Chapter 18 – Kira #2
“Who actually lives there, a rabid squirrel that escaped a frat? A toddler-aged Tasmanian devil?”
“No but sounds like you need to lay off the cartoons,” I observe as we get the tables flat on its legs and straightened out. “Besides, I’ve been a little busy with this place.” I gesture around. “Not to mention keeping your idiot brother out of trouble.”
“Not to mention a certain new woman in town. Which is why you need to clean the place up a bit.”
“I’m pretty sure you have more time on your hands - and your dick - than I do,” I point out. “So, why don’t you get off my nuts about it and go out and pick out some frilly curtains if you’re so worried about it, Martha Stewart.”
“Blow me. At least my place has amenities, you know; essentials.”
“Ah, but does your place have this?” I step inside the storage closet and take hold of my new find.
I gently roll the flat, octagon shaped tabletop that’s sheathed in a leather cover.
It also has leather padding around the edges but still, I take care.
Once it’s clear of the threshold, I gesture for Hunt to take hold of it.
“Here, hold this while I grab the stand. ”
“Holy shit,” he whistles out. “Is this what I think it is?”
“As in not a chintzy, square folding table? You’re correct.” I huff as I position the tapered cedar base in the middle of the garage’s most open space.
“I’m impressed.” He nods. “A little in love, too.”
Hunt helps me to heft the table top and secure it to the base before the big unveiling. I unzip the protective cover, and when I free the tabletop, I’m gratified to see my stupid friend has a look of awe on his face.
“Where’d you find this?” He eyes my new-old poker table appreciatively.
“Thrift store in Indianapolis.” I shrug. It’s one of the few places I travel to pick up reusable car parts and such. This beauty of a table has brand new bright green felt, leather padded edges for arm comfort and built-in drink coasters.
“I could build a better one.” Hunt snickers, and he’s just being a pissy little asshole because he’s never even thought to build one.
“Have at it,” I sneer at him. “But until you actually do that, how about we use this one for now?”
“Fuck, yeah,” he nods favorably. “Let’s play.”
We’ve just gotten the oversized cooler rolled in and stocked when the door at the far end of the shop slams.
Hunt and I look up to find Ned, - a semi-retired bachelor who helps out part time with oil changes and mysteriously disappears on his lunch break - is here with Scottie, the man that’s owned the drive-in movie theater on the town’s outskirts since the dawn of time.
But their presence isn’t nearly as curious as their attire.
Both men are dressed to the nines, complete with pinstripes and fedoras.
“Holy shit, this is lame!” Ned bellows as they both amble across the concrete cavern that is my bat cave.
“Where are the chicks?” Scottie adds. “If this is how you guys spend your Friday nights, no wonder you’re single!”
“What are you two doing here, and what in God’s name are you wearing?” Hunt looks them up and down. “Cat’s Meow Night at Agnes’s is canceled,” Ned informs us matter - of -factly.
“I’m sorry, what?” Hunt dips his chin at them as his eyebrows rush to his hairline.
“Her granddaughter and your girlfriend showed up and ruined the fun.” Ned continues as if he didn’t just tell Hunt his grandmothers shenanigans.
“And don’t forget the nice-dressed Will Smith - lookin fella,” Scottie tacks on.
“We need someplace to sow our oats. Deal us in.” Ned plops down in one of the chairs and Scottie follows suit. “Beer me!”
I give a silent chuckle and shake my head as I flip open the cooler lid.
“There better be some hardcore razzing and ribbing,” Scottie chides as I hand both him and Ned a beer.
“Actually, we like to argue over who has the dirtiest job in town.” Hunt folds his arms as Jace pushes through the same door the Blues Brothers just walked through.
Both men erupt in jolly laughter.
“Oh buckle up, you little shitheads,” Ned chortles. “Our time to shine.”
“Ohhh…remember Edison?” Scottie pipes up after we’re a good few hands into our night. “He ran that septic business!”
“Oh yeah, that tragic day he drove over a curb and his truck load of porta-potties went flying all over highway 3.”
“To be clear, this is the Dirty Jobs Club, not the downright disgusting.” Hunt shudders, looking like a repulsed teenage girl.
“Pussy,” Scottie spouts while cracking another beer.
“I get plenty, thanks for asking,” Hunt returns, still studying his cards.
“Now we’re talkin’,” Ned pipes up over the edges of his own hand. “Who else has been landing some hot snatch?”
“West,” Hunt supplies again in answer.
“Shut your goddamn mouth or I’ll find a new place to store my ratchet wrench,” I warn him as he stuffs a bit of pizza in his mouth and holds his hands out.
“Are you talking about that sweet little thing holing up at Agnes’s house?” Ned cocks his head.
“The one who switched up my Old Fashioned with Agnes’s Blast Ball at the bar?” Scottie asks, his eyes taking on a traumatized trance.
I chuckle warmly at my girl’s antics the two hours she worked at the Crafty Coyote.
“Someone’s in love,” Hunt jeers like he’s in fifth grade, and flashing his toothpaste-commercial grin.
“Don’t go throwing that word around,” Jace grumbles.
“It’s not a bomb.”
“Says the guy who hasn’t been in a serious relationship since…” Jace looks up finally, giving Hunt an expectant eyebrow.
“Wow, listen to you,” Jace muses, laying his cards face down on the felt, our round temporarily forgotten. “Maybe you should take Old Man River’s place in the mayors office.”
“Pffft…” I scoff. “No one would vote for me. I’m an ex con.”
“With a head for business,” Jace taps at his temple.
“Plus I’m an outsider,” I remind them. “I’ve only lived here two years.”
“Long enough for you to know how this place ticks,” Hunt holds his hands out. “But not long enough to be biased towards anyone’s favor.”
I raise my voice slightly as I start to get irritated. “And an ex c on ,” I say yet again and wave up and down myself for emphasis. I swear, these fucking assholes get an idea for a good joke and then latch on and run with it for as long as they can
“But you turned your shit around, and now you run a successful business. Plus you’ve been keeping my shitstain of a brother busy,” Hunt presses on. “You keep all the riff-raff in check,” he jokes in an old man voice.
“Can we get back to the game?” I chuck a small handful of popcorn at his face, making him chuckle. “Maybe get through this hand, at least?”
They both seem to concede as they pick their cards back up.
“But seriously, the old coot is retiring,” Jace informs us. “If he doesn’t die first. Seriously, one of these days he’s not going to wake up from one of those afternoon naps.”
“And who is going to take his place?” I ask pointedly as I rearrange my cards, making sure they realize that won’t be me.
Jace shakes his head. “No one wants to run.”
“So there will be no mayor?”
“Won’t be any different than the last five years, really,” Hunt shrugs absently, studying his cards and Ned retrieves a cigar from his inside jacket pocket. Jace glares at him as he strikes a match and starts puffing his stogie to life.
“What?” The old man look defensively at him, and Jace’s eyes dart to the ceiling, just in time for the sprinklers to deploy.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pushing out of his chair.