Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(31)
Author: Christine Feehan

Gator grinned at him. “She’s got a knife. A great big knife. I make her mad enough she shows me that knife.”

Delmar whistled softly. “You’re one lucky man, Gator. Don’ go blowin’ this one. I never understood why all the women find you so purty.”

Gator tossed back his drink and put the glass on the bar, winking at the owner. “I’m charmin’, that’s why. Catch you later.”

Delmar snorted his derision. Gator stepped away from the bar, hesitated and turned back “Answer me this, Del mar. If you had to choose between being a slimeball rat bastard, or a common garden variety man-type rat bastard, which would you be?”

Delmar cocked his head to one side while he mulled it over.

“It isn’t a trick question, Del,” Gator said. “Just pick one.”

“Well then, that’s easy enough. I don’ want to be a common garden variety of anything. I’ll be the slimeball rat bastard.”

“That’s just plain stupid.” Gator threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “You want people thinking you’re a slimeball?”

Delmar gave one of his slow nods. “Yep.”

Disgusted, Gator stomped out, tipping over the two chairs he’d righted. “Come on, you two,” he called to his brother and Ian. “Get up.”

They were side by side sitting with their backs to the wall, legs out in front of them, beer bottles in hand. They exchanged a long look and both burst out laughing. “Could be a problem, bro,” Wyatt said. “I’m not sure we can get up.”

Gator scowled at the two of them. “Well you’ve had yourselves a time. Did you start it?” He glared at his brother.

Wyatt took a long pull on his beer, contemplating the answer. “I just might have, now that you ask.”

Ian nudged him. “You threw the first punch and it sure was purty,” he praised. “Vicq claimed your woman, Gator, and Wyatt here stood up for you.”

Gator felt the rush of black temper seething and boiling in the pit of his stomach. It came out of nowhere; just like every intense emotion he seemed to feel when Flame was involved. “He has no claim on her. Hell, she’s carrying my baby. He say he slept with her?”

Wyatt and Ian both took another drink from their respective beers. Gator observed their frowning faces with disgust. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember. It’s an important detail don’t you think? If she’s runnin’ around on me, I should know about it.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “The baby might not be yours.”

“Damn it, Ian. The baby’s mine. She didn’t sleep with Vicq Comeaux. I don’t care what he said.”

Ian and Wyatt looked at each other again and burst out with fresh laughter. “Thought you said there wasn’t a baby,” Ian said.

“Oh shut up. Did he say he slept with her?”

“I can’t shut up and answer you at the same time,” Ian pointed out pragmatically.

“Not that I recall,” Wyatt said. “Vicq’s been following her from club to club. Bet he didn’t work up the courage to ask her for a date. He’s long on running his mouth but doesn’t do much when it comes to the ladies.”

Ian nudged Wyatt. “He was bragging about what he’d do with a little hot thing like Flame.”

“He wouldn’t know what hit him,” Gator sneered. “She’d slice him up his middle before he made the first move. I saved his worthless hide tonight.”

Both Wyatt and Ian blinked up at him drunkenly. “That’s right, man, she’s got a knife.”

Wyatt pushed himself unsteadily up the wall. “She had the biggest damn knife I ever saw and she actually had it against Gator’s throat.”

“You don’t have to sound like you admire the fact she put a knife to your brother’s throat,” Gator objected. “She nearly killed me. Did you ever think about that?”

“It was awesome.” Wyatt staggered forward and turned back to politely extend his hand toward Ian. “Plain awesome.”

“Wish I’d seen it,” Ian said plaintively.

“The two of you need to get in the pirogue before I decide to leave you here. Fat lot of good the two of you are to me.”

Ian exchanged another long look with Wyatt, both looking as if they might erupt into another round of laughter. “He forgot you defended his claim on the woman, but I’ve got a long memory, lad, and I’ll be reminding him.”

“He’s just really pissed at me right now,” Wyatt explained, rubbing his jaw again. “I gave him the wrong answer to his question. Between Gator and Vicq, I got me a sore jaw. Vicq sure had a mad on for everyone tonight. He got himself into a heated argument with that city boy Parsons and then his bodyguards. I thought he was going to take all of them on.”

“Yeah, until the driver said something to him and he backed off.” Ian grinned. “I thought maybe he offered to drive him around New Orleans in that big fancy car.”

The two staggered across the long wooden pier to the small pirogue, snickering together. Gator helped his brother into the boat and into the seat before turning back toward the larger Irishman They all nearly ended up in the canal when he stepped off the pier into the middle of the pirogue, slipped, and crashed down onto Wyatt. The two men sat on the bottom of the boat howling with laughter.

Gator glared at them, clearly disgusted as he caught up the long pole and pushed them away from the pier. “You two are a pair of jackasses.”

That brought on another wave of laughter. Gator shook his head as he took them through the reed-choked waterway toward more open, but shallow water. The canal was fairly narrow and easy enough to maneuver. There was something very satisfying in the old ways, the digging of the pole onto the bottom of the canal, the jar that ran up the pole and into his shoulder, and the familiar play of muscle driving the pirogue through the reeds. He could have enjoyed the night a little better if he could pretend he was alone, but his imagination wasn’t good enough to drown out the noisy singing of his brother and friend. He shoved again with the pole.

“Hey, Gator. Just what was the question you asked my buddy Wyatt,” Ian asked.

In the sudden vacuum of silence as both men went quiet, sound poured in. The hum of insects, the murmur of other conversations as men made their way home along the same route, the splash of water as larger reptiles slid into the waterway, and the whisper of something moving along the shore, matching the progress of the pirogue.