5
Here.”
Thad shoved the bowl of high-priced kibble in front of Puddin’ with his foot. It was a good thing Barkingham Palace’s cute-as-hell owner had given him another bag because there had only been crumbs left in the one in his grandmother’s pantry.
“I shouldn’t feed you at all after what you did to my truck,” Thad said.
Puddin’ turned his bare ass to him as he leaned over his bowl and started in on his dinner.
Hate was a strong word, one he seldom used outside of spiders and people who preyed upon the vulnerable. But Thad could say without hesitation that he truly hated this dog. Less than a day into his new role as caretaker and he was tempted to call his sister and ask if she would be willing to take Puddin’ to live with her family in Austin. His nieces would love it.
But before he left Chateau Esplanade, his grandmother made him promise that he would bring Puddin’ to visit every Sunday. She had not verbalized that it was a condition of his being able to stay in her home rent-free, but Thad had the impression that it was absolutely a condition. Anything happened to Puddin’ and his ass would be on the curb.
He carried the dog food back to the pantry and made a mental note to add plastic storage containers to the list of items he needed to pick up the next time he went to one of the big-box stores. Just looking at his grandmother’s pantry shelves gave him anxiety. Everything was either in its original packaging or in unlabeled ziplock bags. Thad planned to get rid of all of it and start fresh.
He knew it was a carryover from his time in the Army, but he didn’t care. He needed more order and fewer sugar ants.
He hadn’t made any changes to the house in the weeks he’d spent relocating everything he owned from Colorado Springs back to New Orleans. He didn’t have to change anything. His grandmother and sister had already taken care of that.
Frances Sutherland was seventy-eight years old with the style of someone half her age. Nadia, his older sibling by three years, had come to New Orleans last year and, with the help of HGTV’s evening lineup, had assisted Grams in overhauling the double shotgun-style home’s more traditional decor, which his grandfather had preferred. Now everything was clean lines and modern finishes done in varying shades of gray, white, and pale blue.
Apparently, Nadia had caught the home design bug. She’d volunteered to help with the interior of Thad and Von’s new venture when she came down for her best friend from high school’s wedding in about five weeks. The friend was, ironically, marrying the same guy Nadia had broken up with that long ago Gilmore Girls summer. Life was funny and strange like that sometimes.
Thad opened the refrigerator and studied the array of local beers he’d stocked. Just one of the sacrifices he had to make for the sake of inventory and market research for The PX, the sports bar, cigar bar, barbershop, and all-around hangout spot for active duty and veteran military he and Von were opening, hopefully by Veterans Day. They would sell national brands, of course, but he and Von had decided to support local breweries and distilleries as much as possible. And if those local businesses were owned by fellow veterans, all the better.
He grabbed an Abita Purple Haze, then walked over to the box his sister had mailed, picking out a container of wasabi-flavored snack mix. He’d been getting a box every other day with items Nadia suggested they serve at The PX once they finally opened it.
Ifthey ever opened it.
They would. Between the bonuses he’d saved up over the years, the cash payout he’d received for unused sick and leave days, and the hundred grand Von was contributing, they had enough to make a cash offer on a building. The generous, no-interest loan from his grandmother would provide them with everything else they needed to get up and running by their target opening date.
The only thing left was finding the right venue, and Thad had a feeling he’d stumbled upon just that earlier today.
“Guess that lil asshole dog is good for something,” he muttered, recognizing that it was his trip to Barkingham Palace that had led to his impromptu drive through the Bywater.
He had never considered that area for their bar, despite hearing about how the neighborhood had transitioned from residential to semi-residential with a sprinkling of somewhat funky, somewhat swanky restaurants and businesses over the years. He and Von would have to do a bit more research to make sure what they had in mind for The PX would vibe with the Bywater, but Thad had a feeling it would.
He brought his beer and the snack mix to the dining room table, where he’d set up his laptop. Without thinking, Thad logged into the message board for veterans.
“Shit.” He set his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples.
It had been automatic, like stepping on the brake at a stop sign, or breathing. He’d made a vow to spend no more than twenty minutes on the site per day. He had already gone over his allotted time while having breakfast this morning.
Von was the one who’d made Thad realize that he had become addicted to the site. And who had made him question why it was so hard for him to let go.
