Shine - Lauren Myracle [39]
“Yo, Beef, I’ve got a delivery for you,” Dupree called. “Hey—what the . . . ? Where the fuck are you?”
Beef tugged his cap back in place. He pushed off the cement wall and headed back to our table.
I walked with him, speaking quickly. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault.”
“There you are,” Dupree said. “You’re messing with my head, man. For real.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I repeated.
Beef’s expression didn’t change.
Dupree slapped a sheet of paper on the table in front of him, saying, “Peanut butter and mayonnaise, heavy on the mayonnaise.”
“Peanut butter and mayonnaise?” I said. I pulled myself back to the moment, because for a reason I couldn’t put my finger on, it seemed important not to reveal anything to Dupree. Not that I had anything to reveal, but Dupree made me want to hold everything in tight. “That’s disgusting.”
“Ah, but we got customers who swear by it. Ain’t that so, Beef?”
“Yeah,” he said, grabbing the order sheet.
“We get all sorts of crazy orders,” Dupree elaborated. “Peanut butter and mayonnaise, turkey with fried pickles, tongue with spicy mustard.”
“Shut up, Dupree,” Beef said. “She doesn’t care.”
Dupree gave me an eyebrow waggle. “You ever tried tongue, Cat?”
“Shut up, Dupree.”
Beef was himself again, standing up for me like I was his adopted little sister. I was glad. But I was perfectly capable of handling Dupree by myself.
“Yeah, I’ve had tongue,” I said. “You got some you want me to sample?”
“Hells yeah. You want it now?”
“Bring it on. And bring me a knife, one of those sharp ones you keep in the back. I like my tongue cut up real fine.”
Dupree’s laugh rang out loud and big, and I smiled before I could stop myself. I’d forgotten how fun it could be to sass someone, even if that someone was several-screws-loose Dupree.
“It was good seeing you, Cat,” Beef said, already halfway out of the store. “You should come by more often.”
I watched him strap on his helmet, kick-start his Suzuki, and roar out of the parking lot. Too late, I realized he’d left with nothing.
“Wait,” I said. “What about the sandwich?”
“Huh?” Dupree said.
“The sandwich he’s supposed to deliver. Are you stoned, Dupree? For real?”
“Almost always,” he quipped. He cracked up. “But dang, you’re right. Can’t deliver a sandwich without the sandwich, can you?”
I shook my head. Dupree was useless. I headed toward the door, but before I got there, Dupree called out, “You know your buddy Patrick ain’t no saint, right?”
I stopped. My radar went off—ping ping ping—and I turned around.
“No, as a matter of fact I don’t know that,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’d say Patrick’s as close to being a saint as anyone can be.”
“Well, I agree that he acts saintly. I’ll give you that. But there are certain things that a person—a loyal person—should keep to himself. You get me?”
“No.”
He smiled. I didn’t like it. “Then I’ll make it easier,” he said. “Nobody likes a tattletale.”
“How is Patrick a tattletale?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Hey. Sometimes people bring stuff down on their own selves, that’s all I’m saying.”
I had to take two full breaths before I trusted myself to speak. “Are you saying Patrick deserved what happened to him?”
“Cat, c’mon. You know me better than that.”
“Do I?”
“I ain’t happy Patrick got hurt. Don’t misunderstand.” He searched my face. “There’s just one thing I want to tell you, and I want you to actually hear it.”
He paused as if waiting for some sort of response.
I made an impatient circle with my hand. “Fine. What?”
“The sun don’t shine on the same dog’s tail all the time,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying.”
I breathed in and out carefully, trying not to show anything on my face. But I thought about how Destiny said that Dupree was one of Wally’s boys: a meth dealer or a runner or both. According to Destiny, Tommy and Beef were, too—or had been at one point.
What if Patrick had known? Would Dupree have seen him as a threat? What about Tommy? What about Wally?
And Beef. If Beef knew the others were muttering about Patrick