Софи Келли - Paws Аnd Effect

“I’m parked out front,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“You tryin’ to shut me up or change the subject?” Burtis asked.

I smiled at him. “Either one will work for me.” I put my arm around Burtis’s shoulder, which had the effect of making me feel as though I’d just joined a very odd Vegas kick line.

“Shotgun,” Elliot said then.

“You can’t call shotgun,” Burtis countered.

“The hell I can’t,” Elliot retorted. “I just did it.”

“I’m not riding in the back like an old dog.”

“If you can’t run with the big dogs you better stay on the porch,” Elliot said.

The words hung between them for a moment, then they both laughed at some joke I didn’t get.

At least we were moving in the direction of the door. “First of all, no one is riding in the back,” I said. “And second”—I looked at Elliot—“you’re not coming with us.” I pointed at the ceiling. “You’re going to bed.”

Burtis smirked at him.

“I called shotgun,” Elliot said. “We have a verbal agreement.” He had a little trouble getting the word “agreement” out.

“We can outrun him, Kathleen.” Burtis winked at me.

“We’re not running anywhere,” I said firmly. “You”—I pointed at Elliot—“are going to bed. “You”—I moved my finger to Burtis—“are going home.”

“I’ll sue,” Elliot said.

“You can’t sue your boy’s girlfriend,” Burtis said.

I wondered just exactly how much they’d had to drink.

“The hell I can’t!” Elliot straightened up and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Don’t you?” Burtis asked.

They laughed again like it was the funniest thing either one of them had ever heard.

I tried to steer them toward the elevators but they were bigger and stronger and since we were still linked arm in arm I found myself on the sidewalk with them before I quite knew what happened.

Burtis slapped the passenger-side fender of the truck with one hand. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore,” he told Elliot.

“How did you two get here?” I asked.

“That depends,” Elliot said, “on whether you believe in evolution or creationism.”

“You forgot aliens,” Burtis said.

Elliot nodded solemnly. “Or aliens.”

The preschoolers at story time were easier to manage than those two. “I mean did you two have a car?”

“I have an Audi,” Elliot said, holding his head up with a decided amount of pride.

“La-di-da,” Burtis replied. “I have a truck.” He smacked the fender again with his big hand and looked at me. “Open up, girl.”

I unlocked the passenger door and Burtis hauled it open. “Get in, Elly May,” he said to Elliot.

“I called shotgun.” Marcus’s dad crossed his arms petulantly over his chest, his feet planted wide apart. The effect he was going for was ruined because he was swaying slightly. I had the feeling if I poked him with my finger he’d topple over.

Burtis dropped his elbow down on the hood of the truck, forearm upright, fingers spread apart. “Let’s go a round,” he growled. “I can still take you.”

“Nobody is taking anyone anywhere except me,” I said, stepping between them. I pointed at Elliot. “Get in the truck. In case you didn’t notice there’s only one seat so you’re both riding shotgun.” He climbed in without saying another word. I was glad because I had no way to actually make either one of them do anything.

“Get in,” I told Burtis. He was still leaning over the front of the truck, ready to arm wrestle. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it up. “Don’t make me call Lita.” I fervently hoped he wouldn’t call my bluff because, like Brady, I had no idea where she was.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, hanging his head and climbing in next to Elliot.

I walked around and slid in on the driver’s side, leaning over to make sure they were both belted in safely. They smelled like this foul cough medicine that my father bought on the Internet from Canada. He swore by it but I thought it smelled like a mix of paint thinner and old-fashioned liniment.

“What were you two drinking?” I asked.

“Jäger Bombs,” Burtis said.

“We were taking a stroll down memory lane,” Elliot added.

“What is a Jäger Bomb?” I asked, thinking as I did that I was probably going to regret the question.

“First you need beer,” Burtis said.

Elliot nodded in agreement.

“Then you need a shot glass of Jägermeister.”

Elliot nodded once again.

“You drop your shot glass in your beer and bottoms up.” Burtis pantomimed the action.

“And then you’re bombed,” Elliot added.

They elbowed each other and laughed.

“Kathleen, did you know this man is my oldest friend?’ Elliot asked.

“Oldest friend?” Burtis said. “I thought I was your only friend.”

“Oldest friend, only friend, tomato potato,” Elliot said.

“So how did you two get to be friends?” I asked, shooting a quick glance in their direction.

“Well, he stole my woman,” Burtis began.

“Don’t start that,” Elliot said. “She wanted me.” He raised a finger in the air and hit the roof of the truck.

“The hell she did,” Burtis retorted.

Elliot shifted sideways to look at him. “Well, her tongue wasn’t in my mouth to check my fillings.”

“I laid you out before. I can do it again,” Burtis warned.

“You’re slow, old man,” Elliot retorted.

“Well you’re soft, pretty boy.” I didn’t need to look at them. I could hear the smirk in Burtis’s voice.

“Mary Connolly still got those great legs?” Elliot abruptly asked.

“Oh yeah,” Burtis said. “She works for Kathleen down at the library. You should go see her.”

“You mean Mary Lowe?” I said, slowing down as the car in front of me turned.

“She used to be Mary Connolly,” he said. He nudged Elliot with his shoulder. “That is one kick-ass broad. I’ll take you out to The Brick. She dances. Think feathers.”

I knew about Mary’s dancing. I decidedly didn’t want to think about feathers.

Burtis started to sing then, doing the intro to “Sweet Home Alabama.” Elliot closed his eyes and kept time on the dashboard. They sang all the way out to the Chapman homestead, finishing just as I pulled up in front of the old farmhouse.

“Thank you for the ride home, girl,” Burtis said, leaning forward to smile at me around Elliot.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.

“Don’t be a damn stranger, Elly May,” Burtis said to Elliot.

I came around the truck and walked him up the steps to the wide veranda that ran the length of the front of the house. He patted his pockets, found his keys and fished them out. I unlocked the front door and folded the key ring back into his hand.

“He’s a good man,” Burtis said, jerking his head in the direction of the truck.

I smiled at him. “Go to bed,” I said.

To my surprise he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Sleep tight,” he said.

When I got back in the truck Elliot’s head was against the back of the seat. His eyes were closed. And he was snoring. I shook his shoulder. If he got into too deep a sleep I’d never be able to get him out of the truck and up to his room once we got back to the hotel.

He didn’t move. I poked him with my elbow. “C’mon, Elliot, wake up,” I said. He just kept on snoring.

Great. Now what?

I started the truck and pulled down the driveway. Elliot snored in a steady rhythm beside me, sleeping the sleep of drunks, fools and angels, as my mother would say. How was I going to wake him up and get him into the hotel?

I turned down the hill. I knew there was a length of clothesline and a couple of bungee chords in the back of the truck. I couldn’t come up with any way to use them to get Elliot up and into the hotel that wouldn’t draw way more attention to us than I wanted—and that would work. I could only think of one thing to do.