I recognize that walk. It’s the walk of a man who’s spent more time horizontal in gutters than vertical on sidewalks.
I’m not surprised that John’s looking like something the cat puked up after eating roadkill. His once-white shirt is a Jackson Pollock of stains—piss yellow, blood rust, and fuck-knows-what brown. It hangs off him like it’s trying to break free, showing glimpses of skin that’s more bruised than not.
His face is a road map of new bruises and old scars.
“Wrennie!” he slurs, arms wide open for a hug I sure as hell ain’t giving. “My little girl!”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my skull. “What the fuck do you want?”
He stumbles closer, and the stench hits me like a freight train. Booze, piss, and something worse. My stomach churns.
“Just… just wanted to see my baby,” he mumbles, swaying on his feet. His bloodshot eyes dart to D, suddenly wary.
“So,” John slurs, “who’s the gorilla?”
I snort. “Someone you don’t want to fuck with.”
John actually looks scared for a second.Good.
D watches the whole shitshow like a goddamn hawk, his blue eyes ice-cold and merciless. Wheels are turning behind those eyes, calculating every move, every word.
I can tell that he’s taking in every juicy detail of the clusterfuck playing out before him.
John’s bleary eyes narrow, darting between me and D. A nasty grin spreads across his face, revealing yellowed teeth. “He your new sugar daddy, Wrennie? Didn’t know you were into the mob type.”
My fists clench so tight I can feel my nails digging into my palms. “None of your fucking business,” I snap. “Go home, John. Sleep it off.”
But the thought of him being at home with us…It’s repulsive.
The old man’s face crumples like a used tissue. “But… but I need…” He trails off, fumbling in his pockets.
I know what’s coming. Same old song and dance.
“Money?” I finish for him. “Tough shit. I’m not your fucking ATM.”
His eyes narrow, that familiar rage bubbling up. But then he looks at D again, and it’s like someone let the air out of him.
“Please, Wrennie,” he whines. “I just need a few bucks. For food.”
Yeah, right.
I’m about to tell John where he can shove his pathetic plea when something catches my eye. His hands are shaking like ajunkie in withdrawal. There’s crusty blood under his yellowed nails. And those bruises… Fuck, they’re fresh.
Goddammit.
I can’t dump his sorry ass on the street. Much as I want to. That’s not me.
I glance at D. He’s still watching this shitshow unfold. “Gotta deal with this train wreck,” I mutter, jerking my head toward John.
D nods. “Want me to get rid of him?” he asks.
For a second, I’m tempted. So fucking tempted.
But… “Nah,” I grunt. “I got this clusterfuck.” I pause, hating the words even as they crawl up my throat. “Thanks… for offering, though.”
D’s eyebrow twitches.
“Offering to get rid ofhim?” he says, cracking his knuckles like he’s warming up for a beat-down.
