Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
When Alex finally got his body and his mind under control, he walked down to the main area of the barn to find at least fifty people buzzing around, the huge fans churning air between them, and another ten artists in line at Greer’s check-in table.
She was using her smartphone to register them for the event and snap a picture of each entrant. When Alex strolled up to the table, a dreadlocked woman stepped aside to reveal Chad Holcombe as the next in line.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The leather tooler was as slick a douchebag as Alex had ever met. The guy pushed his wavy blond hair back from his forehead to grin down at Greer, angling himself to present his good side like a male peacock might display his ass feathers.
Chad said, “Hey, sweetheart, where have you been all my life?”
Greer’s head rose slowly from where she was peering at her smartphone screen. “What did you just say?”
“Just that I’ve been missing out on a whole lot of beauty up until today.”
“And you are?”
“Chad Holcombe, the leather tooler you’ve been waiting for.”
She looked him over, but not in an I’m-attracted sort of way, more with a where’s-the-trashcan vibe. “We already have three leather toolers registered for the competition.”
“Since other artists were allowed to attend, I figured why not me.”
“Because Prophecy Boot Company already decided you weren’t the right tooler to do business with.”
“I’m not here for PBC,” he replied. “I’m here for you.”
Alex automatically stepped forward, his hands hanging like sledgehammer heads against his sides, until he was standing behind Greer’s right shoulder.
Holcombe shifted his focus from Greer’s tits to Alex, and his ladykiller grin tightened. “Villanueva, didn’t realize they had a dickhead box you could check off on the registration form.”
“Yeah, it was right under douchebag,” he said, keeping his tone light and friendly. “The one you marked.”
Greer half turned to look up at Alex. “I assume you two know each other.”
“Only so many people in the leather tooling trade,” Alex told her.
“Look,” Chad said, his volume increasing so there was no way people behind him in line could miss hearing him, “if you don’t really want the best artists to compete in this little shindig, then I’ll just take myself on home.
But I’m sure a few of the arts councils will be interested to know you’ve already decided who’ll win. ”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tension crawled over Alex’s scalp and settled in the area between his eyebrows.
“From the looks of you strolling out of some back room a minute ago, it sure looks like Miss Maddox has stacked the deck.”
The inflection the guy used implied Alex had already fucked his way into winning the grand prize, and although he couldn’t give a shit less what Holcombe thought of him, the prick wouldn’t get away with insulting Greer.
Alex edged her aside and leaned on the registration table, lowering his voice so no one—not even Greer—could hear what he said to Holcombe.
“You need to keep your assumptions to yourself. Because if you don’t, I’ll be happy to take them away from you. ”
“Hey, there’s no need to get riled up. I just want to pay my entry fee and pick out a space.
” Holcombe backed away a couple of steps, held his hands palm up as though Alex had just threatened to jump over the table and pound his ass into the ground.
Which, come to think of it, he had in a pretty damn civilized way.
Catching him off guard, Greer hip-checked Alex out of the way. “Mr. Holcombe, I’ll be happy to accept your entry fee—in cash—and then you’re welcome to choose your space.”
He pulled off his wallet, peeled off a hundred from a wad of bills. “Here, darlin’, why don’t you just keep the change?” He quickly filled out the one-page registration form and strolled off.
“Greer, he’s—”
“I know exactly who he is. The spoiled son of Harvey Holcombe. He gave Delaney some grief when she told him he wasn’t one of the three finalists for the shop’s business.
But I can’t turn him away from this competition without looking like I’ve somehow sandbagged the whole thing.
We’ll just let it play out. He’s obviously a jerk. ”
Thank God she saw through him. Then again, Greer was a sharp one.
“And since you’re here, you can take the pictures while I double-check paperwork.” She passed him her smartphone with a sweet smile edged with shark’s teeth. “Let’s do this so everyone can settle in and get to work.”
While Greer was greeting the next entrant, Alex used her distraction as an opportunity to add his number to the favorites list in her phone. Holcombe might have backed down just now, but he didn’t trust that guy.
Since he wasn’t working the streets tonight, Nic was sprawled out on José’s couch watching a movie, but his friend had disappeared into the back of the house half an hour ago mumbling something about doing homework.
