Gunpowder Green

Chapter 30

The hiss of the oxyacetylene torch was like a viper, angry and menacing. It was exactly how Billy Manolo felt tonight as he wielded his welding equipment.

He was angry. Angry and more than a little resentful. First of all, he was supposed to have this stupid gate finished by tomorrow morning. He’d been following a classical French design and using mortise joinery, and the project seemed to be taking forever. Marianne Petigru had made it perfectly clear to him that if he missed one more deadline, he could forget about getting any more work from Popple Hill. But Marianne was a snotty, rich bitch, he told himself, who could go stick her head in a bucket of swamp water for all he cared.

At the same time, he genuinely liked working on these projects. They were good jobs, substantial jobs, and they usually involved design challenges. It also didn’t hurt that he was able to earn several hundred bucks a crack.

And, face it, he told himself, there was no way in hell he could ever parlaz vous with those rich folks by himself and convince them to hire a guy like him to create wrought-iron gates, fence panels, and stair rails for their fancy houses. Hell, if he were a rich guy, he wouldn’t hire a guy like himself!

The other problem that gnawed at him was the fact that he was supposed to have gone out on another job tonight. And if he wasn’t along to practically hold the hands of those dumb yahoos, they’d sure as hell get lost. Because not one of those good old boys was smart enough to find his backside in the hall of mirrors at high noon. That was for sure.

But everything had changed when he received that stupid message from Booth Crowley. Old jump-when-I-sayso Crowley wanted him to meet him tonight at some guy’s house. What was that all about? Had the plan changed completely? Was he no longer honchoing their little clandestine operation?

Billy reached down with a leather-gloved hand and shut off the valve for the gas. He let the blue white flame die before his eyes before he tipped his helmet back.

Eight o’clock, the note had said. Eight o’clock. He guessed he’d better not cross a guy like Booth Crowley. Crowley was one important dude around Charleston, and Billy knew firsthand that he could also be a pretty nasty dude. Right now, he regretted ever getting involved with Booth Crowley.

Billy Manolo carefully laid his equipment on the battered cutting table. He shut off the lights in the garage, pulled down the door, and locked it.

As he picked his way across the yard, he told himself he had barely enough time for a quick shower.