Borrowing Trouble
“. . it’s actually an SUV. When you get a chance, give me a call or just stop by the Gas and Go.” Griffin finished leaving his message and took the stairs down from his office to the convenience store.
Owen and a couple of other mafia guys sat in the garage around the space heater. He’d bought a few truck bench seats off eBay and turned it into a seating area for customers. But most days the old dudes camped out there to play pinochle and drink Griff’s coffee.
“Where’ve you been?” Owen asked him, as if it was Griff ’s sole responsibility to provide entertainment.
“Work. That’s why they call it a job.”
“Bah!” Owen called. “Dink says that little jail-bait girlfriend of yours is having a birthday party.”
“She’s not my girlfriend and I already know about her party. What of it?”
“You going?”
“I’ve got a conflict,” he lied, and tried to walk away.
“We took a vote and we think you should go.”
“I didn’t realize my social calendar was under democratic rule.”
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