Wylie #3
“There are a lot of different ways to be smart and a lot of different ways to be stupid,” Wylie insisted.
The main difference between him and Hannah was that he’d pursued an education while she’d put that plan aside to be a really great mom.
She was just as smart as him, smarter even, especially when it came to raising a kid.
“Anyway, I have a two-bedroom up there. I hope you and Kayla will come visit me, and I’ll be coming back here too.
” It was only a two-hour drive, Wylie had to remind himself.
“What about Diego? You’re practically living with him now, thanks to me.”
“We’re gonna be friends.” Wylie tried to say it with no inflection whatsoever, if only to get used to the fact himself.
She shot him a skeptical look. “Friends?”
“That’s what he wants. What else can I do?” He dragged both hands through his hair. There was no limit to his frustration with that man.
She reached out and patted his arm. “He’ll get there, Wy. Just be patient. Your mind moves so fast, and you’re so confident about everything you do. Sometimes it takes the rest of us mere mortals a minute to catch up.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
But there was something to what Hannah had said. Maybe his relationship with Diego wasn't about moving at the same speed, just making sure they were both headed in the same direction. It was something to hold onto.
Wylie made the rounds at the trailer park, wanting to make sure he’d said a proper goodbye to everyone before he left. He received a lot of baked goods and kind words for his trouble.
At dinner that night, several of the residents toasted him and made speeches about his accomplishments, including Nancy and Hannah and his neighbor Mac.
They recounted stories of his exploits around the Village, like the first time he’d tried to shock the pool but ended up using the wrong chemicals, which required them to drain the pool completely and start over.
Another neighbor recounted one of the epic fights he’d gotten into with an ex, which included shoving the man out of his trailer in his underwear in the middle of the day and then throwing the rest of his clothes onto the lawn.
Choice words were said between them and the residents learned a few new phrases.
There were also several stories about all the good deeds Wylie had done–fixing plumbing issues and repairing stuff around their homes, salvaging furniture and fixing appliances that the residents could then use.
The consensus seemed to be that he’d grown up quite a lot in his seven years of living with them at the Village, and they were excited to see him embark on this next big adventure.
There were no words to express just how much he’d miss them, but he tried.
Dolores had made her famous carrot cake for dessert, his favorite. They’d also compiled a book called “Village Wisdom” where everyone had written him a bit of advice, along with their well-wishes. Wylie teared up while reading it.
“Now, don’t you forget about us old farts,” Mac had said to him as his parting words.
“Never,” Wylie replied and gave the man a good, strong hug. “Take care of Hannah for me.”
“You’d better believe I will.”
After the party had concluded and he’d helped Nancy and crew clean up, Wylie made his way over to the pit with a slice of cake for Diego. It’d been less than twelve hours since he’d last seen the man, and he missed him already. How was he going to survive the lonely months ahead?
He parked behind the building and slipped in through the back door, which was propped open as usual. Diego was alone inside with the music on, sanitizing the counters. Wylie would miss this too–greeting customers, cutting up with his coworkers, closing alongside Diego.
“Hey, boss,” Diego said, glancing up from his work to offer him a warm, though tired, smile.
“Hey yourself.” Wylie wrapped an arm around Diego’s waist to give him a kiss. He’d developed this routine himself, a smooch whenever one of them left or arrived. Diego had adapted to it quickly and now expected it as part of their greetings and goodbyes.
“I brought you this.” Wylie handed him the paper plate of carrot cake wrapped in cellophane.
“I made this for you, if you’re still hungry,” Diego said and pulled a Cuban sandwich wrapped in butcher paper from the to-go shelf.
“I’m still full from dinner. I’ll save it for later.” Wylie patted his stomach. He was going to work up an appetite tonight. He planned to defile Diego seven different ways and then eat that delicious sandwich he’d made for him afterward. “Eat yours while I take over,” Wylie said.
He took the rag and bucket of bleach water to finish the counters while Diego grabbed a fork and some napkins.
But before he was even able to take his first bite, there was a commotion at the back door that startled them both.
A moment later a man wearing a ski mask appeared.
He stalked into the kitchen where they stood and pointed a gun at them both.
Not a fake gun, a real one.
