The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“They look like bad news,” he said. He stared at the street, then at me. “I think they’re dogging us.”

“They’re just guys. If they wanted a beef, they would have stopped.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What’s going on, Sabe?” I said.

“Nothing. I don’t take guys like that for granted. I’ve had my fill of them.”

“You want to play a round of miniature golf?” I said.

“No, I got to get home. I don’t feel too hot. I got to get off the dime. You don’t let the enemy take the high ground. Rule one of the Army of Bledsoe, right?”

“Why not spend more time with Aaron and me?” Valerie said.

“Me?” he said.

“The rodeo and the livestock show are coming up,” she said. “My 4-H club has some exhibits.”

“That would be pretty simpatico,” he said.

“Can I tell you something?” she said.

“Go ahead.”

“Quit figh

ting with these people,” she said. “One way or another, they’ll all disappear.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“Yes, it does. Don’t go seeing things, either,” she said. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. I think she almost had him convinced.

The car loaded with big guys came by again, slower this time, one guy sitting up on the passenger window bare-chested, shooting us the bone across the roof. Saber stood up from the table. A narrow object protruded from his boot, stiffening inside the leg of his jeans.

“Sit down,” I said.

“I’m tired of these guys,” he said. He gave them the Italian salute.

The car kept going, crossing the intersection, its straight pipes shaking the air. I pulled up the cuff of his jeans. “What are you doing with that?”

“Taking care of myself. Not taking any more shit. Sorry, Miss Valerie.”

“Give it to me, Saber,” I said.

“I’ll give it to you when people like Krauser and guys like that bunch in the Hudson get off our backs.”

He had a sheathed British commando knife strapped to his calf. It was doubled-edged and dark blue and made of steel, including the handle, the blade tapering to a razor-sharp tip, an absolutely murderous gut-ripper you could buy for $2.95 and a coupon from any men’s magazine.

Saber wiped his place clean and threw the napkin into a trash can.

“Stay with us,” Valerie said.

“Thanks. See y’all later,” he said. “Let me know if those guys come back. Maybe get their license number. I think it’s time to start doing some home calls.”

He lit a cigarette as he walked to his car, not even bothering to hook his pants cuff back over the knife’s handle, flicking the match angrily at the air.

Valerie stared at me. “He said Jenks?”