Chapter 12
DEXTER
Me:
I swear I only went to the restroom, sir.
Dave:
Whatever happened has my son calling in favors.
Handle it or you will find another place to live.
My fingers make their way through my hair for the millionth time since I got us back home from the auto shop.
After the cops took that jagoff away, Russ handed something to Johnny before pulling me back to my car and demanding we go home.
The only reason I let myself be dragged away was the small wave and smile I got from my boy on the way out the door.
Then, I got the joys of an hour long rant from my best friend followed by getting chewed out via text from my landlord – a man with the ability and means to make a person disappear permanently.
“Ignore my father,” Russ exclaims, exploding through my front door like he’s some action hero. “He’s just butthurt that my first time removing someone’s existence isn’t one of his competitors. But personally, I think it’s better that it isn’t. Plausible deniability an’nat.”
I’m going to end up with ulcers from this man.
If it wasn’t for the fact that we’ve been neighbors and best friends for the last five years, I would be running for the hills.
Pushing up off the sofa, I head to the kitchen to make something for a late lunch.
It’s too early for dinner, but if I don’t eat something before my shift starts at six, I’ll make myself sick.
I operate on autopilot and it’s not until I hear Russ squeal that I realize I defaulted to dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and mac and cheese.
Exasperated, I pull out the divided plate I keep in the cupboard for him and plate some up, adding a packet of apple slices from the fridge.
From the condiment shelf, I grab out the dipping cup leftover from the last time he was over for dinner.
He’s the only Little I’ve ever met that mixes barbecue with ranch to dip everything.
I’ve seen ketchup and hot sauce plenty getting mixed with ranch dressing, but this weirdo mixes barbecue with everything if he can.
That’s why I am the one to cook when we’re eating together.
I don’t want to repeat barbecue mashed potatoes ever again.
No matter what he claims, they do NOT taste like barbecue potato chips.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Dex. Johnny prefers sweet and sour sauce. My barbie-ranch is all mine.”
I file that information away with a grunt while I finish up my food.
After telling Russ to head on back to his own home, I go upstairs to shower and change into my work uniform.
I still have over an hour before I start, but it’s going to take at least half of that to find a parking space.
When I get back downstairs, Russel has already let himself out – hopefully headed only to his place for the evening.
I don’t have the spoons to deal with a rampaging Russ tonight on top of another shift at the store.
I was mostly right in my estimation on how long it would take to find a spot.
I’m only ten minutes late for my shift tonight.
Jeff tells me that he’s disappointed, I lack work ethic, yadda yadda.
I never really care when he goes into one of his lectures because I know nothing will ever come of it.
Until they can stop bleeding people to the bigger corporations that can afford to pay better, they’ll never fire the people who actually show up.
Plus, the longer Jeff rambles, the less time I have to deal with the general public.
Eight and a half painful hours later, I pull into my driveway.
I’m off for the next forty-eight hours and plan on spending at least twenty of those sleeping.
I got complacent the last few years with having office jobs for the holidays.
I swear people were not this dickish to retail workers the last time I worked it.
Glancing over at Russ’s side of the duplex, I notice a strange car in his driveway.
I really hope he didn’t go out and buy a car by himself.
Dave might actually kill me if his son gets duped again so soon.
But considering it’s like three in the morning on a Wednesday, I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see it.
Knowing the little hurricane, he’ll be blowing through the front door in about four hours to tell me all about it before he leaves for work.
Once I unlock my front door, I have to run back to my car to get the stuff I picked up on my lunch break.
I don’t so much mind if the pasta and cereal sit in the freezing car all night, but the stuff in the glass containers and case of pop need to be brought in.
I saw what kind of cereal Johnny likes in his office, but I wasn’t sure what brand of sweet and sour sauce he prefers.
Our store carries only three brands, so I bought a bottle of each.
If he doesn’t like them, I’ll donate them to the food bank.
At least I didn’t buy anything that needs refrigerated, so I drop it just inside the door and drag my ass up to bed.
It’s not until my body is buried in the covers that I remember that I still haven’t gotten Johnny’s number, nor did I remember to give him mine. I slam my fists into the mattress beside me.
“FUCK!”
There goes any good mood I managed to scrape up.