Wylie’s heart was in his throat, rabbiting wildly as he broke out in a cold sweat. As for Diego, a look of dread came over him as his gaze swung from the intruder to Wylie and back again.
“The fuck?” Wylie said, more to himself than anyone else.
Even with the mask, he’d recognize that Fall Out Boy t-shirt anywhere, along with the tics that characterized the man himself.
Cody Wallace. Fucking Cody Wallace had run up on them with a friggin’ ski mask and a gun. What the ever-loving fuck was going on?
“Hey, there. Take it easy.” Diego raised both his hands in a defensive posture and turned slowly to angle himself between Wylie and Cody. Meanwhile, Wylie’s mind was still racing at why the fuck Cody Wallace was attempting to presumably rob them wearing a piss-poor disguise.
“What’s up, man? What do you need?” Diego asked.
“I want your money,” Cody said, trying to deepen his voice and doing a bad job of it. For a moment, Wylie thought this might be a prank, some kind of sick joke, but Diego was taking the threat seriously, and the gun sure as shit didn’t look fake.
“Allright, we can do that for you. Just follow me to the register,” Diego said.
He was the picture of calm, cool, and collected while Wylie was anything but.
The only time Diego looked truly rattled was when Cody’s eyes shifted toward Wylie.
“Eyes on me,” Diego snapped, getting both their attention with the authority of his voice.
“I’m the one you want, not him. He doesn’t even work here anymore. You keep that gun on me.”
“Diego,” Wylie said, bald terror leaking through his voice.
“You get fired or something?” Cody asked Wylie, like it was any other day and they were just shooting the shit.
“I’m moving,” Wylie said bitterly, pissed that Cody was pointing a gun at the man he loved while he stood there, trapped by his own inability to do anything about it.
Cody nodded, seeming to accept the answer, and flicked the gun to indicate that Diego should proceed.
Diego walked slowly toward the register, still with his hands raised by his ears.
They were headed to where Wylie was usually stationed, the one facing the front of the house, thankfully empty at this late hour.
Wylie should be the one doing this, not Diego.
Diego punched the No Sale button to open the register and quickly gathered up the bills. “There’s about two hundred dollars there,” he said and handed it over.
“That’s not enough,” Cody complained while stuffing the wad of cash in his dirty jeans. He had a restless, agitated look about him as his wild eyes darted around the restaurant. “Whaddaya got on ya?”
“Nada,” Diego said shortly and gave him a flat look.
“Fuck, man.” Cody knocked his temple with the muzzle of the gun. The gun jostled wildly in his hand, and Wylie tensed while hoping Diego was prepared to hit the deck if Cody accidentally blew his own brains out.
“There’s about seven hundred more in the safe,” Diego said, probably just to appease him, “but you’ll have to follow me to the office to get it.
” Diego hadn’t used Cody’s name once, though he must surely recognize him.
Was it intentional on Diego’s part, allowing the man to believe he might get away with this?
Cody glanced between Diego and the front door as if it were a trick, as if the cops might bust in at any moment.
If only. They didn’t have a panic button at the pit, and Wylie hadn’t pulled out his phone either, first because he was confused about what the hell was going on, then for fear that Cody might use the gun.
The three of them were the only ones in the building, trapped in this doom spiral of bullshit.
“Do you really want to do this?” Wylie asked Cody, thinking maybe he could reason with the man.
Cody had shown up at the pit higher than a kite at times, but he’d always been reasonable before.
That said, the gun was terrifying. And what a betrayal for Cody to pull this shit after all those free meals.
That riled Wylie up all over again, and now he had to deal with Cody pointing that gun at his Diego.
“I mean, seriously, man, what the fuck?”
“You don’t know my life, asshole,” Cody said with uncharacteristic venom as the gun swung back in his direction.
Shit, he really didn’t love that. It triggered his fight-or-flight instinct, made him want to run at Cody full-on or throw something to distract him, then tackle him to the ground.
“You think you know me? You don’t know shit. ”
“Wylie, please, shut the fuck up,” Diego said, still in that calm, measured tone of voice, but there was a nervous strain to it too.
“This is between you and me, right?” Diego said to Cody, trying to reestablish the connection between them, deliberately drawing the danger away from Wylie.
“Point the gun at me. I’m the one you have to worry about. I’m the only threat here.”