Page 54 of Bone’s Choice

Check on Ma.

Go back to the clubhouse.

Instead, I was standing in my mother’s kitchen wondering what Hazel’s mouth would taste like.

I glanced over my shoulder at her and knew this woman was going to be a problem.

Chapter Ten

Bone

Three days after dinner at Ma’s, I was sitting at the clubhouse bar, staring at a laptop screen while Taco argued with Dealer about whether a taco technically counted as a sandwich.

This was my life.

“It’s folded,” Taco said.

Dealer stared at him from the other side of the bar. “That doesn’t make it a sandwich.”

“Bread. Meat. Toppings.”

“It’s a tortilla.”

“Which is basically flat bread.”

Humpty took a drink of coffee. “By that logic, a burrito is a sandwich.”

Taco pointed at him. “Exactly.”

“That wasn’t agreement,” Humpty replied.

“It sounded like agreement.”

Humpty shook his head. “It wasn’t.”

Dealer looked at me. “Prez.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the laptop. “I’m not getting involved.”

“You’re supposed to settle disputes,” he insisted.

“Not stupid ones,” I muttered.

“This isn’t stupid,” Taco argued.

“It’s about a taco being a sandwich,” I pointed out.

“Exactly.”

I finally looked up. Taco was dead serious. Dealer looked like he wanted to punch him. Munch was sitting at the end of the bar, eating cereal straight out of a mixing bowl and watching the argument like it was premium entertainment.

Bull had a stack of paperwork in front of him that he’d been pretending to work on for the last fifteen minutes. Breaker was at the other end of the bar with a calculator, ignoring all of us.

Hose had his boots propped on the stool beside him. And Myth sat next to me, waiting for something to happen.

Normal morning at the Wisconsin Grave Prowlers clubhouse.

“Ask Google,” I told Taco.