Perfect Harmony (Harmony Falls #2) - Elizabeth Kelly Page 0,1
try something new. It won’t kill you,” Gideon said. “The guys would love to -”
“You seriously trying to pull that horseshit on me?” Preacher stopped tattooing. “Your cop buddies can’t figure out why the fuck we’re even friends. You think I don’t see the way they look at me on poker night?”
“They’re just pissed because you take all their money,” Gideon said.
“Not my fault they fucking suck at poker,” Preacher said.
“It’s kinda cute, you know. The cop and the robber being best buds,” Greaser called out from his station. “It’s like that cartoon cat and mouse … what the hell were their names again? Tom and Harry?”
“Jerry, you fucking moron,” Preacher said. “Now do me a favour and mind your own fucking business.”
“Harry and Jerry don’t sound right,” Greaser muttered before returning to his sketch book. Gideon stared at the floor as Preacher resumed tattooing. He knew the guys at the precinct found his friendship with Preacher strange, but he didn’t care. Preacher had served his time behind bars and kept his nose clean since his release. Hell, in another two months, his parole would be finished and he would have real freedom again.
Their friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it had since Gideon walked into the tattoo shop, four years ago. Preacher didn’t exactly have a heart of gold, but he was a good man, despite how hard he tried to hide it.
The tattoo covered ex-con had become one of his closest friends – hell, he was probably his best friend – since Gideon had moved to New Cassel. Homesick for his hometown of Harmony Falls and missing his family, he’d decided to get a tattoo on a whim. An old school rose on his left shoulder, like the one his father had. He’d booked an appointment at the first tattoo shop that came up on Google, choosing Preacher as his artist because he had the next available opening.
Gideon smiled a little. The rest, as they said, was history.
“We still on for Friday night?” Gideon asked.
“Nah, man, I can’t make it this time.”
“Why not?” Preacher might refuse to join the softball league, but he never missed their monthly poker night.
“Got other plans.”
Preacher’s voice sounded off. Gideon turned, eliciting a curse from Preacher as he yanked the tattoo gun away from Gideon’s back. “The fuck, man? You trying to mess up your tattoo?”
Gideon studied Preacher’s face. “What are your other plans?”
“Who are you, my goddamn mother? I got plans, okay?” Preacher made a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn the fuck around so I can finish.”
Gideon continued to study him, and Preacher rolled his eyes. “Dinner with some old friends. There, you happy, Mom?”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not,” Preacher said, but he wouldn’t look Gideon in the eye.
“Preacher, what -”
“Drop it, Gideon,” Preacher said.
Gideon turned back around. He hadn’t been a cop for all that long, but he’d already started to develop that tingling at the base of his skull that his partner, a twenty-five-year veteran named Maurice, referred to as ‘cop sense’.
The tingle was there now. So strong that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Preacher was lying to him. He didn’t know why Preacher was lying, but he had a bad fucking feeling about it.
* * *
“Tell me something.” Maurice glanced at him as he stopped at a red light.
“What’s that?” Gideon scanned the empty street around them. It was almost three in the morning and anyone out at this time of the night would be suspicious.
“How many ladies you get just because of those weird eyes of yours?”
Gideon laughed. “Knock it off, Maurice.”
“I’m serious. I’m fifty-two years old, and I’ve never met anyone with two different coloured eyes before. To tell you the truth, a guy with one blue eye and one green eye freaks me out a little, but I imagine the ladies go crazy for it. What’s it called again? The condition you have?”
“It’s called heterochromia and it’s not a condition. You make it sound like I have some sort of disease for God’s sake,” Gideon said with another laugh.
Maurice just shrugged. “The ladies like it though, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” Gideon admitted.
“Knew it. Ain’t none of the ladies ever take a second gander at my eyes. Guess that’s what happens when they’re shit brown in colour.” Maurice stepped on the gas when the light turned green.
“You starting to regret taking the extra shift?” Maurice turned left and cruised down the quiet and empty street.