"Hey, Dez!" I looked back as I got out of my Jeep. Patrick Murphy got off of his Harley and strolled up the driveway.
"Where the hell did you come from?"
"You just gettin
He followed me to the front door. I could hear Godfrey on the other side, pacing.
"Hang on a sec. I need to deal with Godfrey."
"What? He loves me."
"You don't remember the last time you came over unexpected?"
"He was just playing."
The last time Murphy showed up, he walked in without knocking. Godfrey barreled through the kitchen to the front door, and tackled him. By the time I realized what had happened, Godfrey's jaw was closed around Murphy's neck. My dog tolerated guests; He didn't actually like them unless they came bearing gifts.
I went inside, placed Godfrey's food dishes on the back deck, and sent him outside.
Murphy came in and found his way to the kitchen.
"You got any beer?"
"In the fridge."
"By the stove. What's up with you?" I was leaning against the counter watching him get his beer and Scotch.
"What do you mean?" He found a glass and poured his drink.
I stared at him. Clearly, he was a bit slow on the uptake this evening.
"Where the hell have you been all this time?"
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