“No. Most people retire from this job by fifty. He can’t run at all, his reflexes are nonexistent. He shouldn’t be in the field like that. It’s dangerous,” Quick retorted. “Hey. Maybe we can throw him a surprise retirement party and just have him show up to realize he’s the guest of honor.”
Duke laughed, slapping his friend on his broad shoulder. “I don’t think that’ll work.”
“You’d better think of something.” Quick got in the passenger side of Duke’s F350. They followed Charlie, driving less than forty miles per hour, to the jail so Duke could make sure the paperwork was done correctly. As much as he hated to admit it, Quick was right. Charlie was having a hard time pulling the hours needed to do the job. His eyesight hindered him when using the computers and especially doing surveillance. He’d have to come up with a tactful way to retire Charlie. If his hunters didn’t want to have Charlie in the field covering their backs, he had to do what made his employees feel safe.
“That’s fucked up about Troy, huh?” Quick threw his last dart, this one hitting in the outer ring of the bull’s-eye. He pumped his fist and went to the board to count up his points. Duke drank another gulp of his dark lager and took up his spot to throw next.
“Yeah, it is. Never thought he’d skip on me. He used to always show up for court, but he’s changed the last year or so.”
“He’s caught up in that crowd.”
“I really feel for his mom, ya know. That woman’s been through enough.” Duke stood about eight feet back and aimed to throw his first dart. This was their ritual after securing a bail skipper or bounty. They needed to unwind and have a little fun. Since they were both older and single, their night of fun usually consisted of beer, darts, pool; sometimes watching a game at their favorite sports bar. Random conquests never made the list. Duke had been there, done that. That ship had sailed when his last chance to fall in love hightailed it out of his bed and into the arms of a hotshot detective right here in Atlanta. Speaking of… “Judge was supposed to be meeting us here.”
Quick snorted. “He can’t get away from that hottie long enough to meet up.”
Duke jerked his head back, a coy smile curving his lips. “You think Detective Michaels is hot?”
Quick flicked him off. “Not in that way. Well if I went that way… you know… He’s no Brad Pitt. I-I mean, he’s not ugly. If I was that way… But I’m not… Soooo….”
“Shut the hell up.” Duke threw the dart, not really caring where it landed. “He better get in here soon so he can update me on the new case.”
“I still can’t believe you let him run your PI business after what he did to you.”
Duke threw his last dart and sat down next to his friend. “He didn’t do anything to me. He met someone and fell for him. What did it have to do with me?”
“But weren’t y’all sleeping together at the time? You were practically in lov—”
“Hey!” Duke cut Quick off. “I wasn’t in love with Judge. I liked him. We had a comfortable arrangement. That’s it. It was nice for a time and then it was over.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“He’s a good man and a damn good business partner. A real man doesn’t let petty shit— like the loss of good sex—fuck up his money. I needed someone to run that side of my business and Judge was… is the best man for the job.”
“Mmm hmm,” Quick hummed again, with his beer bottle to his lips.
Quick’s tone said it all. He was calling Duke on his bullshit. But Duke needed to say those things about Judge out loud over and over. I don’t need Judge. I especially don’t need love. Anything to get through the long, lonely nights. He’d had to admit to himself though, that he’d probably liked Judge a whole lot more than he let on, but the man had made his choice and it wasn’t Duke. How could he compete with a guy that was twenty years his junior? He was guessing; he had no clue what Michaels’ actual age was – with his perfect hair and exciting job. He was smart, adventurous… What the fuck am I doing? Duke frowned. He didn’t need to think about them.
“Anyway. He had better let us know what’s up soon. I’m a partner in this business, too, and I don’t give a damn if he has David Beckham in his bed. He needs to keep us up to date with what’s going on over there. Monthly reports were a stipulation when he agreed to run the Atlanta PI office.” Quick signaled for the waitress, ordering them another round of beers.