| Author: | Anji Philips | ISBN: | 9781370023110 |
| Publisher: | Boruma Publishing, LLC | Publication: | October 28, 2017 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords | Language: | English |
| Author: | Anji Philips |
| ISBN: | 9781370023110 |
| Publisher: | Boruma Publishing, LLC |
| Publication: | October 28, 2017 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords |
| Language: | English |
She’s a bounty hunter just getting by. The client is stealing from the mob and her ally is a hot cop who believes in pushing the boundaries of being a friend with benefits. And with the air con broken at the bar she owns with Johnny, she's in for a hot time no matter what.
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
I sat in Jersey's Bar on Sixth Street, sipping a scotch, staring at the business card in front of me and trying to ignore the way my clothes were sticking to me, to the sweat that was running down my face.
"Mason's Heating & Air Conditioning" the card read. I'd just talked to Mason himself. Our air con, the big noisy, rattly one that sat outside in the alley and was supposed to keep the bar cool during heat waves like this one and made it a haven for customers, was dead. It was, apparently, far past its prime.
"It's not worth fixing," Mason said. "It's old and seeing that no one has bothered to maintain it for about ten years."
I'd stared at the estimate he'd given us for a shiny new one. The figures looked like they'd be right for buying a new car, an upmarket one at that. "But can you fix it? Make it last a while longer so we can get money for a new one?"
"I can make an ashtray cool this joint if you want, but repairing this bitch is gonna cost almost as much as putting in a new one. Maybe more if I have to adapt parts for it. Besides, a new one will cost less to run, pay for itself over time."
I imagined he was right. Sure he wanted to sell us a new one, but he made sense. The trouble was we didn't have anything like that kind of money. So I told him we had to talk it over, maybe see about a loan. That left me with his estimate, his business card, and a bar that was losing money because of the incredible heat.
And to make things worse, Johnny and I were fighting about it.
Johnny is my partner in the bar and, when things are going smooth, my lover. Right now that part wasn't working out well. I'd come back from a business trip that also didn't work out to find his apartment, above the bar, and the bar itself had turned into an oven. In that heat, our tempers were in as short a supply as customers willing to put up with that heat.
"It died yesterday," Johnny said. He'd called Mason and the two of them gave me the bad news.
And then he told me about Rosa. He'd hired her as a waitress. Not that we could've afforded an employee even when the air con was working. It didn't help my state of mind or attitude that Rosa was a drop dead gorgeous Latina. I blew up—lost it completely.
"We can't afford any help. You're supposed to talk to me about things like this before you decide, not after."
"You weren't here."
"I'm back now. What was the rush?"
He wiped the sweat from his face with his tee shirt. Even the sight of those spectacular abs didn't cheer me, which shows you how upset I was. "Rosa had another offer and she needed a decision. You don't want me calling you on bar business when you are off doing whatever it is you do on those trips."
"Work. That's what I do. Try to earn some money to live on." It bothered me that he had a point. I was in no mood to admit it, but he was in the right. He'd been here and needed to make a decision. Running the bar is his job. I'd been busy following a bogus lead that was supposed to get me a bail jumper. I should mention that my real job is being a bounty hunter. It says so right on my business card: Tracie Dumas, bounty hunter.
I'm good at my work and most of the time I like it. Still, it's freelance work and when I don't score, I eat the costs. Right now that hurt.
She’s a bounty hunter just getting by. The client is stealing from the mob and her ally is a hot cop who believes in pushing the boundaries of being a friend with benefits. And with the air con broken at the bar she owns with Johnny, she's in for a hot time no matter what.
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
I sat in Jersey's Bar on Sixth Street, sipping a scotch, staring at the business card in front of me and trying to ignore the way my clothes were sticking to me, to the sweat that was running down my face.
"Mason's Heating & Air Conditioning" the card read. I'd just talked to Mason himself. Our air con, the big noisy, rattly one that sat outside in the alley and was supposed to keep the bar cool during heat waves like this one and made it a haven for customers, was dead. It was, apparently, far past its prime.
"It's not worth fixing," Mason said. "It's old and seeing that no one has bothered to maintain it for about ten years."
I'd stared at the estimate he'd given us for a shiny new one. The figures looked like they'd be right for buying a new car, an upmarket one at that. "But can you fix it? Make it last a while longer so we can get money for a new one?"
"I can make an ashtray cool this joint if you want, but repairing this bitch is gonna cost almost as much as putting in a new one. Maybe more if I have to adapt parts for it. Besides, a new one will cost less to run, pay for itself over time."
I imagined he was right. Sure he wanted to sell us a new one, but he made sense. The trouble was we didn't have anything like that kind of money. So I told him we had to talk it over, maybe see about a loan. That left me with his estimate, his business card, and a bar that was losing money because of the incredible heat.
And to make things worse, Johnny and I were fighting about it.
Johnny is my partner in the bar and, when things are going smooth, my lover. Right now that part wasn't working out well. I'd come back from a business trip that also didn't work out to find his apartment, above the bar, and the bar itself had turned into an oven. In that heat, our tempers were in as short a supply as customers willing to put up with that heat.
"It died yesterday," Johnny said. He'd called Mason and the two of them gave me the bad news.
And then he told me about Rosa. He'd hired her as a waitress. Not that we could've afforded an employee even when the air con was working. It didn't help my state of mind or attitude that Rosa was a drop dead gorgeous Latina. I blew up—lost it completely.
"We can't afford any help. You're supposed to talk to me about things like this before you decide, not after."
"You weren't here."
"I'm back now. What was the rush?"
He wiped the sweat from his face with his tee shirt. Even the sight of those spectacular abs didn't cheer me, which shows you how upset I was. "Rosa had another offer and she needed a decision. You don't want me calling you on bar business when you are off doing whatever it is you do on those trips."
"Work. That's what I do. Try to earn some money to live on." It bothered me that he had a point. I was in no mood to admit it, but he was in the right. He'd been here and needed to make a decision. Running the bar is his job. I'd been busy following a bogus lead that was supposed to get me a bail jumper. I should mention that my real job is being a bounty hunter. It says so right on my business card: Tracie Dumas, bounty hunter.
I'm good at my work and most of the time I like it. Still, it's freelance work and when I don't score, I eat the costs. Right now that hurt.
