Page 6

Kage glanced at his watch as he took a piss.

Now I have to deal with this shit! The camera signals kept jumping, letting him know that someone, or some thing , was on his property, and it wasn’t no damn animal.

He shook his dick, flushed the toilet, washed his hands, then marched downstairs.

Grabbing one of his rifles from the wall, he swung the door open and made haste in the general direction of the suspected encroaching upon his land.

Before a good two minutes had passed, he spotted little green riding hood bopping towards him.

Her sweater was the color of elm leaves, and her sneakers were army green with white soles.

She had the same bag from earlier, and she walked quickly now, with a tinge of trepidation mixed with pure determination clear on her face.

“Why in the fuck are you still here?”

“You think I want to be after the first welcome you gave me? My truck won’t start. I would’ve called someone to help me, but I can’t get a signal.” She held up her cellphone. “Can I use your phone?”

Kage clicked his teeth, sliding his tongue against his incisors. He looked out into the wilderness and sighed.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

She followed him inside his home, then stepped aside as he closed and locked the door behind them.

“Here.” Instead of handing her his cellphone, he gave her a bunch of bullets.

She looked at the bullets, then shoved them in her pocket. “Would’ve been nice if you wouldn’t have taken them away in the first place.”

“Would’ve been nice if you kept your smart ass off my gotdamn property.”

“You said there are some drug addicts somewhere out here, but you left me defenseless.”

“You’re hardly defenseless. Your mouth shoots one hundred bullets a millisecond.

Besides, you have a knife in your back pocket in case someone gets squirrely.

” He smirked as he watched her eyes widen, but she didn’t admit to a thing.

Regardless, the understanding was made. He handed her his cordless landline.

“No cell phone, huh?”

“Do you want to make a call or not?”

“Of course I do, but now it’ll be harder to trace where I am.”

What she didn’t say was just as clear as what she had. This lady is a piece of work. Imagine needing assistance, and insinuating you may be in danger from the very person you’re asking for help? The motherfuckin’ nerve…

“I have a cellphone, but the landline has better sound quality, and your call is less likely to drop.”

She nodded in understanding as she dialed a number.

He left her standing close to the front door, and made his way into the kitchen to fix another pot of coffee.

She yelled out, asking for his address. He told her, then heard her make arrangements for a tow.

He could’ve done the haul for her, but didn’t feel she deserved it.

“Okay, thanks.” She walked into his kitchen and handed him the phone. “Your house is nice,” she stated in a silky tone.

He placed the phone down, and started making the coffee.

“I guess it’ll take about forty-five minutes to an hour for ’em to get out this way. Do you mind if I have a seat?” she asked while wandering about, looking at his hanging pans and then walking back into the living room, her eyes glued to the few framed photos he had on the fireplace mantel.

“Yeah, you can park it.”

Instead, she just kept standing there, staring at the photos.

Some were of his mother, others of him and his favorite motorcycle.

Fishing trips with a few of his cousins over the years.

Then her eyes landed on the framed drawing of the river.

She squinted as she glared at the bottom right hand corner.

“Wait. This is your name, right? You drew this?”

“Yeah. Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure, but this… oh my goodness. You’re really good.

I mean really good! I thought this was a black and white photo at first. I like to sketch and do it for work, but they’re nothin’ award-worthy.

I mainly do it for the museum displays, informative books and literature for work.

I’m not an artist by a long shot, but I’ve always admired people who can draw to the degree that you can. Any more drawings I can see?”

“Evidently you think I’m some sort of cartoon character, so why don’t you just look at me, the living sketch, instead?”

They glared at one another before she burst out laughing. Shaking his head, he turned around and grabbed two coffee cups from a cupboard.

“Why are you like this?!” she asked between chuckles.

“Like what?”

“Sarcastic and miserable. You’re livin’ in the middle of paradise, but instead of appreciating that, you’re paranoid, thinkin’ anyone that wanders onto your property must have an ulterior motive and is out to get you.

You have more cameras than a Hollywood blockbuster movie set, and you’re mean!

What is wrong with you?” She was still laughing—but he could tell she was genuinely serious, and wanted answers.

