The Outskirts (The Outskirts Duet #1)

“I’ve written my fair share,” Josh said. “Locals usually keep ours in the same place. Mine are mostly over there in the corner,” she said, pointing to the far wall. “I think my last one was something like TAKING ANOTHER DRUNK TO SLEEP IT OFF IN THE TANK TONIGHT. Actually, I think MOST of mine say that, just with different dates. Well, all of them except my first one,” she reached up and turned one over.

MADE FRIENDS WITH A CRAZY WHITE BOY. -Brittany, AKA Josh, 2006.



“Is there a name for them?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to read them.

“We call them tings.”

“Tings?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure where they got the name from but whoever started calling them that, it stuck.” Josh’s radio beeped and she held it up to her ear while the dispatcher on the other end talked in codes and numbers. “What do I look like, a fucking taxi service?” she barked into the radio.

“No, you look more like a double D to me,” came a man’s voice on the other end followed by a blast of static. “Come on Josh, just come get me,” he whined.

“Oh hell, no! You did not just say that, Miller,” Josh said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” she asked me. “I gotta run this…call.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Thanks for the lift.”

Josh left just as the kitchen doors swung open and out stepped an older man who I assumed must be Critter. He was tall, just under six feet with a larger than average build. His hair was stark white, parted just off the center, long enough to brush the top of his ears. His traditional mustache matched the color of his hair. It was well groomed and thick, slightly longer on the sides stopping a little past his bottom lip. His face was tanned and heavily lined with age, although not so much to hide that he was still a handsome man and must have been quite a head-turner when he was a younger man. His deep amber eyes were hooded by dark, almost black, eyebrows which were just as bushy as his mustache.

He looked up and dropped the glass in his hand. It fell to the floor but didn’t break, rolling to a stop against the leg of a nearby chair.

“It’s you.”





Chapter Ten





Sawyer





Critter spoke with the lowest voice I’d ever heard. It was smooth too, like the lowest note on an upright bass. I didn’t just hear his words. I felt them.

I looked around to see who he might’ve been talking to, but there was no one behind me. “Me?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He just stared at me silently for a few seconds, squinting like the sun was in his eyes even though the light in the room was dim at best. He took long slow strides toward me until the only thing separating us was the bar itself.

“Sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly. He went back and picked up his broom, setting it against the counter. He grabbed a rag and began drying glasses. “I thought you were someone else.” He flipped his rag onto his shoulder and pushed up the rolled sleeves of his blue button-down, leaning forward with his palms flat on the bar.

Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe this man knew my mom. Josh had said he’d been in Outskirts his entire life. “Maybe you knew my mother.”

“Her name wasn’t Geraldine O’Conner by chance?” Critter asked, busying himself behind the bar. “Gerry is what we called her around here.”

“No. My mother’s name was Caroline Dixon,” I said, feeling the excitement of the possibility drain from my system much like the dirty water draining from the sink Critter just pulled the stopper up from.

“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” he replied, wiping the same spot on the bar he’d just wiped a second before.

“I’m feeling all sorts of stupid actually. There was no way you could have known her.” My mother had been raised in the church and never left unsupervised. There was no way she could have ever been here on her own before.

The truth was that she probably skimmed off the weekly grocery allowance for years and bought the cheapest land she could find using our neighbor’s computer. Mrs. Jacobson wasn’t a member of the church, just a kind middle-aged woman who always looked upon us with our long skirts and makeup-less faces with sorrow in her long fake eyelash framed eyes.

“Now that it’s clear we don’t have the same acquaintance,” Critter smiled. “What can I do for you, Miss…”

“Dixon. Sawyer Dixon,” I extended my hand. “You must be Mr. Critter. Josh told me about you.”

“Just Critter. Mr. Critter was my father,” he corrected, giving my hand a sturdy shake.

“Really?”

“No, not really,” Just Critter teased. He was just as warm and comfortable as his bar.

“I’m looking for a job,” I said hopefully. “I don’t suppose you might be hiring?”

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

“Anything. I’m a fast learner,” I reassured him.

“Well, what kind of experience you got?” Critter leaned a hip against the bar and started polishing some glasses, hanging them from a sliding rack on the ceiling when he was done with each one.

“Ummmmmm,” I scanned my brain for an answer that wouldn’t have him shooing me back out the door. I didn’t want to lie, but I also really needed the job.

“So…no experience then?” He finished for me, throwing me a knowing look that I couldn’t argue with.

I tried. Even going so far as to open my mouth to lie, but the honest truth pushed the lie to the side and tumbled out instead. “I’ve never had a job before, but I really need one.” My stomach growled as if to punctuate my point. I hadn’t eaten at all yet that day. I’d meant to shove some crackers in my bag but with my new neighbor muddying up my thoughts, I’d forgotten.

“Wait right here,” Critter ordered, heading back into the kitchen. After a few minutes of clinking around, he came back out and set a plate with a sandwich in front of me.

“What’s this?” I asked, looking from the plate to Critter.

“This is food. It’s for your stomach. It’s growling so loud it’s gonna make the stray cats come ‘round so it’s on the house, you know, for the good of the bar,” he said. “Plus, it’s distracting.”

I was about to push back the plate, but Critter narrowed his eyes. “Eat,” he demanded, and my stomach growled again like it was answering for me.

“Thank you.” I sat down on a stool and on instinct, I folded my hands and bowed my head to pray. The second I closed my eyes I realized what I’d done and changed my mind, diving into my sandwich instead.

I didn’t know if I was ever going to pray again, but if and when I did, it was going to be on my terms.