She walks out with a guy, standing half naked on the porch, even though it’s cold as fuck outside. She waves to the man, then disappears in the house. The second she’s inside—and I hope she’s not watching through a window, though from what I’ve witnessed, she doesn’t seem the type—I jog out of my hiding place in the woods and up to the guy’s car.
He’s letting it warm up, head tilted back, eyes closed, not noticing me. I tug the passenger door open, gun in hand, and collapse into the passenger seat. “Jesus. It’s wicked cold, isn’t it? Turn the heat up.”
“Who the fuck are you?” the older guy sputters.
“A friend. Or at least, I hope we’re friends. That depends on you. Sorry about the gun. I’m sure friends shouldn’t pull guns on friends, but it’s a necessity. Tell me about the woman.”
“Kat?”
“As in pussy?”
He frowns. “I don’t think so? I think it’s just her name.”
“That’s boring. Continue.”
“I’m not sure what you want to know. I’ve met up with her a couple of times. We fuck and get high.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“On an app.”
“Which one?”
He opens the app, his gaze darting to the gun, and pulls up her name on the screen. I take a photo.
“Know anything about her past?”
He shakes his head. “I think she moved here from Houston.”
“What about her son?”
“Listen, can you put that gun down? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but it’s distracting with that thing pointed at me.”
“No. Ask again, and I’ll shoot you. Her son?”
He sighs, his voice trembling. “Nothing besides he’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, I got that from him too, but then look at me. Who am I to judge?” I grin at the guy who looks at me as if unsure what to say. I get that response a lot. “That’s good enough for now. Show me your ID.”
“What?”
“We’re friends, right? I need to know your name so I can come see you anytime I want…or in case I need to shoot your dick off, which is exactly what I’ll do if you tell anyone about me, especially Kitty Kat in there, her son, or the cops.”
“I won’t tell anyone! I swear!” He fidgets in his seat.
“I know. I trust you, pal. But I need some insurance. Lift your ass up so I can get your wallet, and then I’ll be gone andyou’ll be good because you don’t want to see me again—which is a kinda dick move from a friend.”
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“I know. Chop-chop. I don’t have all day.”
He grips the steering wheel, his whole body shaking now, but leans forward and to the left so I can pull his wallet out of his back pocket. There’s a photo of him with a woman and two young sons on one side, his license on the other. “Aw, come on, Lyle. Cheating on the wife? What will your sons think? My friend’s dad used to cheat on his mom all the time. He’s dead now, in case you’re wondering—the father, not my friend. Does she know her husband is an addict who fucks other women?”
“I’m not an addict,” he snaps.
“That’s what they all say. It’s what I say too. Does she know?”
He shakes his head.
