Chaser by Miasha

Author:Miasha [Miasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781441739629
Amazon: B004JZWXXE
Publisher: Buck 50 Productions LLC and Blackstone Audio, Inc.
Published: 2010-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Leah

I was shook up driving home after Vic caught Nasir and me in the shop. How was I goin’ to explain comin’ home without the car washed? What was I goin’ to tell Kenny was the reason for me gettin’ fired? I couldn’t make up no bullshit excuse, because that would fuck around and prompt Kenny to go to the shop ready to curse Vic out, and then Vic would tell Kenny what it really was. And that would be the death of me.

Just thinking about the mess I was in had me unable to stop crying. I decided to pull over in the Kentucky Fried Chicken parking lot on Forty-fourth and Market. I had to get my thoughts together and calm myself down. No way I was goin’ home in the state I was in.

I leaned my head on the steering wheel and cried my last tears. Then I straightened up. I pulled the driver’s-side mirror down and looked at my reflection, then I wiped my face and reapplied my makeup—mascara, eyeliner, and a fresh coat of lip gloss. All the while I was thinking about what I was going to tell Kenny.

Okay, I thought. As far as the car, the guy couldn’t wait around while I finished setting up the claim, so he promised he would wash it in the morning. Cool. But if I went with that, I wouldn’t be able to tell him I got fired. Well, actually I couldn’t tell him I got fired no matter what. I had absolutely no reason to give him that wouldn’t prompt a bunch of questions and doubts. So hell, I’m not tellin’ him I got fired.

After about ten minutes of contemplating and coaching myself how I was to act once I got home, I was ready to face Kenny.

I drove out of the parking lot and made a left onto Market Street. I took it to Forty-sixth and made a right. I took Forty-sixth to Girard, then Girard to Belmont, Belmont across City Avenue, and I went home.

When I pulled in my driveway, I noticed that all three of Kenny’s cars—the Maserati, the Suburban, and the Impala—were there. Kenny was, indeed, home.

I walked in the door. The TV was on in the family room, but no one was in there watching it. I turned it off. I went in the kitchen and dropped my pocketbook down on one of the bar stools. Then I got a glass out of the cabinet and put it under the ice then the water dispensers on the Viking side-by-side refrigerator. It was then that I heard Kenny’s footsteps trotting down the steps. I braced myself.

“What’s up,” he said, upon landing in the kitchen.

“Hey,” I said softly, sipping my ice water.

“You got the wheel washed?”

I shook my head.

Kenny’s frowned. “Why not?”

“The claim I had to set up took longer than I expected, and the detailer couldn’t wait. He said tomorrow morning he’ll do it first thing,” I conjured.

Kenny didn’t say anything. He just sized me up with his eyes.

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