CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was only an hour later when we rode up to the house.
Arnold came to the door and stood there shading his eyes at us. He was a wooly hair man, taller than me, lean and wiry looking. He had a quick way of walking, a manner a man might think was nervous until you knew him better. Whatever else they might say of him, I don’t think Arnold Dowell had a nerve in his body.
He came a couple of steps toward us as we rode to the apartment, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he saw.
"Bree?" He spoke her name in a startled, unbelieving tone. "Bree."
She was off and running and in his arms quicker than you could say scat. So I swung around to leave.
He looked up suddenly, pulling back from her. "Mussolini don’t ride off that way, and come in."
"Got to get back," I said. "I’m overdue and Jaquan will be worried."
"Is that your buddy?"
"You seen him?"
"He was by this way." He gave me an odd look. "I had no idea there were two of you over there."
"I’ll be going," I said. Yet I held my breath. "Anything I can do you must call on me." I said that to her, to Bree Dowel. And then I rode away.
But at the edge of the yard, I almost vomited. My eyes were on the ground and I saw it plain as could be. A piece of shit.