A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2), Paul Tomlinson [bts books to read .txt] 📗

shirt. He coughed into his fist and looked down at his boots. He was embarrassed, but not because he could see my nipples.

“Mayor Brennan would like to have a word with you,” he said.

I made an exaggerated move to look over his shoulder into the corridor. “No armed thugs to drag me down to the town hall?”

Sheriff Galton did the embarrassed cough again. Maybe it was the sight of my bare skin. I refastened my shirt.

“I’m afraid you and I got off on the wrong foot earlier,” he said. It wasn’t quite an apology, but he looked me in the eye when he said it.

I smiled. “That was before you knew I had something that the Mayor wants.”

His eyes shifted down to the carpet again. “The Mayor is downstairs. He asks that you join him for a drink.”

The sheriff stepped back as if this was an offer that I couldn’t possibly refuse. I didn’t budge.

“Is he buying?” I asked.

Sheriff Galton looked confused.

“Some of them politicians think they’re above carrying cash,” I said. “They invite you to have a drink and then you end up stuck with the drinks tab and a bill for two hookers and a dwarf.”

“The drinks will go on the Mayor’s tab,” he said, without a flicker of a smile.

“I’d ask for that in writing, but you look like a man of your word.” I stepped out into the corridor and turned to lock my door.

The sheriff indicated that I should lead the way. I think he wanted to check me out from behind, so I put a little wiggle in my walk.

“Quincy Quigley, Mayor Jason Brennan,” the sheriff said as we reached the Mayor’s table. Brennan stood up and I shook his hand. He wasn’t what I expected – not like a politician at all. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a little grey in his hair at the temples. He was like a movie star who is past playing the young romantic hero but is still handsome and charming. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes but he wasn’t stoop-shouldered and he didn’t have a belly that covered his belt buckle.

“Mister Quigley, I would like you to meet my wife, Patricia,” Mayor Brennan said, indicating the woman on his left.

Patricia Brennan had dark, almost black hair and flawless pale skin. Her eyes were the sort of grey that looked purple and I wanted to reach out and touch her cool dry cheek. Her dark aquamarine dress was made of layers of shiny fabric and cotton lace and it made a lovely rustling sound when she moved. You know that thing where you think a schoolfriend’s mom is sexy? I felt like that. Attracted but guilty at the same time. She smiled at me in a way that made me think she could read my thoughts. Or perhaps she could see the bulge in my pants. I bowed and took her hand, kissing her fingers lightly. She smelled of violets. “Why, Mayor Brennan, you are quite the cradle-snatcher,” I said.

Mrs. Brennan was shrewd enough to know my blatant flattery was intended for her husband’s benefit, but she smiled anyway.

“My husband is only two years older than I,” she said. There was pride in the way that she glanced towards him.

“But time has been much less kind to him,” I mock-whispered behind my hand.

The Mayor was smiling broadly – a man who liked to hear his wife complimented. Perhaps it reassured him that he’d made the right choice. I sat down next to Mrs. Brennan.

While the introductions were being made, the sheriff had wandered over to the bar. He was probably making sure the drinks for our table were charged to the mayor.

“Do I need to apologise for the sheriff’s heavy-handedness earlier?” the Mayor asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “He was just protecting the town’s interests.”

“Sheriff Galton does a fine job in very difficult circumstances,” Mrs. Brennan said.

“I’ve witnessed some of those circumstances,” I said.

“Then you’ll understand why a firm hand is necessary,” the Mayor said.

I nodded. “Hiring mercenaries must be quite a drain on the town’s resources.”

The Mayor’s eyes narrowed and he regarded me a moment before answering. “We prefer to think of them as professional trouble-shooters.”

“Because they shoot at the first sign of trouble?” I asked.

The Mayor frowned but beside me, his wife laughed.

“Don’t be a stuffed shirt, Jason,” she said, patting her husband’s hand on the table. “Mr. Quigley isn’t a fool, so don’t treat him like one.”

“Please, call me Quin,” I said. When people said Mr. Quigley I kept forgetting that was me.

“And you must call me Pattie.”

On the tabletop, Mayor Brennan was now holding his wife’s hand. The way they exchanged glances and spoke to one another made them seem like a much younger couple.

“Are you two recently married?” I asked.

“We’ve been together going on twenty years,” the Mayor said, glancing towards his wife and smiling.

“You’ll have to let me know your secret,” I said. “The longest I’ve managed is not quite two years.”

“All I can tell you is that two people need to be very much in love – and they must trust one another,” the Mayor said. “No secrets.”

“I may need to work on that last part,” I said.

Sheriff Galton came back to the table with a tray containing whiskey, glasses, and a soda syphon. He joined us at the table and the Mayor poured drinks. I was pleased to see that Mrs. Brennan took her whiskey neat. She saw me looking and raised her glass in a toast and then downed the shot.

Small talk continued for a while and when asked questions I made up all kinds of answers that I didn’t remember afterwards. Eventually talk turned to the main topic. Apparently Mrs. Brennan – or Pattie as I now called her – had been primed to broach the subject.

“Clyde was telling us that you came into town with a most unusual robot,” she said.

It took me a moment to realise that ‘Clyde’ was the