“You want gas, you can earn the money to buy it.”
Cutter snorted again but didn’t say another word.He thought it was fine and dandy for Eugene St.George to talk about earning money.He lived an easy life, had everything he needed, and if there was something he wanted, all he had to do was open the company till and help himself.No one would call him a thief.No one would come running after him, threatening to lock him up.Some people had it made in life, that was all there was to it, and Cutter wasn’t one of them.He couldn’t earn decent money because he wasn’t trained for a damn thing.The only jobs he could get were ones any idiot could hold.They always bored him so he quit.
Eugene was heading out of town, not in the direction of the big brick home or the gem pits but in the opposite direction, the one that was familiar to Cutter.“Where are we goin’?”
“Your place.”He peered through the windshield.“Is this the turn?”
Instantly Cutter was wary.Folks from town came to his place only when something was wrong, like when his daddy ran the old truck into a tree or when his mama died.“Why are we goin’ to my place?”
“So you can change your clothes.Is this the turn?”
The reason was fair enough.“Yeah.”
As soon as Eugene made the turn, the Lincoln began to bounce on the rutted road, and the deeper into the woods they went, the worse the bouncing became.Momentary relief came with the occasional spin of a wheel, but the tires were new, regaining their traction every time.So the jolting went on.“Jesus,” Eugene breathed at one point, “and you do this on a cycle?”
“I got a hard butt.”
“Must have a hard head.Why in the devil don’t you live in town like everyone else?”
“’Cause this place is mine.It’s all I got.”
“It’s isolated.”
“I like it like that.”
“You ought to be with people.”
“I don’t like people.”
Eugene snickered.“You picked the wrong planet, boy.”
“I didn’t pick a goddamned thing,” Cutter blurted.“It was picked for me.I didn’t have no say at all.Even this house”—which was coming into sight, looking pathetically ramshackle in the rain—“was forced on me, but it’s the only one I got.”
The car came to a stop.Yanking at the door handle, Cutter was quickly out and tramping through the sludge toward his front door.With a single push it was open.He went through without looking back and kicked it shut with a heel, just like he always did.In the next instant, Eugene threw it open again.
“Don’t you have any manners?”he growled.
Cutter hadn’t expected him to come in.He didn’t need help changing his clothes.“What do you want in here?”
“I want to look around.”He was scanning the room with a disapproving look on his face.“You live here?”
“Something wrong with that?”Cutter asked.He didn’t love the place either, but it was the only home he had.
“Sure is.It’s a mess,” Eugene decided.From a battered table covered with dirty cardboard containers and plastic plates, he moved past an upholstered chair whose shabbiness was barely hidden beneath a pile of worn clothes.“It’s filthy, and it smells.Don’t you have any pride?”
“I wasn’t expecting guests.”
“What I’m talking about’s got nothing to do with guests.”He glanced into the shadows, of which there were many, and frowned.“Where do you sleep?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Where do you sleep?”
Cutter hitched his head toward the darkest end of the room, where a narrow ladder led to a loft.In the barely discernible light, the loft didn’t look large enough to hold much.Eugene apparently thought the same thing.“You fit?”
“I manage.”He watched Eugene stare at the loft for another minute before dropping his eyes.They fell on the old, grimy-topped potbelly stove that stood out from one wall.
“Is that for heat?”
