He made the sign of the cross in one big ironic gesture and smiled wide. Then he finished his drink and fished out the ping pong ball floating in a red Solo cup to his right.
“Jesus Christo,” he said passing the yellow ball to his partner, and mostly suppressing a burp, “Rolling Rock is a shitty fucking beer.” His partner nodded and started to line up and aim for his shot.
Jones just shrugged again. “Didn’t need to. I heard the guy give a report to anybody with ears that walked by. Pedestrian shit. Predictable; plausible; probably true.”
“That guy killed someone with a shovel?” Wyatt was incredulous.
Jones shrugged a third time. “Someone who was trespassing on his property and attacked one of his guests.”
“What a goddamn hero.” They both shared a smile.
“I’mma let ya go Linds. Have fun with this one.” Jones started to walk off and Wyatt called after him:
“Hey Jones. Where’s your wife?”
“She said she’s in Minneapolis on business. Fuck that farce. She’s probably in our pool house fucking our daughter’s math tutor.”
But she kept her room a mess and the rest of the house relatively clean. And she never denied a request for hospitality or help. The golden rule was tattooed on her lower back in blocky Arial, black and bold; she lived by it.
“Yeah,” Kristin went back to the table to grab left silverware and glasses, cloth napkins, the water pitcher. “They’re getting here anytime now. We’re supposed to watch ‘Clueless’ and drink whiskey.”
“I’m not interrupting anything am I? Is this, like a girl’s night?”
“God, Ed, no. I watch ‘Clueless’ at least four times a year. Once a season.” She laughed to herself. “And besides, Roger is the one bringing the whiskey, so, not a girl’s night.”
“Roger is as gay as an Oscar Wilde quote.”
“He’s not a girl though, so, no. It’s not a girl night. And Lilith is coming. She might bring some weed…”