Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dillon had Coke. Coke had his ID and a check.
They were gonna go to the bank and start a little checking account for Coke to use while he was up north.
Little. Twenty thousand dollars. Dillon was trying not to jump on Coke and demand to know everything there was to know about the man and his finances.
He couldn’t believe that Coke just popped cash into a checking account.
There was an obscene amount of cash sitting there, just sitting. Not working at all.
Money should work for you. That was Dillon’s philosophy.
Coke’s seemed to be that money was a necessary evil.
Lord. They would bank, then head to the grocery.
“You’re thinking pretty hard, honey. You okay?”
“Huh? Oh, I was just plotting your investment future.” He grinned at Coke for a second. He’d found that this much snow made Coke a bit twitchy if he didn’t watch the road.
“You want to do stuff with it, have at. Just leave me enough for taxes and my truck payment.”
“I won’t break you, babe.” It was awesome that Coke trusted him. Really.
“I know.” Coke didn’t seem stressed out about it at all.
“Did you get the list Susan made?” His sister was like a drill sergeant. She had brand names and everything. She’d faxed it. She lived exactly four and a half miles from him.
“I did. And I talked with her on the phone twice and got all four text messages. She’s a trouper.”
“She’s something.” Susan already loved Coke. A little unnaturally. Damn it.
Coke’s eyes were laughing. “Now, now. Sisters are a blessing.”
“Do you have sisters?” He knew he shouldn’t dig. It made Coke tense. But it popped out.
“I know lots of folks who do.” It didn’t escape Dillon that that wasn’t an answer.
“Yeah. Does Nate have sisters?” He hoped the man had twelve.
“God, yes. Six. All townies, believe it or not.”
“No shit?” Six. Okay, Dillon actually felt bad. “No wonder he’s a harpy.”
“Hey, now. That ain’t very nice.” Coke’s grin was tickled, though.
“What? Sometimes I’m entitled.” He and Nattie had an agreement—bashing the man’s nose went a long way toward evening their score—but Dillon still got to bitch.
The interfering turd had gotten in between him and Coke, back at the beginning and it was like an old, old bone bruise.
Not hurting, but still there, if you poked it hard.
“You mean you don’t appreciate him meddling in your love life?” Butter wouldn’t melt in Coke’s mouth.
“No, sir. I want him out of my bedroom, you know?” He patted Coke’s leg. “You? You, I like.”
“That’s good. I ain’t going nowhere.” Coke’s phone rang, and Coke sighed. “You want to guess which cowboy it could be?”
“Jason.” Dillon shook his head. Or AJ, or Nate, or, or, or.
“I’ll guess Tag.” Coke flipped his phone open without looking. “‘Lo?” Coke grinned wide. “Well, hello, Miss Brenda. How are you? You got them boys there with you?”
Brenda? Oh. Oh! Jason’s mom.
Missus Scott sounded like one of Charlie Brown’s teachers. Not that he was eavesdropping.
“No? They staying at AJ’s? What? Well, good Lord! Congratulations! It’s about time that man made you his.”
Dillon grinned a little. He wasn’t sure what was up, but it sounded good.
Coke looked over at him, smiled. “Jason’s momma’s getting married. Jack finally popped the question!”
“Oh, wow. That’s cool!” It was. He’d heard Jack was a good guy.
Coke nodded and started asking questions, jabbering away. Dillon grinned, shook his head. Brenda had to be ten years older than Coke, easy, but Coke was…Fearless Pharris, the cowboy confessor.
Everyone knew Coke. Sometimes he forgot that those folks didn’t all know each other, though.
Still, it bugged Dillon that a man that was in everyone’s family didn’t seem to have ever had one of his own.
It was just weird. It made him itch. That little thing he called his nosy bone wanted to dig and dig.
Coke hung up, grinned at him. “She’s getting married in December, between Christmas and New Year’s. We’ll have to head down for it.”
“We can do that. By then we’ll be tired of snow. Not to mention starting to talk about getting back to work.”
“Good deal.” Coke leaned back and grinned. “She sounds tickled as a pig in shit. I wonder how Jase is taking it.”
“I bet he’s fine.” Jason would be happy for his mom. Dillon knew it.
“I hope so. I need to get over there, too, get to working on him. I should have been doing more, but… Shit.” Right, because Coke could have done so much with his broken neck and broken hand.
“Babe.” Dillon turned into the bank parking lot, shaking his head. “You do what you can. We’ll get it done.”
Dillon was surprised that any of them had survived last year, what with Jason’s head injury, Coke’s broken neck, and them almost losing Sam Bell. Shit, he’d even dislocated a shoulder.
“Here we are.” The bank was deserted, so it wouldn’t take long.
“Cute wee bank. This where you go?”
“It is.” He’d been going there since he was a kid, and it had changed names three times.
“Cool. I like a place where they know you.” Coke headed in like he was walking into the arena.