Thad had initially called bullshit on Von’s theory that he was using the message boards as a lifeline because he regretted retiring from the Army. He had put in fifteen years—eleven more than he had originally planned. The message boards were just a way for him to pass the time and keep up with fellow vets.
But it had become more than that. It had become a crutch.
Thad had been forced to admit it a couple of weeks ago when he’d hopped on with the intention of checking in with some of the recent retirees he had befriended on the site. A dozen DMs and several rabbit holes later, he discovered that three hours had sailed by.
When Von called to ask if he had finished up the marketing plan he’d promised to work on, Thad had made up an excuse. Of course, Von saw right through it. He’d sent several screenshots, showing Thad’s time-stamped posts. Further evidence of how difficult it was for anyone to go completely underground.
He’d fessed up because he’d had no other choice. And he’d promised Von that he would wean himself off the message boards. But how did you step away from the only thing that brought you peace? He’d heard horror stories about veterans adjusting to civilian life, but he never thought he would experience it.
What had he told Ashanti about becoming too attached? Maybe he should take his own advice.
His phone buzzed. He read the text from Von just as a knock sounded at the front door.
Outside. Let me in.
Puddin’ went into an instant frenzy, racing back through the kitchen and to the den at the front of the house. By the time Thad arrived at the door, the dog was howling like someone had set fire to that puff on the end of his tail.
“Move, dog,” he said as he opened the door. “What’s up?” Thad greeted.
Puddin’ went into full-on attack mode, zeroing in on Von’s shoelace.
“What the hell is that?” Von asked as he tried to shake the dog off his foot.
“Puddin’, heel!” Thad barked. The poodle backed off the shoelace and huffed at Thad.
“Don’t tell me this is your grams’s dog?” Von asked.
“Von, meet Puddin’,” Thad deadpanned.
“I know you’re fucking lying.” Von burst out laughing.
“I wish,” Thad said, motioning for him to come inside.
“No way,” Von said as he followed Thad into the kitchen. “No way your grams stuck you with a half-naked poodle named Puddin’.”
“You bring any of that barbecue from earlier today?” Thad asked.
“No, but I did bring some good news,” Von said, holding up his phone. “I checked out that place on Royal and Clouet, and it’s perfect. There’s a bar a few blocks away, but it has a completely different vibe. Caters more to the hippie crowd.”
“I didn’t know there was a hippie crowd in New Orleans,” Thad said, taking a pull on his beer.
“Dude, this place is Hippie Central. I can’t look out my window without seeing a skinny white guy with dreads riding a bicycle.” He turned the phone to face Thad. “Here’s what makes this place perfect for us. You cross St. Claude Avenue and five minutes later you’re at Jackson Barracks. Head a little farther into Chalmette and you’ve got the National Guard and the Coast Guards all within ten minutes of it.”
Thad squinted at the map Von had pulled up. New Orleans’s neighborhoods were so distinct in their character and flavor that it was easy to forget just how compact the city was.
“It really is the perfect location,” Thad mused. “Even if the jarheads decide to make the trip across the Mississippi from Federal City, it would only take them fifteen minutes, tops. And if we stick to our plan, The PX will become a destination spot. People will be willing to travel to hang out there.” He looked up at Von. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Von held up his phone. “I already contacted the real estate agent. He can meet us there at six.”
Thad gulped down the last of his beer as he shot out of his chair. He held up the bottle and said, “We need to have this one on tap,” as he and Von made it through the kitchen and the den on their way out the door.
He’d reached the second step when he heard a godawful howl coming from the other side of the door.
“Shit,” Thad said. He gestured for Von to continue. “Go, go. He’ll be fine.”
“Puddin’ is a he? Whose idea was it to put that rhinestone collar on him?”
“Probably the damn dog sitter,” Thad said.
He hopped into the passenger seat of Von’s Dodge Challenger and closed the door. He could still hear the dog’s howl.
Thad threw his head back and cursed at the car’s low ceiling.
“I can’t leave him here making all that noise,” he said. “Someone’s going to call animal control.”
“That dog’s not getting in this car,” Von said. “We’re going in your truck. Good thing it’s a quad cab.”
Five minutes later, he and Von were in his truck with Puddin’s head resting between them on the center console that Thad had covered with duct tape.
Thad looked at Puddin’, then at Von.
“I hate this fucking dog.”