Lucky Bastard Read Free Page B

“But my mind’s made up.”
    Instead of shooting me, he gives me one final menacing look, then turns and walks out of the office. Thug Two follows suit, minus the glower, and smiles at me as he leaves.
    “See you around, Mr. Monday,” he says, then closes the door behind him.

T he last thing I want is to see the Chinese Mafia Welcome Wagon again. Not that I’m worried they’ll actually shoot me, but I’m guessing the next time I run into them it might not be so pleasant.
    So much for my boring life as a private investigator.
    It’s moments like this that make you appreciate that you don’t have anything tying you down and you can just pack up and go at a moment’s notice. Even though we’re able to settle down more than we used to, the nature of luck poaching still requires a nomadic lifestyle. After all, you can’t steal from your neighbors and expect to develop a real sense of community. That’s why most poachers rent instead of own. And why we embrace a solitary existence.
    When everyone you meet is just potential income, making friends becomes a problem.
    While luck poachers don’t generally form long-lasting relationships, we do marry and reproduce with nonpoachers.Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. But people who aren’t born with this ability can’t understand what makes us tick. They don’t know how to deal with our genetic anomaly. It’s the ultimate in irreconcilable differences.
    Even though my mother refused to poach, my father couldn’t accept that she passed her abilities along to his progeny. My grandmother cut out on my grandfather when my mom was just a little girl. And my great-grandfather abandoned my great-grandmother before Grandpa was even born.
    You can see the pattern here. When you can’t relate to your partner, chances are things won’t work out.
    Poaching luck isn’t for the sentimental. You need a strong sense of resolve and the ability to sever any relationship without a second thought. Or better yet, avoid developing relationships altogether. They just get in the way.
    No one ever mistook me for a hopeless romantic.
    While Tony Bennett may have left his heart in San Francisco, I’m thinking it might be time for me to find a new place to call home. Three years in one place is like ten in poacher years, especially after a not-so-social call from the Chinese Mafia. So I’m considering my options, running through potential territories, wondering if I could get enough work in Kauai to make setting up shop feasible, when my office door opens and in walks a woman who looks like she just stepped off a 1950s Hollywood film set.
    My office is suddenly the popular place to be.
    With long, dark hair, dark eyes, and ruby-red lips, the woman has a face that could make a happily married man forget all about his wife and kids at home. Since I’m not married and I don’t have any kids, I’m already two steps ahead. Although I can’t see all of her curves inside her red circle skirt and her clinging, black, V-neck wool sweater, I can see enough to make me wonder if she’s the type to wear French-cut underwear or a thong.
    And suddenly Kauai is on the back burner.
    “Can I help you?” I say, wishing I’d worn a green T-shirt. I look good in green.
    She doesn’t answer right away but looks around my office, which isn’t much to look at. I’m a bit of a minimalist when it comes to interior decorating. It’s just a desk, two chairs, a lamp, a filing cabinet, a small refrigerator, my laptop computer, and me.
    “I’m looking for Nick Monday,” she says, saying my name with such disdain that I’m wondering if we’ve met.
    “It’s your lucky day,” I say, flashing my most charming smile. “Because you’ve found him.”
    She gives me a forced smile that lets me know she’s not charmed.
    I have that kind of effect on women. Unless they’re corporate-coffeehouse baristas. It’s complicated.
    “Have a seat,” I say, pointing to the chair across from my desk.
    She walks toward