Page 187 of Unlucky Like Us
Tom and Eliot make it too easy. They tell Luna they’ll catch up later. Apparently, they need to go to Calloway Couture HQ for another suit fitting, and maybe they’re being cautious to not overwhelm her with too much information at once.
So I’m headed back to the penthouse with Luna for an SFO emergency meeting.
One that I asked Akara to call.
It’s really happening.
35
PAUL DONNELLY
“What’swrong with this picture? I’mearlybut all the motherfuckers who live here are late,” Oscar says while flipping through a worn hardback. Didn’t get a good look at the title.
I’m sitting on the wooden rung of a ladder, old books shelved behind me. The penthouse library isn’t that quiet since Gabe, Quinn, and Frog have been arguing in the corner. Been eavesdropping on them until Oscar started talking.
“I live here and I’m early,” I tell him.
“Besides you…” His voice tapers off, catching sight of the unfolding rookie drama.
“He didn’tkillyour girlfriend’s crybaby Gerber Gerbil,” Frog protests, waving her iced coffee toward Quinn. “He’s not a psychopath.”
“You met him, what? Three days ago?” Quinn says. “I don’t expect you to know what he’s capable of doing or even his middle name.”
“Middle name’s probably Fred,” I joke to Oscar, but we’re both on guard. Who is Frog even bringing into their apartment? Does Akara know? I’ve been out of the security loop since I was thrown in jail. On the fringe. Trying to race back to the middle.
“Fuck Fred,” Oscar says. “He’s out here killing my baby bro’s gerbil.”
His girlfriend’s gerbil, but I don’t correct Oscar.
“He’snota gerbil killer,” Frog repeats. “His intentions are good. Stop trying to turn him into some evil archetypal villain when he’s been nothing buttherefor me.”
“There for you?” Quinn shakes his head roughly. “You’ve known him for three days!”
“I didn’t like him,” Gabe Montgomery states, his thick biceps crossed over thicker pecs.
Oscar shuts the book. “When’s the last time you’ve heard Montgomery hate someone?”
Not sure.“Why are we trusting Monty’s intuition over Frog’s?” I ask Oscar.
Gabe adds, “He smelled like oat milk.”
I grin, nearing a laugh, and Oscar mutters, “That big buffoon.”
“Team Froggy.” I make finger horns.
“He isn’t an oat milk smelling gerbil murderer,” Frog says, then swings her iced coffee inmydirection. What the fuck? “Donnelly knows him.Donnelly.” The rookies spin towards me. “You know Scooter. He said you go way back.”
My brows catapult up my face. “Scooter?”
“Who’s Scooter?” Oscar asks me.
Yeah, we gowayback—before I met Oscar at Yale. Hell, before I even tagged along on Farrow’s collegiate adventure and left for the Ivy League.
I tell Oscar, “When I apprenticed in Old City, he worked at the same tattoo shop. I was seventeen.” I eye Frog, wondering what she’s doing with someone like Scooter. “He’s five years older than me.”
Quinn chokes on air. “What?”
“Yeah, guy’s gotta be about thirty-four now.” I keep talking, even though Oscar has gone from a relaxed slouch to a Tin Man position. “Don’t remember much about him other than he has a full sleeve of an octopus and submarine girl.”