Chapter 12 #2
A lot needed to be done to the place. A bunch of shit still needed purged, the bathrooms needed straight-up gutted, and the same with the kitchen.
Carpets needed to be torn out, paneling needed to be removed, and drywall put up.
But ain’t none of that important until the distillery was up and running, and the girls had their distraction and their own business in place of Swamp Witch Designs.
Hex was smart, and his ol’ lady, too. Everything was going into the girls’ names on Swamp Witch and they were being added to the distillery.
If shit ever went sideways, both assets were protected and could keep running in our absence – be it if we all got locked up or fucked up to the point we wound up six feet under.
The girls would be provided for. They’d be safe and able to continue.
It was important to us.
The ride to the bayou house was short from here. A leisurely pace at about fifty or so, right on up to the turnoff into LaCroix’s yard.
It didn’t feel like home, yet – but then again, neither had the shitty-ass fuckin’ trailer I’d been in.
I was kind of a minimalist. I had clothes, a small television, my bike, my truck, and my tools. That was about it.
I didn’t need anything else. Seemed that Genesis was something of the opposite on that, though. Her small house held a myriad of tasteful art and all kinds of pictures and knick-knacks on the shelves.
“You, okay?” she asked me when I lingered on the ticking bike a touch too long, my hands resting on the tops of my thighs and my gaze locked on the old house in front of me.
“Yeah, just thinkin’ ‘bout what all I should grab. Probably just clothes and toiletries. I don’t need much. I got some tools here, but ain’t none of it shit I need for work, so I don’t need much.”
“Where is your truck?” she asked, looking around.
“I park that shit at one of the substations. I prefer to ride more than rattle around in that old thing,” I said, heaving myself up onto my feet and my leg over the bike.
“I hear that,” she said.
“It ain’t much to look at, sorry about that,” I mumbled, following Cy up onto the front porch and into the house.
“Used to be LaCroix’s daddy’s old place.
He died a while back, and LaCroix can’t stand it here for a bunch of reasons, so he had me, Cy, and Axe move in here to keep the place from rotting completely.
We got plans to really restore it, but we got so much shit going on and not enough hours in the day. You get it, I’m sure.”
“I do,” she admitted.
“Such is the life of a working man,” I said. “Gimme just a few minutes to grab stuff and we’ll go.”
“Take your time!” she urged. “Not like I’m in a hurry.”
I smiled and turned to go down the hall past the stairs to my room in the back.
She stayed behind in the living room. My room was a pit, so I was grateful for that.
It wasn’t no time at all before I had my shit in a bag and was in the bathroom to toss the last of my shit – beard wash, soap, shampoo, conditioner, beard oil, hot comb, beard balm, cologne – all the things, in with my laundry.
Gym bag stuffed to the gills, I found her looking at dusty photos on the wall in the living room. None of them had anything of LaCroix or his family past the age of eight or so when his mom… well… it was sad. Let’s just leave it at that.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She smiled, and I could see the curiosity, clear and bright, behind those eyes – but she resisted the urge to ask.
We flew back to the city, making the forty-minute drive or so in less than thirty. She was kind enough to wear the bag across her chest rather than let me struggle with parsing shit out to make it fit between my two cases.
We pulled up behind her house, and I parked in the driveway outside her closed garage door. One of the first things I checked was that it was secure before I let her go up to key our way in through the back door.
I took my bag off her after she’d locked up behind us, her cat running up the back hall to scream at her for being gone and leaving him cooped up inside the house.
“Sorry, Charlie,” she said with a little chuckle.
“I’m just going to put this in the living room,” I said, slipping past her.
“All good,” she said and went into the kitchen to appease the cat with a treat or some wet food or some shit.
“Anything you need done?” I asked.
“Actually, yeah,” she said. “I need to hit the grocery store. I usually do this time of the week.”
“I gotcha.”
“We’ll take my car, if it’s alright.”
“Sure,” I said.
I moved the bike out of the way, she pulled out, and I tucked it off to the side on the opposite side of the garage along the back stoop. It was in the short strip of dying grass between the house and the alleyway, but safe from getting hit, which was all I cared about.
Fuck ever bringing my truck back here.
I usually hated shit like grocery shopping, but taking the trip with Genesis was a delight.
We talked about food, the things we liked, and the things we couldn’t stand.
It was nice that she wasn’t picky or high-maintenance.
I was more obnoxious on that front with the dietary restrictions that I followed to maintain my fitness.
She made some concessions, and so did I. We met somewhere in the middle, and it was so easy with her.
It definitely piqued my interest further.