What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [67]
And now? Now it seemed like fate was fucking with him. Just a little bit. He sighed, set down his clipboard, and headed up to the front of the shop to see what fate had in store.
“And watch this! I can totally—” Festus noticed Lola craning her neck to see around him and stopped, mid-brag. He put down his hands, which he’d been holding above his head as if he’d been singing about diminutive arachnids and water spouts.
“Hi, Liam,” said Lola. Her eyes seemed sparkly or something. Was that normal? Did all eyes do that? Liam couldn’t remember. He wasn’t generally the sort to pay attention to that kind of thing. Unless the eyes belonged to a bad guy. And those didn’t typically sparkle.
She had on a shirt and pants that looked pretty normal, except for the fact that the shirt (it was probably actually a blouse, but nobody in the guitar shop other than Lola could have said for sure) was bright red and purple. Liam thought about complimenting her pants, but then decided it’d be better not to go there.
“Hi.” He reached around Festus and shook her hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Yeah, I—well—sorry about last night. I guess you understand now.” She gestured vaguely at the shop, as if maybe the hollow-body Gibson in the corner explained everything.
“Sure,” said Liam. “You know.” He nodded and shrugged and shook his head all at the same time.
She glanced at Festus, who was still standing well within the bounds of what any normal person would have regarded as Lola’s personal space, and looked back at Liam. “Is there somewhere we can sit and talk for a couple of minutes?”
“Sure,” said Liam. “Back here.” He stepped aside and motioned her through the door to the back room. Festus gave a single, Teutonic nod, and fell in step behind her.
Lola stopped just inside the doorway, surveying the war zone of nacho leavings, pizza boxes, beer cans, and bong paraphernalia. She turned with a hint of a smile to look at Liam, but found herself face-to-face with Festus, who wore the surprised look of a tailgater who wasn’t expecting the car in front of him to stop so soon.
“Fes—?
“Ma’am?”
“It’s alright,” said Liam. Lola raised an eyebrow at him. “Really. He’s actually got some information that might be helpful.”
Lola eyed them both skeptically, but then turned to try to find a comfortable seat among the nacho crumbs.
“And who’s that?” She pointed to the young man of Indian descent perched awkwardly on a desk chair, asleep.
“Raju! Wake up!” said Liam. Raju stirred. “Wake up! It’s your turn to man the register.” Raju did not move again.
Liam stood up, grabbed the back of the chair and gave it a quick spin. Raju rolled and kind of dove headfirst onto the floor in a heap of arms and legs. Without a word, he picked himself up and staggered off to the front of the store.
“Okay,” she said. Liam and Festus had pulled up a couple of chairs and were now seated across from Lola. “Well, first, tell me – how long ago did Boehner call you?”
“Last night,” said Liam. “Uh, this morning I guess. Early. Like 3:00 a.m. early. Why?”
“So why did you ask me about Whitford last night?”
“Well,” said Liam, “I wasn’t really asking you.”
Lola raised an eyebrow.
Liam tried to recover. “I mean, I was asking you, but not because it was you. I was just making conversation.”
“Ah,” she said, sounding not at all convinced.
“He hates Whitford,” said Festus.
Lola didn’t bother using her skeptical face on Festus, and gave him kind of a weary look instead. “What? Why?”
“We—we had a few run ins,” said Liam. “Back in DC. Doesn’t matter.”
“What? What would the Vice President want with the CIA special forces?”
It was