Whatever. Things had been a little tense between them after the warehouse incident.
Nic had come away from it with bits of gravel embedded in his arms and one elbow that wouldn’t bend without pain for a week.
He and José had both worn blobs of paint on their clothes from spray cans hitting the ground.
“Hey,” he called, “you gonna come watch this?”
Silence from down the hall. Maybe José had fallen asleep. Or maybe…
Shit.
Nic jumped off the couch and slid on the floor in his socks. Hopping on one leg and then the other, he pulled off the damn things to get some traction. Sure enough, when he raced to José’s room, it was empty.
All the Spanish cuss words he’d ever heard from his older brothers and on the streets rolled through Nic’s mind. José had promised no more risky shit like that. Where would…
Desmadre. Fucking disaster. José had been talking about tagging the San Antonio Public Library for weeks. Said that expanse of red would be perfect for a mini-mural. Even after Nic had said no more, maybe the temptation had been too strong to resist.
He would tear into José’s ass for this.
By the time he was able to bum a ride to north of the Riverwalk, it was already after nine o’clock, which meant the library was locked up tight.
Nic circled the massive building and, sure enough, José had found a small inset up high that wasn’t lit by the surrounding light fixtures and was dangling by a rope that looked even sketchier than the one they’d left behind the other night.
He didn’t want to yell and draw attention, but he needed to get José the hell down from there. Nic scooped up a rock from a flower bed, cocked his arm, and let it fly, aiming just left of José.
Shit, too low.
He tried again, and this time, he was able to rocket the stone close enough to José.
José twirled around on the rope and glared down at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass,” Nic said, cupping his hands around his mouth, trying to contain the sound. “You said you wouldn’t do this anymore.”
“No, you told me I couldn’t anymore. There’s a big difference. We might be friends and you might be older than me, but that doesn’t mean you’re my boss.”
“Come down and we’ll talk about it.”
“Not until I finish—”
José’s attention shifted beyond Nic, and the sound of sirens split the air. The screech of tires and stink of rubber on asphalt rose up, and Nic’s stomach did a slow roll. A cop popped out of the passenger side and pinned Nic with a hostile stare. “Don’t move. On the ground.”
Nic wanted to be a smartass and ask which he really wanted, but this wasn’t about just him. Down he went, his cheek against the cooling concrete, and he couldn’t help thinking of José’s artwork on that warehouse.
While one cop was cuffing Nic, the other yelled up at José, “Lower yourself to the ground nice and slow. Don’t try to jerk us around.”
“Let him go,” José called, beginning to come down the side of the building. “This isn’t his fault. I don’t even know him.”
Passenger-side cop asked Nic, “That guy your friend?”
José was a lot more than that, but Nic just grunted, “Yeah.”
“Well, son, that makes you an accessory to vandalism.”
By this time, José’s feet had hit the sidewalk, and driver-side cop said, “Face down on the ground like your buddy.”
There was no hesitation. José assumed the position, hands to lower back.
As the cop started reciting Miranda rights, all Nic could think about was how in the name of the Virgin Mary he was going to get José out of this mess.
Greer hadn’t considered how having all these people in the barn would impact Alex’s living conditions until they’d begun showing up and the noise level had gone off the charts.
She quickly updated the competition rules and made copies.
Artists would not be permitted in their booths before 6 a.m. and couldn’t stay after 11 p.m.
Of course, when she stopped at Chad Holcombe’s booth, he looked over the revised paperwork as though she were asking him to sign over the rights to his designs. “This curfew thing wasn’t in here before.”
“Everyone needs rest to do their best work. If I don’t put some type of stipulation on it, people will be in here working night and day.
Besides, I’m not regulating what entrants can do elsewhere.
Later this week, the public will be allowed in to watch the artists work, so the barn will need to be cleaned up overnight. ”
He tapped a pen against his chin, must’ve read every damn word three times, and finally bent over the table and signed. When he straightened, he said, “How about we catch a little late dinner after the place closes down for the night?”
What she wanted to say was “How about I shove your swivel knife up your ass?” but instead she just replied, “Thanks, but I need my rest too.”