4 Bodies and a Funeral. Stephanie Bond

on the headrest.

      “Are you moving bodies today?” she asked.

      “Not today.” And after the stunt he’d pulled, he’d be lucky if Coop ever called him again.

      “Doesn’t it creep you out?”

      He shrugged. “It’s not pleasant, but someone has to do it.”

      “So it’s something you intend to keep doing?”

      If he went to work for The Carver, there’d be no time for body moving. The realization bothered him more than he expected. “I don’t know. I have a line on a new job.”

      “What kind of job?”

      “I don’t have all the details yet.”

      “You like being mysterious, don’t you?”

      “Not particularly.”

      “Does that mean you won’t be coming back to ASS?”

      “No, I’ll be there for a while longer.”

      Something flashed across her face—relief? He must be mistaken. Meg had been apathetic toward him from day one.

      “Am I taking you home?” she asked.

      “Nah—to a friend’s place.”

      She grinned. “You have a friend?”

      “Ha, ha.”

      “Is he a dropout, too?”

      “I’m not a dropout.”

      “Fine. Is he also too sexy for college?”

      That made him smile. The only person who thought Chance was sexy was Chance. And anyone he paid to sleep with him. “He attends Georgia State.”

      Her eyebrows climbed. “Really? What’s he studying?”

      “Business.” Wesley shifted in his seat over the idea of Meg being more impressed with his buddy than with him. “Chance isn’t much of a student, though.”

      Meg shrugged. “Most of life is about showing up.”

      Rankled, he took another long drink from the can. When it came to college, he’d shown up as much as Chance—to take his friend’s exams when necessary.

      “Where am I dropping you?” she asked.

      He gave her the address of Chance’s condo building a couple of blocks away.

      “Nice building,” she murmured when they pulled up.

      “Yeah.” She probably wouldn’t think much of the cramped town house where Wesley and Carlotta lived. Living in a “transitional” neighborhood was fine if a person did it for philanthropic or moral grounds, like Meg. But it was a different ballgame if you were there because you couldn’t afford to live somewhere else. Or if you were afraid to move because your parents wouldn’t be able to find you, should they decide to come home.

      Wesley realized Meg was staring at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

      “Fine,” he said, opening the door to climb out. “Thanks for the ride.”

      “No problem. See you tomorrow morning?”

      Her smile made his stomach feel funny. “Yeah, later.”

      The Prius rolled away, and Wesley dismissed the nausea as hunger pains.

      For Oxy.

      On the way inside the building, he called Chance again, and his friend answered on the third ring, panting. “Yeah?”

      “It’s Wes. I’m downstairs, but it sounds like you’re busy.”

      “Uh, yeah … ah, hell, come on up.” Then he disconnected the call.

      Wesley waved to the concierge who knew his face, then walked to the elevator and pushed the call button. He shook his head, wondering what he’d find his friend involved in today. From the way the big guy was huffing and puffing, he might have a whole herd of prostitutes up there. His chubby buddy had a fat trust fund and made tons of money selling soft-core drugs and hard-core porn on the side. Chance worshipped vices and excess, and was fun as hell to be around.

      On the ride up, Wesley mopped at his wet forehead with his sleeve. Just knowing he was close to the Oxy made him almost weak with relief. He jogged down the hall, then rapped on Chance’s door.

      After a few seconds, the door opened and Wesley stared.

      “Are you coming in, or what?”

      Chance had answered his door in just about every outfit and stage of undress imaginable, but this one topped them all.

      “What?” Chance looked down at his short, red, spandex unitard. “You’ve never seen exercise clothes before?”

      “Not on you,” Wesley said. “The headband’s a nice touch.”

      “Get in here, shithead.”

      Wesley walked inside and closed the door. Chance climbed on a new treadmill that took up a big portion of the living room, and increased the speed until everything on him jiggled. In the stretchy suit and black high-top tennis shoes, he looked like an overweight superhero.

      Wesley pulled on his chin. “What’s with the exercise kick, man?”

      “Just thought I’d start taking better care of myself. This treadmill is great. I can work out and still watch TV.”

      The big screen TV was playing porn, as usual.

      “And look—” From the tray in front of the treadmill that was meant to hold a book, Chance picked up a reefer and lit it with a lighter. “I can get high while I exercise.”

      “Nice,” Wesley said drily. “Does this have something to do with my sister’s friend Hannah calling you fat?”

      “No.” Chance drew on the joint until his face turned red, then exhaled a stream of smoke. “Maybe. You put in a good word for me, didn’t you?”

      “I will the next time I see her.” Wesley shook his head. The fierce and pierced Hannah would skewer Chance’s frat-boy ass and put an apple in his mouth before she ate him alive.

      “Dude, I’ve got Grimes working on getting you into another card game. He knows he owes us since it was partly his fault we got cleaned out last time.”

      “Okay, sure.” Wesley darted a look toward the cabinet where Chance kept his stock of pills.

      Chance saw him looking. “Need some more OC?”

      He tried to sound casual. “Yeah, but I don’t have any cash on me.”

      “I’ll get it out of your winnings. It’s in the second drawer. Take what you want.”

      Wesley was at the cabinet before his friend finished talking. “I’m going to need more of that urine screen, too.” To keep from testing positive when his probation officer asked for samples.

      “Top drawer on the right.”

      He pulled out a bag of the Oxy and felt a rush just holding a pill in his fingers. He popped one in his mouth and chewed to break the time-release coating. Instantly a feeling of euphoria bled through his chest and arms. As he floated toward oblivion, the thought slid into his mind that he’d forgotten to call Carlotta to tell her he wasn’t going to jail after all.

      Oh, well, she was probably too busy having fun on her first day back to work to worry about him anyway.

      5

      Carlotta stopped by her locker for her purse and her cell phone, feeling miserable. At least the break room was empty—all employees had been dispatched in the aftermath of the disturbance.

      Her dress was sticky and stiff and dotted with scorch marks from