Page 34 of Playing Cowboy
Chapter Fifteen
Grady
“As you can see, gentleman...”
Ira Sullivan, head ofSullivan’s Sensations, the holding company that owns controlling shares of theGalloping Galleria, pauses in the middle of the food court.Or, should I say, what will eventually be the food court.“We’re only a few weeks out from completion.”
Parker and I share a look.“You sure it ain’t months?”Parker grunts, kicking at a Wet Floor sign covering a cracked piece of floor tile that already needs to be replaced.
“Weeks make months,” Sullivan says in that smarmy, citified way of his.
Parker clucks his tongue in that way that signifies a lecture’s coming.“They also make years,” he grunts menacingly.“And from what I can tell, this food court alone is weeks away from passing muster.”
“We’re fully up to code,” Sullivan insists, avoiding all our eyes as he steps over a torn sliver of Caution tape to set right a molded plastic chair that must have fallen recently.
“That air vent ain’t,” Parker insists, following closely and wagging a finger as a sliver of light penetrates a grill hood to shine on Sullivan’s freshly polished loafers.“And those fryers need to be good and covered before the health inspector issues a citation right out the gate.”
Sullivan turns to us all with a showman’s twirl.“Yes, well,” he huffs, scanning the three of us as we stand in the half-finished food court, the neon signs forBubba’s BBQ,The Country Chicken Hut,andDim Sum Delightswinking sporadically as the electricians in the control room down the back hall struggle loudly with a fussy fuse box.“I don’t see any clipboards in your hands today, gentlemen, so if we can proceed to the gem of the Galloping Galleria, we’ll get to the matter at hand.Yes?”
Parker adjusts his hard hat and rolls his eyes at me.I follow slowly, eager for a quiet moment with Chet as we lag a few steps behind.“How’s that pretty little ass of yours this morning?”I murmur as he limps along in yesterday’s outfit.
He snickers and glances up at me, eyes all dewy as Sullivan and Parker canoodle about permits and air flow a few paces ahead.“Nothing a few of your sweet kisses won’t cure,” he insists, briefly squeezing my hand before releasing it as a trio of construction workers trundles past.
“Kisses for sure,” I promise him, the night unfolding before my eyes so that it’s hard to see the exposed framework and unfinished wiring of the Galleria.“But nothing a nice, soothing bubble bath can’t fix.”
“I like the way you think, Cowboy,” he shmoozes as we turn a corner to find winking lights, dinging bells, and a section of the Galleria that looks, well ...complete.Not just in theory, but actually complete in practice.
Sullivan notes our wide eyes and frozen expressions.“I thought you’d approve,” he says to Chet, who with his stylish dress and city ways is clearly in charge here.“But ...will the studio?”
Chet drifts gently away.I smirk at the way he steps gingerly toward Sullivan, cheeks still stinging from last night’s roleplay activities.“Oh yes,” he insists, marveling at the casino-like lettering that spells outShooting Gallery Arcadein winking bulb lights above his head in a vast, arched doorway.“You sure we didn’t wind up in Vegas this morning?”
We all share a vague chuckle as my boy—myboy—goes toe to toe with one of Cumberland County’s biggest land developers without batting an eye.I glance at Parker, standing stoically in my peripheral vision.Even he is giving Chet a begrudging smile, which would amount to a hearty round of applause on anyone else.
“Funny you should say that,” Sullivan insists as we inch deeper into the arcade, neon lights ablaze on top rows and rows of high-tech pinball machines, video games, claw machines, ski ball lanes, and the crowning jewel of the place, an animatronic shooting gallery along the back wall, complete with swirling plates, opening windows, and swinging country bears.“Because that’s exactly the vibe we were going for when designing our Arcade.”
Parker approaches, then advances, swiping a replica-ready shotgun from one of the holsters facing the shooting gallery.“They operational yet?”he muses, sighting the gun as if heading out on a hunting expedition.
