“You’re killing me, boss,” he said. “Take me out there with you.”
“And why would I want to go to Shamrock Island?” he asked. “Why would you? We need to be setting up plans for the big festival. Do you have any idea how many people will be cluttering the beaches and swarming the shallow waters? We’ve got real shit to deal with. Why would you want to waste mine and your time going out to Shamrock Island?”
“You know why,” Rafe said.
“That girl is trouble,” Kane said. “I warned you the other night and look what happened. The second I walked away, a band of bikers showed up and almost took your head off.”
“I can take care of myself,” Rafe said.
“Sure looked that way when I walked up and found you still brushing pieces of that broken hotdog stand or whatever it was off your clothes.”
“The guy had a hell of a kick.”
“And why do you think that was?”
“No idea,” Rafe said. “The motherfucker eats his spinach.”
Kane chuckled and blew out some dust from the harpoon gun.
“I know her secret,” Rafe said. “And I know you’re working with them. It’s not like that’s a big deal. You told me yourself.”
“Correction,” Kane said. “I’m not working with anyone. Those ferocious fucking beasts all deserve to die. They’re able to go places I can’t. They’re able to do things I can’t. I’m using them to help me save lives. That’s all. If it comes to a point that I no longer need them, I will kill them. And if you’re all strung up on that tight little blonde, that could complicate matters.”
“Take me to Shamrock Island,” Rafe insisted. “You can fire me if you want, but I don’t give a shit about this bullshit agenda of yours. Bottom line is…I want her.”
“Fire you,” Kane said under his breath. “Nope. But that’s the attitude you need to have in this business. I might make a shark hunter out of you yet. Grab your gear and for god’s sake, put on your fucking polo. We’re professionals.”
“So, you’ll take me?”
“Yep. Guess I need to have a talk with good ol’ Thane anyway.”
With a new pep in his step, Rafe left Kane’s desk and went to pick up the polo he always kept draped over his chair. He hated wearing the stupid thing unless it was absolutely necessary. As he slipped it over his head, he couldn’t help thinking he must look like a school kid putting on his uniform.
“Stupid shirt,” he said to himself. “Stupid lunch box. Stupid shoes.”
He laughed at his own crybaby temper tantrum, purposely making himself sound more and more like a little kid until he could find the funny in his situation.
; “What lunch box?” Becca asked from behind.
“Ha,” he said. “No lunch box. It was a joke. An inside joke.”
“With yourself?”
“With myself,” he said while looking down at his feet.
He’d gotten busted at a ridiculous moment of silly self-reflection.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” the older lady said as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
The glum look on her face worried him.
“Give me the good news,” he said. “I don’t want any bad right now. I already have to wear this fucking shirt.”
“The mouth on you,” Becca said with an exaggerated exasperation.
“You love it,” he said.