Free Shot of Sultry by Macy Beckett Page A

the Bonger. We might have to make our own mischief.”
    So, which was worse, handing in a finished product that was dryer than saltines in the desert, or risking her reputation again? “Okay, look into it, but don’t pull the trigger yet. Let’s take the guys out tonight and see how it goes.”
    “You’re the boss.”
    The front door cowbell clunked again, and Pru walked in on the arm of an old man who looked uncannily like a balding Albert Einstein, minus the moustache. He stood at least ten inches shorter than his date, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin proudly, seemingly unaffected by their height difference.
    Bobbi waved at June’s grandma, which seemed like the friendly, small-town thing to do, and the couple ambled over. When they got within smelling distance of Bong and Weezus, they backed up a few paces.
    “Well, I’ll be,” the man said. “Tiny Bo Gallagher, all grown up.”
    “Bo?” Weezus asked with a snort. She kicked him under the table.
    Pru patted her date’s upper arm. “This is Judge Bea. He knew your mama.”
    At the mention of the word judge , Bong’s backbone locked, and his gaze flickered everywhere but the old man’s eyes.
    “A little too well, I’m ’fraid.” Bea spoke to her, but narrowed one eye at Bong. “She was a right regular customer in my courtroom.”
    “Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Bobbi said, turning the subject away from her crazy mother. “You’re Colton’s grandpa.” She remembered Trey insinuating nepotism had earned Colt his job on the force, and her interactions with Deputy Horndog left no doubt the accusation was true.
    “Mmm-hmm.” Now Bea turned his squinty pirate eye on her. “I hear he’s gonna be part’a your TV show.” The fact didn’t seem to please him.
    “That’s right.”
    “Listen.” He leaned into her crew’s odorous cloud as far as he was willing to go. “Your brother’s like family, but don’t think I won’t shut this thing down if I think you’re makin’ the town—or my grandbaby—look foolish. We clear?”
    Grandbaby? Colton was in his early twenties, like her. Bobbi wondered just how much coddling and law-bending the good judge had done for his kin over the years. That alone could make for an interesting piece, but she forced herself to let it go…for now. “Crystal,” she chirped with a forced smile.
    “I’ll be watchin’.”
    “Feel free,” Bobbi said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.” But that was a bold-faced lie, and from the wry grin on the judge’s lips, he knew it.
    After Pru and Bea excused themselves to a secluded table in the back, Bobbi sent Trey and Colton a text to meet her at Shooters at nine o’clock that night. As usual, Trey didn’t respond—he believed texting was for teenagers—but Colt messaged back almost instantly.
    Ok. Got a question 4u.
    What?
    r-u Irish?
    Think so , she typed. Why?
    Got any Cherokee in u?
    No.
    Let me know if u want some.
    Damn, she walked right into that one.
    ***
    Later that night, she and the crew set up inside Shooters, and since Bobbi couldn’t afford special lighting for this project, June had thankfully agreed to keep all the overhead fluorescents on. The place was packed, and for the thousandth time, Bobbi wished she had an assistant to collect signed waivers from anyone appearing on camera and to corral drunken patrons out of the shot.
    Weezus stood on a chair above the crowd, filming Colton as he slow-danced with a voluptuous brunette, and Bong extended the microphone above the couple on his “fishing pole,” collecting what Bobbi hoped was spicy dialogue. It didn’t matter that the jukebox had fallen silent half an hour ago. Colt and his flavor of the minute seemed all too content swaying to the tune of clacking cue balls, cheers, and laughter.
    Bobbi glanced around for Trey, but she couldn’t spot him in the sea of bodies. After nudging her way to the bar, she waited for June to finish an order before asking, “You seen