sink.
“She flirts with Kyle, and he rather shamelessly plays on it,” Hutch said in a quiet voice.
“So I didn’t make any friends there,” she muttered.
“Well, if you had fallen victim to his charms, she still wouldn’t like you,” Hutch noted.
“Right. A no-win situation,” she said.
Hutch was studying her even as he nodded at her words. “True. You’re not even tipsy, are you?”
“After that much vodka? Who wouldn’t be feeling it?” she asked back.
“Hmmpf,” he grunted. “Shorty’s right. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he said, looking over at Kyle, who had put his arms on the table and was leaning his head on his hands. Because of this, Hutch missed the sharp look she shot him.
“Well, I’m going to catch the news,” she said, heading toward the abandoned television.
Hutch sidled over to Shorty, who was picking up serving dishes, grabbing a couple himself. “That’s one seriously sharp young woman,” he said with a smile of admiration.
“Vein-opening razor sharp, Hutch,” the other man said, tone serious.
Hutch looked from guide to the girl, who was now leaning back in one of the La-Z-Boy recliners. He frowned as he thought about Shorty’s words. The professional hunter was well known for his own regard for ladies of all shapes, ages, and sizes. In Hutch’s estimation, Shorty would normally be falling all over a pretty young woman like Lisa. His caution was troubling. As if they needed any more trouble.
Chapter 6
“Gary, you ever gonna take the damned garbage out?” Florence Ducar yelled from the kitchen.
Gary Ducar grimaced and swore to himself. That damned crone wouldn’t leave him alone. Do this, get that, move this, haul that. Her mouth was like an inexhaustible river of never-ending insults and demands. Worse than the damned kids at the damned school. At least there, he could force their respect.
He set down his beer and pulled himself off the couch, pausing to catch the last bit of the Cowboys failed offensive drive against the Colts. Then, cursing his favorite team under his breath, he pulled up the waistband of his track pants and headed into the kitchen.
The white plastic bag was waiting for him by the back door, tied up tight like his life, both headed for the dump. Florence didn’t look up from her pile of dishes in the sink, which was a small blessing, as he walked behind her and grabbed the sack of rubbish. She had earphones in and was listening to her damned music again like one of his school kids.
Outside, the October air was brisk and sharp, the just-past-full moon rising over the treetops that framed his backyard. His garage was the detached type, sitting twenty-five feet from the back door of the house. As he got closer, he saw the door wasn’t shut all the way. Damn woman… gonna have half a dozen raccoons in the damn garage if you don’t pay attention. Details were important. Fetter Central School ran on details, which he oversaw. Principal Priess certainly had no eye for detail. Which is why the Assistant Principal was the job that kept the place running and kept the punks in line.
He pushed the door open and reached in for the light switch. It clicked, but no lights came on. After flicking it a couple of times with still no effect, he swore softly and sidled into the garage, his temper rising. She should have told him the damned switch was broken. How can a man keep things repaired if he doesn’t know they’re broke?
The garbage cans were further in, close to the overhead door up at the front. A beam of moonglow shone through the open doorway behind him, giving him just enough light to see the bulk of the two big waste cans. He started carefully forward, but his foot kicked something on the ground, scooting it off into the darkness, rustling as it went. Then it came to a stop. And
“She flirts with Kyle, and he rather shamelessly plays on it,” Hutch said in a quiet voice.
“So I didn’t make any friends there,” she muttered.
“Well, if you had fallen victim to his charms, she still wouldn’t like you,” Hutch noted.
“Right. A no-win situation,” she said.
Hutch was studying her even as he nodded at her words. “True. You’re not even tipsy, are you?”
“After that much vodka? Who wouldn’t be feeling it?” she asked back.
“Hmmpf,” he grunted. “Shorty’s right. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he said, looking over at Kyle, who had put his arms on the table and was leaning his head on his hands. Because of this, Hutch missed the sharp look she shot him.
“Well, I’m going to catch the news,” she said, heading toward the abandoned television.
Hutch sidled over to Shorty, who was picking up serving dishes, grabbing a couple himself. “That’s one seriously sharp young woman,” he said with a smile of admiration.
“Vein-opening razor sharp, Hutch,” the other man said, tone serious.
Hutch looked from guide to the girl, who was now leaning back in one of the La-Z-Boy recliners. He frowned as he thought about Shorty’s words. The professional hunter was well known for his own regard for ladies of all shapes, ages, and sizes. In Hutch’s estimation, Shorty would normally be falling all over a pretty young woman like Lisa. His caution was troubling. As if they needed any more trouble.
Chapter 6
“Gary, you ever gonna take the damned garbage out?” Florence Ducar yelled from the kitchen.
Gary Ducar grimaced and swore to himself. That damned crone wouldn’t leave him alone. Do this, get that, move this, haul that. Her mouth was like an inexhaustible river of never-ending insults and demands. Worse than the damned kids at the damned school. At least there, he could force their respect.
He set down his beer and pulled himself off the couch, pausing to catch the last bit of the Cowboys failed offensive drive against the Colts. Then, cursing his favorite team under his breath, he pulled up the waistband of his track pants and headed into the kitchen.
The white plastic bag was waiting for him by the back door, tied up tight like his life, both headed for the dump. Florence didn’t look up from her pile of dishes in the sink, which was a small blessing, as he walked behind her and grabbed the sack of rubbish. She had earphones in and was listening to her damned music again like one of his school kids.
Outside, the October air was brisk and sharp, the just-past-full moon rising over the treetops that framed his backyard. His garage was the detached type, sitting twenty-five feet from the back door of the house. As he got closer, he saw the door wasn’t shut all the way. Damn woman… gonna have half a dozen raccoons in the damn garage if you don’t pay attention. Details were important. Fetter Central School ran on details, which he oversaw. Principal Priess certainly had no eye for detail. Which is why the Assistant Principal was the job that kept the place running and kept the punks in line.
He pushed the door open and reached in for the light switch. It clicked, but no lights came on. After flicking it a couple of times with still no effect, he swore softly and sidled into the garage, his temper rising. She should have told him the damned switch was broken. How can a man keep things repaired if he doesn’t know they’re broke?
The garbage cans were further in, close to the overhead door up at the front. A beam of moonglow shone through the open doorway behind him, giving him just enough light to see the bulk of the two big waste cans. He started carefully forward, but his foot kicked something on the ground, scooting it off into the darkness, rustling as it went. Then it came to a stop. And
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