept over their table, she glanced back to see who was walking in.

Mortician didn’t comment, wishing their regular booth was open, but Tee needed to hire more help. Symphony was still recovering and Verna had never had the same energy. Whereas Symphony bounced from table to table, checking on customers, talking and laughing with them, Verna waited until she was summoned from behind the counter.

He knew Symphony wasn’t there to fuck with him, so he hadn’t seen a problem picking up his baby girl from school and bringing her to Tee’s, once their favorite spot. But she’d barely eaten. Fuck, neither had he. Bailey had done a number on him. Bunny was still upset over Digger, who was healing, even if Mort was concerned his life was still in danger.

Stupid fuckheads constantly did stupid shit.

He’d also been avoiding Meggie because he had to fix his fucking mouth to tell Prez all that Bailey had said. With his current mood and his new license to kill…yeah, Mort couldn’t see that turning out good for him or Johnnie, since shit that floated about could eventually get back to Meggie.

Focus, Mort.

None of that shit mattered. They were all grown motherfuckers.

Mort covered one of Harley’s hands, gripping the table so tightly, her head turned toward the door. She jumped ten feet in the goddamn air.

“Oh, Daddy, it’s you,” she said, sounding so fucking relieved.

It was as if they hadn’t been at the table for the past hour.

He wondered who the fuck he had to fucking kill.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, instead of voicing that.

“Nothing. I’m just…I just…” She lowered her gaze, then snatched up a handful of cold, greasy French fries to stuff in her mouth. “Starving,” she lied around a mouth full of food, her eyes wide and teary.

Mort squinted.

“Thought that was you, Harley,” an old motherfucker said, then nodded to Mort. “Who the fuck is this?”

Mort got to his feet, pleased that he towered over the fuckhead. “Her daddy. Who the fuck areyou?”

“Mr. Grevenberg,” Harley squeaked. “That’s Nardo’s father, Daddy.”

The motherfucker put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A pretty woman—though a little haggard looking—bustled over. “Harley! Ned said that was you.”

“This my bitch. Doreen,” Ned said. “This is Harley’s daddy.”

Harley didn’t raise her gaze.

“Mind your fucking manners, Harley,” Ned barked, “and say hello to my bitch.”

“Harley, baby, you don’t have to talk to this motherfucker’s widow,” Mort said with a feral smile, ignoring Doreen’s frown. He smiled at the motherfucker, who seemed to have it fucking twisted. “Walk with me, Dead. Let me holler at you.”

“Daddy, don’t do this,” Harley said, trembling, and raising a pitiful gaze to the motherfucker with an expiration date that would come quicker than his son’s. “Mr. Grevenberg is a jokester.”

“I’m not interested in nothing you have to say.” Dead glanced at Mort’s cut. “Mortician.”