Page 56 of Property of Whiskey

Twila does too.

Her face changes one degree at a time.

“No.”

I step out of the van.

“Whiskey,” Bullet says.

“What?”

“The fuck are you saying?”

“What it sounds like.”

Twila actually laughs.

Short and disbelieving.

“You’re not taking me anywhere.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You tackled and handcuffed a deputy.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re saying you’re abducting me.”

“Wouldn’t use the word abducting.”

“What word would you use?”

I think about it.

“Relocating.”

Bullet closes his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Twila looks at me like she’s deciding which murder charge fits best. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Probably.”

“My daddy will shut this club down.”

“Maybe.”

“He will hunt you.”

“Already don’t like me.”

“You think this is funny?”

“No. I think it’s hilarious.” I step closer.

Her anger holds. Anger keeps people moving. Keeps them from noticing when fear starts getting underneath everything else.

“You were asking questions about Pearly Gates.”