Page 30 of With Spite

Creed:

Do you even have a gun?

Me:

Will a twenty-two take it down?

Creed:

Do you have a twenty-two?

Me:

No. I think there’s one under the counter, though. I heard Vera threaten a customer once.

Creed:

Jesus Christ. But no, sorry, you can’t take a moose down with a twenty-two. At least not without it suffering.

Me:

Dang. Foiled on all fronts.

Creed:

What would you do with it even if you did?

Me:

Use that winch on the front of the truck that you forced me to get. I’d drag it right up to Hux’s front door. Do you think he’d process it for me?

Creed:

I’m sure that he would think about it.

I barked out a laugh at that.

I wasn’t sure what to think about Huxley Hosea.

He was there, but he wasn’t.

On one hand, he was everywhere. But when he was present, he didn’t talk. He didn’t say hi, didn’t smile, didn’t even seem like he wanted to be there.

I couldn’t tell you how many times over the last three months that he’d stomped out of the side door of his butcher shop into the shared warehouse space and looked steaming mad as he made his way toward me and took over whatever hard job Vera had handed me that day.

When I’d say “thank you” he’d ignore me, get it done, then stomp back inside his cave.

I both appreciated and was intimidated by him all at once.

The fact that I was leaving this job and therefore would no longer get to see him as much really did something to my heart.

At least I got to still have him as a neighbor.

But the way the Hubers were going, I wouldn’t keep doing that, either.

I was one “wow you have such pretty hair, can I touch it?” away from buying a mobile home and depositing it in the middle of nowhere.

The only thing keeping me from doing that was the fact that I liked living in town.