Dillon watched happily for a bit, then followed along. Lord, he liked to look at Coke.
Coke went right up, smiling at the old lady who had worked the front desk for at least ten thousand years. “Howdy. I’m interested in starting a joint checking account, please, ma’am.”
“Sure.” What was her name? Alice? Alice smiled, then nodded at Dillon. “Mr. Walsh.”
He’d become Mr. Walsh when he started depositing over a million a year in paychecks. Alice handed over some paperwork and Coke peered over it, then handed it to him. “Make sure it’s in both our names, cowboy.”
“You bet.” They’d need Coke’s ID and all, but it would be easier to start a joint account as an add-on to his already-there services.
Alice watched with bright eyes while he filled out paperwork and went to sit with Coke to wait for a banker.
“So, where’s your favorite place to eat here in town?”
“Albert’s. Twenty-four-hour diner.” He was so lowbrow sometimes. People would laugh.
“Diners.” Coke nodded. “You taking me there for lunch?”
“I am. They have a patty melt to die for.” Oh, now he was hungry.
“Oh, man. Good onion rings?” Coke was a whore for the fried and crunchy.
“Yeah.” He winked. “And fried pies.”
“You had me at grilled onions on hamburger.”
“I know. I like to tease.”
“Dillon! Hey.” The banker was George Stahman, who had gone to high school with him. Yay. Coke gave the man a once-over, hazel eyes sizing George up like the man was an unknown bull. Coke really didn’t like banks at all. “What can I help you with, eh?”
Dillon stood and shook like he was expected to. “We want to open a joint account.”
“Business?”
“No, sir. Personal.” Coke stood, too, the move slow and deliberate.
“Oh.” George blinked, and Dillon grinned, the world suddenly shiny and new.
One of Coke’s eyebrows slowly started to rise.
“Coke just needs to have easy access to funds while he’s up here. Instead of having to write me checks and stuff. He’ll be spending a good bit of time with me.” He waited for George to ask where Coke would be the rest of the year. Because he would. Five. Four.
“And where is your home base, Mister…?”
“Pharris. With a Ph, not an F. And me and Dillon’ll be in Texas, when we’re not on the road.”
“Coke works with me, but I live with him full-time. This should not be a surprise, George.”
“No. I mean…” George flapped a hand, looking like an anemic penguin.
“Look, son. Can y’all get me an account or not? There’s onion rings waiting on me.”
“Yes, sir!” George finally hopped to it, getting them into his office, and it took twenty minutes.
He signed things, Coke signed things, then they were out of there, Coke muttering under his breath.
“Sorry, babe. I wish we’d gotten Janine.”
“S’all good, cowboy. It’s all done.”
“It is.” He judged the probability of busting his ass on an icy patch and decided to drive to the diner.
Coke’s phone rang again as he headed for the truck, and Dillon heard the soft sigh.
When Coke pulled it out, Dillon grabbed it. “Coke’s answering service.”
“Uh… Hello? Coke?” AJ. He’d know that dorky voice anywhere.
“It’s Dillon, man. What’s up?” They were going to go have onion rings, damn it.
“Oh, I was just calling. Missy’s getting real swole and Jase and them are being weird and stuff and I didn’t know if Gramps wanted to come down this direction for Christmas, since Miz Scott’s going to be busy with the wedding thing.”
“Oh. Well, bud, he’s kinda got plans. We could come down after, if you want. If I can come, that is.”
“Well, sure, Dillon! You know you’re welcome here, man. I just… Shit, if I have one more person cry on me today, I might have a conniption.”
“Oh, man. Hey, man. Why don’t you call Hank? He’s down there right now, visiting that sister of his, huh?” Dillon knew Hank and AJ were buds, and that would give AJ some man time.
Coke glanced back at him, gaze curious.
AJ hooted. “Oh, God. That’s a good idea! Hank can get Bax out of his funk. You heard anything about Sam?”
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s still in Reno, but he’s getting better every day.”
“Cool. Cool. Shit, Daisy’s screaming. Tell Gramps hey, wouldja?”
“I will. Bye, man.” He hung up and handed the phone back to Coke before unlocking the truck. “AJ says hi, babe. Hank is gonna go stay with him a bit.”
“Hey? Everything okay?” Coke climbed in, pocketing his phone.
“Yep. I mean, he’s worried about Missy and Jase, but I think he just needs some man time.” Albert’s, here they come.
“Ah.” Coke grinned. “Onion rings now?”
The hopeful tone made him wiggly. Coke sounded younger every time Dillon intercepted a call.
“You know it, babe.” Hot coffee. Pie. Uhn. He headed to Albert’s, grinning when the little chrome diner came into view.
“That seems like a good diner, sort of like Katy’s place near the Gardners’.”
“Yeah? You’ll have to take me. I bet Katy isn’t half Portuguese and half Lebanese.” Albert was a well-loved local anomaly.
“Lebanese? No shit? Your guy do feijoada?”