Page 254 of Devil’s Disciples

While he stomped to the back of the restaurant, I moved to the other side of the booth and let out a sigh. “That went better than expected.”

“Basically, I have two dads,” she replied.

I motioned toward the kitchen. “Does he always walk like that?”

“All the time.”

“So, he’s not mad?” I asked.

“Oh, I think he’s mad,” she said with a laugh. “But he always walks like that.”

“What’s he like?” I asked.

“He’s just like he is right now, all the time,” she replied.

“No,” I said. “What does he like. What does he do in his spare time?”

“Well, he likes to go up north and hunt. And he likes to fish. Oh, and he likes fast cars. Old-school fast cars, not the new stuff.”

The easiest way to win a man over was to have something in common with him. If there was one thing I liked almost as much as fucking, it was driving a fast car. The rumpity-rump of a carbureted engine with a racing cam in it was music to my ears. As he made his way back to the table, I grinned and cracked my knuckles.

“Watch this,” I said.

George handed Abby her menu, and then held mine in front of me. When I reached for it, he pulled it away.

“One hair. Just one,” he said through his teeth. “That’s all you’ll have to harm on her for me to hunt you down and put my thumbs through your eye sockets.”

“George!” Abby shouted.

“That’s all I’ve got to say,” he said. “I made my point.”

I reached toward the menu and paused. “What’s your recommendation?”

“Depends on what you like,” he snapped. “I can’t decide for you.”

“I was taught to eat what’s put in front of me,” I responded. “Just send me whatever you think your specialty is.”

“I’ll have the Abby and a glass of water,” Abby said, handing her menu across the table. “I see you’ve got it on the menu now. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“If you didn’t abandon this place, you’d know it was on the menu,” George grumbled.

“You named something after her?” I asked.

“Best sandwich on the menu,” George gloated. “According to her.”

I raised my index finger. “Bring me your specialty and one of those, too. I’d like to try it. Water to drink, please.”

“Isn’t that cute,” Abby said. “Porter’s going to eat an Abby.”

George took a step away from the table and crossed his arms so violently air shot from his lungs. “We don’t allow sexual innuendos in the diner,” he said though clenched teeth. “They’re inappropriate.”

“So’s dropping the f-bomb, and you toss it around like you’re saying hi,” Abby responded.

“Your food will be up in a minute.” He turned away with a huff.

When he was out of sight, I looked at Abby. “Jesus. You’re being rude as hell. Are you trying to piss him off?”

“No, I’m just trying to let him know this is real. That it’s not a fling, or whatever. Throwing it in his face is the best way to get him to accept it, believe me.”