Page 58 of The Fourth Option
“A favor?”
“I’m really just here to help.”
“What does that have to do with buying me lunch?”
“Who said I was buying?”
The grill was a time capsule from a happier decade. Cracked vinyl booths, yellowed menus laminated with grease, and a jukebox in the corner flipping vinyl. The scent of stale beer and burnt fried chicken lingered in the air.
They slid into a booth in the back, while Paladin waited in the van. Walker had parked it so the dog could see into the diner.
“You live around here?” he asked.
“I thought you said you weren’t creepin’.”
“Isn’t that a normal question?”
“You don’t talk to girls much, do you?”
“I mostly talk to my dog.”
“I always attract the crazy ones.”
Walker shook his head. “Listen, I just want to find out a little more about Connor.”
“Yeah, well you could start by asking me my name.”
“Okay, what’s your name?”
“Mirabelle. Mirabelle Travois, but I go by Belle.”
“Nice to meet you, Belle. How’s that?”
“Better.”
A waitress who could have been anywhere from forty to seventy took their order and then disappeared into the kitchen.
“And do you live around here?” Walker tried again.
“No. I live east of the Quarter.”
“What do you do?”
“Day job? Tattoo artist. Shop’s a block off Bourbon. Drunk college kids and men having a midlife. You have any tats?”
“Are you implying I’m having a midlife?”
“If the shoe fits.”
He laughed.
“I do,” he said, tapping his ribs. “A little something from my Navy days.”
“You don’t look like a military guy.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I was going to say you look homeless.”