“I have reason to be paranoid. If you only knew.” He sighed. “As far as bein’ mean, well, I don’t know about that,” he shrugged, “I consider myself just honest. Some folks can’t handle the real deal. I’m crazy and cantankerous, I guess, too.”

“Honesty isn’t a problem, at least not for me. It’s the heartlessness that I take issue with, Mr. Wilde. The react now, check the facts later is a recipe for disaster, too. You are legit mean. Trust me on this.”

“So the fuck what?” He tossed up his hands.

“And it’s good and wonderful that I don’t care about your recipes, for disaster, seasonings, or pots and pans to cook it with, either.

Furthermore, I don’t owe everyone kindness.

That shit is earned. Bein’ kind to folks who don’t deserve it ends up gettin’ people bein’ taken advantage of, or worse yet, killed.

And why should I trust you ? I don’t even know you, woman.

You don’t know me, either, to make any assessments, predictions, calculations and evaluations ’bout me, or my life. ”

She rolled her eyes. “Defensive as hell, too. You’re too young to be this unpleasant and ornery.

I mean, your voice, which sounds like you smoke about eighty packs of cigarettes a day, and that beard of yours, though nice, ages you a little, but I give your age forty, forty-five tops. Far too young for such jaded ways.”

“Why do you think I’m in my forties?”

“It’s the eyes. The eyes always tell me how old someone is.”

“Forty-three. How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing.

Six year age difference ain’t much. She started talking again, softly reading him the riot act. All about being a good person, and that other snowflake, peaceful living shit some individuals liked to spew.

Regardless, he liked the sound of her voice, the way she moved, and how she wasn’t afraid to express herself.

It made her chatter a bit more tolerable.

The more she spoke, the more attracted he became to her.

She stood her ground. Wasn’t easily rattled.

Danced between politeness, sardonic humor, and candor, and had a satirical streak of her own.

Not to mention, she was fucking gorgeous. And a nature lover.

They regarded one another. Like rival teams trying to figure out each other’s next play.

“Oh, shit!” She closed her eyes and slowly ran her hand over her face. “I almost forgot. I’ve got a rabbit in my truck, and it’s on ice. My friend’s pet rabbit died, and I’m supposed to preserve him for her. He’s going to spoil. Once they get to a certain state, it’s much harder to keep the—”

“Oh, just stop it, will ya?” he hissed. “You didn’t almost forget shit.

You knew damn well once ya got here and got comfortable, you were going to work that into the conversation if you pegged me as a person who just might possibly give a damn.

Why didn’t ya just say, ‘Can you please help me put Mr. dead Bugs Bunny in your fuckin’ freezer so I can stuff his guts later?

’ I don’t need the whole dissertation, song and dance.

You think you’re slicker than you actually are. ”

She let free a loud sigh. Crossing her arms, she cocked her head to the side.

“Well then, since you’re apparently an irritable, horrible, belligerent and nasty ol’ psychic who behaves like the troll under the bridge in the Billy Goats Gruff tale, mixed with a little Oscar the Grouch for good measure, can you please drive me over to pick up the rabbit before the ice in the cooler completely melts? ”

“…Mmm hmmm. Soon as I clean my garbage can that doubles as my humble abode.” Her lips pursed, seemingly squelching the urge to laugh. “Let’s get goin’. You’ve made a mistake.”

“What mistake?” She zipped up her hoodie.

“Big critters would smell that Easter bunny once he starts to thaw. They’ll tear your truck up tryna get to it, in no time flat. I’m sure you knew to put it in a sealed cooler, but that won’t stop their enthusiasm to at least try.”

He turned the coffee pot off, then grabbed his keys.

Off they went down the bumpy road in his truck, soon arriving at her broken down vehicle.

The truck was covered in dried mud along the front bumper, and there was a hairline crack in the windshield.

It looked rather sad and pathetic, sitting there like that.

For an inkling, he felt sorry for her. He could see the disappointment flash across her face as she hopped out of his truck and made her way to her own.

He joined her, pushed her aside, and grabbed the carton from the back.

“I’ve got it,” he mumbled.

“It doesn’t weigh much, and even if it did, I could’ve handled it.”

“I know that. Obviously you’re the one that put it back there in the first place. Anything else you wanna prove to me that you can handle all on your lonesome?”

She didn’t respond.