Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“You mean that one?” Porfirio, our resident gay man, asked.
My head jerked up, but I was disappointed to see that it wasn’t Gable at all, but Garrett.
“No, that’s his twin brother, Garrett,” I said. “Which you know.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. I know him. I didn’t see the dog until now.” He paused. “Where did he get that scar?”
I vaguely remembered Garrett being under cover a long time ago before he was a K-9 officer. But I didn’t remember how, exactly, he’d gotten the scar. Only that it was work related.
“No clue,” I said, hoping not to continue the conversation.
If there was one thing Garrett was sensitive about, it was his scar.
I didn’t know why, though.
The man looked great with a scar.
Since Garrett was leaning against my car, I had a feeling he was waiting for me.
“I’ll see y’all tomorrow,” I said as I peeled away to head Garrett’s way.
He jerked his chin up at me when I got close enough before saying, “I was tasked in making sure you got home safely, as well as letting you know that there’s a possibility that Darryl Horton, also known as Madman, might get out on a technicality.”
I blinked, my stomach dropping.
“What?” I breathed.
“Yeah,” Garrett said. “Gable wanted me to tell you so you’d keep your eyes peeled, and make sure that you were careful.”
My shoulders slumped. “That man is like a roach. Still surviving.”
Garrett smirked. “Great description. I tend to agree.”
I looked down at Boss, who was looking across the street at a couple of doves on the grass.
“He looks like he’s distracted,” I mused.
“He’s hungry, tired, and ready to be home.” He paused. “Like me. So let’s go so I can make sure you’re inside safely.”
I winked at him. “Yes, sir.”
He snorted. “That might work on my brother, but not me. Get in the car.”
I got in the car and did, indeed, head home.
I arrived at my house, and all was well.
Until I heard all the damn music coming from my neighbor’s place.
Since that was a common occurrence, I chose to wave Garrett off once I got into my place, and headed straight for my kitchen where I grabbed a yogurt.
I sat there, eating my yogurt, listened to my neighbor’s loud music, and sighed.
It sounded like really bad sensual music.
I frowned and went out onto my back porch, my eyebrows knitting as soon as I could hear the music better.
Not music.
Not music at all.
I sat there, mouth open, and glared at the fence parting me from the next yard over.
What the hell was he doing over there?
Since I was already out there, I went to check on my bees.
I had a really cool hive that allowed you to see the bees in action. And when you wanted honey, all you had to do was twist the nozzle, and you could have some.
It was my first foray into bees, and I found that I enjoyed it.
Other than, now that I had them, I was slightly terrified every time that Gable came over.
I’d have to get rid of them.
Maybe Pat from work could take them…
I sat there for a full ten minutes as I contemplated what to do next with the people next door.
I was the head of the stupid neighborhood watch program now.
And, right on cue, my phone buzzed.
Winston Herman-15034:
Hi, Ms. Athena. This is Winston at 15034 Eleventh Street. I know this is a weird thing to say, but we have a neighbor that’s listening to some really loud… stuff.
I winced.
Me:
I’ll call. Or text.
I’d definitely text, because I had a phobia of calling people.
The best thing that had ever happened to me was when all the food places started creating their own apps where you could place your order rather than calling it in. Now if I could only get 911 or my doctor’s office to go to text, we’d be cooking.
Winston Herman-15034:
Thank you. Appreciate it. My wife is losing her mind.
I could imagine.
Winston and his wife, Shirley, were from a time when women stayed at home, men worked. You went to church every Sunday, and you had as many kids as you could have. Oh, and you spied on your neighbors and complained about them all the time.
Well, Shirley, Winston’s wife, was the complainer.
Winston just went with the flow, because what else could he do but keep the peace at home?
I heard a low, long moan come from the neighbor’s house, and thought… fuck it.
I didn’t call the cops.
That wasn’t the way to get scary people like Nick McKinney to trust me.
Instead, I texted him.
Me:
Hey, Nick. I’m sorry, but can you keep it down? I have a few neighbors that are wanting to call the cops on you because your, erm, ‘music’ is too loud.
It wasn’t music, and we both knew it.
Nick:
What music?
It wasn’t music.
It was porn.
Really loud porn.
And by the looks of it, it was on the loudspeaker, and he didn’t realize it.