Laura Lippman
“But Mrs. Nguyen, embarrassed by her uncharacteristic lack of vigilance on Tess’s behalf, called a cousin whose daughter had a friend who knew a guy who sometimes hung out with bikers. A family scandal, as it turned out, and Mrs. Nguyen was on the telephone for quite some time, clucking over the shame of it all, even as she passed keys to the La Casita regulars and kept one eye on her Mexican soap operas.
Finally, she rang off. “It’s ice house, out in the country,” she told Tess from her side of... the bulletproof glass. “Way out Pleasanton Road.”
“Ice house?” It was the second time today Tess had heard this strange term. The HEB clerk had claimed you could buy a phone card at one.
“Like package store, but with places to sit, maybe a pool table. But it’s not a nice place, not for nice young lady.”
“No problem. I’ll just take my gun.”
“Good idea,” Mrs. Nguyen said, nodding vigorously, although she certainly never needed a gun. Her office was an impenetrable fortress—Mrs.MoreLess
Finally, she rang off. “It’s ice house, out in the country,” she told Tess from her side of... the bulletproof glass. “Way out Pleasanton Road.”
“Ice house?” It was the second time today Tess had heard this strange term. The HEB clerk had claimed you could buy a phone card at one.
“Like package store, but with places to sit, maybe a pool table. But it’s not a nice place, not for nice young lady.”
“No problem. I’ll just take my gun.”
“Good idea,” Mrs. Nguyen said, nodding vigorously, although she certainly never needed a gun. Her office was an impenetrable fortress—Mrs.MoreLess
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