Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

WHO IN THE *H* IS BOONE CARTER?  EPISODE 2


Trey and I clattered down the stairs to my battered old pick-up.  We needed to hustle if we were going to make it to work on time.  No surprise.  It's like this every day.  Every day I swear I won't wait for his sorry ass; and every day as I'm headed to the truck to leave without him he comes dashing down after me, swearing under his breath and threatening a whole lot of shit he has no intention of actually doing to me. 

When we reached the front door, though, I stopped in my tracks suddenly enough that Trey rammed into me from behind. 

"What the . . ."  he complained.

"We have company."

He shoved past me to look out through the lace curtains that adorned the window built into the front door.   His eyes went wide.  "A limo."

"Yup." 

"And they've blocked in the truck."

"Right again."

He gave me a long look.  "You know somebody owns a limo?" 

"No.  You?"

"Nope."
"Who do you 'spose it is?"

"Only one way to find out."  I pulled open the door and we strolled out onto the porch.  Trey waited as I pulled the door closed and set the deadbolt.  It was a waste of time really--what good is a deadbolt on a wooden door that is almost half window?  But old Mrs. Cunningham gets pissy if we leave it unlocked, and she's the landlady. 

Trey and I walked over to the limo together.

The car was a 2010 Rolls Royce Phantom, cream colored with long, beautiful lines.  Nothing tacky about this number.  Pure elegance.  The driver was pretty elegant too--a leggy blonde with wide blue eyes, her short hair slicked back under the traditional driver's cap.  Her gray driver's uniform was fairly effective at hiding her figure, but there's only so much camoflage can do when a girl's got a body like that.

"Which of you gentlemen is Boone Carter?"  She asked.

I raised my hand.  "That would be me."