Now he was going to vomit.
“Now we’re done,” he stated and moved to stand by his door and hold his arm out of it.
Becker moved to stand in front of him. “It would be a shame, somethin’ like this messed with a good thing.”
“Far’s I can see, the only one who’s got it good is you,” Hix remarked, dropping his arm.
“Now, I obviously wouldn’t know anything about it but I do live in this county and I’m very aware of the incredible job you do keeping illegal substances at a minimum. Probably wouldn’t buy you good returns in the next election, such things flooded our towns.”
“Nope. Probably wouldn’t. Then again, I sent people who pushed them to the Nebraska State Penitentiary, that might make me real popular.”
They had a preposterous staring contest that Becker lost, stating, “It appears we’re at a stalemate.”
“Nope again, ’cause if you don’t get your ass out of my station, it’ll be in a cell. Told you twice we’re done. Now I’ll make it clear. We’re done. You remain, you’re trespassing. And, well, not sure how much of a crime that is, might have to look a few up more to see how long I can detain you, but I wouldn’t mind havin’ you as a guest if I get to see you in our accommodation.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Becker hissed.
“Not me standin’ there when the sheriff asked me to get the fuck out.”
Becker glared at him then moved only to be yet another person to stop in his door and have something else to say.
“One last thing, you should talk to Greta. Tawnee’s beside herself. Appears Greta didn’t think the joke was funny either and cut her momma out. She was a might hysterical when she was relating things to me but it would seem she’s made some other bad choices in regards to her daughter in the past and this was the last straw for Greta. Tawnee doesn’t have much family. She needs her girl.” He assumed an expression of contrition. “She can be a wild one and she got a wild hair. It wasn’t the right thing to do, Hixon, and she sees that now. If she didn’t think it’d make things worse between her and Greta, she’d be here herself. But askin’ you, man of a Dare woman to man of a Dare woman, Greta’s the only kid Tawnee’s got, and Tawnee’s Greta’s only momma. We fucked up. Don’t let Greta take that too far, and just sayin’, Hixon, don’t let Greta take that too far. For her and her momma and shakin’ up the way other things should be.”
Hixon had no reply and Becker didn’t wait for one.
He took off.
Appears Greta didn’t think the joke was funny either and cut her momma out.
She’s made some other bad choices in regards to her daughter . . . this was the last straw for Greta.
He’d experienced just that the day before with Hope.
Right before he lost his shit on Greta.
What were the straws that came before?
He had no idea.
He hadn’t asked.
He hadn’t even known she had a mother in town.
Because he hadn’t asked.
Hell, he didn’t even know until yesterday morning what her surname was.
Because he hadn’t freaking asked.
It could be they had a screwed-up relationship that was a vicious cycle of this kind of shit that he’d just get caught up in.
It could be, Greta and everything about her being the exact opposite of the nominal he’d experienced with her mother (but it was more than enough), this was a long time coming.
Again, he had no idea.
He hadn’t asked.
He’d just laid her out and walked out.
Walked out on her.
Again.
But this time, he’d done it ugly.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
You think you escaped narrowly, I’m clueing into the fact that maybe the one who escaped was me.
He stared at his opened door in front of him and repeated a whispered, “Fuck.”
He lifted his hands, rubbed them over his face, and since he couldn’t do dick about that now—he needed to catch a killer, deal with his daughter, try to decide if it was right or would cause World War III if he backed his son’s play to live with him exclusively, come to terms with the fact his wife had divorced him over not buying her a goddamned ring, and he needed to let Greta have some time—he’d sort it out later.
However that needed to be.
You know how it needs to be, asshole, he thought. And this time, you’re fucked.
These thoughts occurred to him when he made it to the front of his desk, so he leaned into his hands on it and dropped his head.
That all sounds really complicated, Hix.
No, sweetheart, all that is really fuckin’ simple.
It was simple.
It was.
And he’d complicated it again being a dick.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
It was good it was beers with Donna, Tommy and Toast that night.
He was going to need them.
Lock This, Baby
Greta
“THAT WAS FUN, we won! Now pizza!” Maple cried, dancing in front of Lou and me, holding Andy’s hand, Snow on his other side, walking so close to my baby bro that their arms were brushing.
Andy, in his Glossop Raiders sweatshirt, turned and grinned at me.
He’d had a blast at the game. The Raiders won. And it hadn’t been the torture for me I’d thought it would be.
It was the Friday after the Friday that Hix had walked into my house and gutted me.
I wanted to say I was over it.
I wasn’t over it.
I wanted to say I was glad for Faith but not for Hixon that a sketch had been in this week’s Guide of the man who killed Faith’s husband and rumor around town was that the sheriff had everything he needed, including a witness who saw Nat pick up the guy who killed him, they just needed to find that man.
But I was happy for him.
I wanted to say that I hoped like hell they found the guy so Faith could have some closure and not so Hixon could also put this behind him.
But I hoped like hell they found this guy—for both reasons.
I also wanted to say he hadn’t looked amazingly handsome in the picture the Guide printed of him and his deputies in full uniform standing at the gravesite at Nat’s funeral last Sunday (fortunately, they’d printed that picture, not one of Faith or her kids).
And he didn’t.
He’d looked devastatingly handsome.
And I knew he’d looked devastatingly handsome before I’d even seen the picture because I saw it firsthand seeing as I’d been at that same funeral.
I’d also gone to pains to avoid the spear of his eyes I caught twice from where I was sitting and he was standing with his deputies at the side of the chairs set up for funeral-goers.
And, even though Lou had used her magical powers to put the hush on any talk about Hixon and Hope Drake around me, I still heard my fair share. And I wanted to say I wasn’t skimming the range of emotions between interested and concerned when gossip reported that Hixon had instituted a veritable freeze-out of his ex-wife, and it was a known fact his son was angling to live solely with his father (thus giving rise to speculation both had learned why Hope had divorced her husband).
But I absolutely was skimming that range of emotions.