He talks to the window. “These cops showed up at the funeral. Asked a bunch of questions. Someone pointed them in my direction. I didn’t stick around to find out what they wanted.”
They could have been touching base with Donnie’s next of kin. To be honest, though, I don’t know if I would have stuck around either.
Maybe I can poke around inside Nick’s head. See if he knows anything about the brother of Donnie Leary. We’ll go from there.
“I can’t even brush my teeth?” Jesus, this kid. He goes from worried about his life to worrying about his teeth? Really?
“I’ll get you some essentials when I’m picking up the clothes.”
“You will?”
“Why not.”
“Sweet, I need─”
“Up-up-up!” I hold a hand up to the kid. “I’m not taking orders here. I’ll get you the basics. The rest you’re gonna have to live without until you’re settled somewhere.”
He slinks down into the seat and crosses his arms. He kicks the dash with the heel of his boot for good measure.
Classic pout. A move I previously thought was primarily for toddlers. Clearly, I was wrong.
“Break my dash and I’ll break you, kid. Comprende?”
He rolls his eyes. I take that as a yes. The rest of the drive to Target is quiet.
I need a fucking cigarette.
Where is the damn thing anyway?
Ah.
I pull it out and place it between my lips. Relaxation courses through me when I taste the tobacco. It’s a welcome familiarity but it also reminds me of all the reasons I gave up the habit in the first place.
Pissed at the weakness that continues to creep up on me every once in a while, I take the cig out of my mouth and toss it into the ashtray. That leaves me with one last thing to tackle tonight.
Target.
Then I’ll deal with the fact that I’m a fucking nanny now.
Man-nanny.
Manny.
I’m not a fucking nanny.
I don’t shop for myself, much. When I do, I’m pretty quick about it. Shopping for someone else? This should go well.
“Stay here.” I lock the doors and remind the kid he needs to stay low. Not that I think whoever’s looking for him will be lurking around Target this time of night, but you never fucking know.
Inside the store, I head straight for the men’s section, but before that, I pick up a six pack of Stellas because, hellooooo, I need a drink.
Actually, I need to get the fuck drunk. Pronto. Maybe that will make up for the fact that this day couldn’t possibly get any shittier.
About thirty minutes into this shopping spree, I’m the self-proclaimed king of mannies. Not only have I grabbed the kid some jeans, socks, and tighty-whities, but I also nabbed him a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a thing of shampoo, soap, and a loofa.
What? It’s better for your skin.
I maneuver the cart through aisles that don’t have much traffic on my way to cash out because I hate dealing with people in department stores. I’m also doing some math in my head, calculating how much this shit is gonna put me out. In the middle of crunching numbers, I come to a screeching halt when, lo and behold, I nearly run over the genius who’s decided to take a nap in the middle of the home aisle.
I’m about to lay down the law of department store naptime when I realize who said genius is, and I have to laugh.
“Fucking Green.” Story of my life these days.
We meet again. A dark and sinister voice whispers in the back of my mind.
I’m thankful she didn’t hear me and wonder for a second or two where her other half is. When I don’t spot him anywhere around, I take a closer look at her. It looks to me like she passed out while trying out one of those saucer chairs. You know the ones—fuzzy, round, looks like someone visited us from the fucking sixties and left their shit behind?
Her ear buds are in and her eyes are closed. I relax against the wall of pillows and watch her for a minute or two while she snoozes.
With her arms folded and legs crossed, she damn near looks peaceful. Beautiful almost, leaning back, completely tranquil, with no agenda whatsoever, but to get a few Z's.
Makes her seem… human.
I take careful consideration of her lips. They come to a small pout as she breathes, slow and steady, and I find myself appreciating the fullness of those lips. I then have a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I’d really like to have them against mine sometime.
The fuck?
I shake that shit off.
That’s crazy talk.
Right?
My eyes glide along her body, from the low cut tee she’s sporting today to the loose fitting jeans, stopping at the ankle holster peeking out from underneath.
Interesting.
Why would she need that?
Protection? Or is she undercover? And if she is, who is she undercover for?
Out of the blue, a loud snort coming from somewhere inside Green wakes her up. I scramble to get the fuck outta Dodge but can’t decide which way to go.
Her eyes fly open and she sees me standing there. I’m a buffoon, staring at her like some desperate twelve-year-old aching for a boob shot of my neighbor late at night.