Page 38 - WTP VOl. XI #1

The Stranger Inside (continued from page 24)
house. Mitch glanced uneasily at the bedroom door. Becca had little tolerance for unnecessary sexual references.
The man tore into his bread and cheese. Mitch took a small bite of his piece of bread. I’ve got to know what to do, he thought.
“So, Mitch,” the man said. “Lotta memories.” “True, but—”
“Lotta shit over the bridge an’ under the dam.” “I guess. But what brings you here, Billy?”
There was a brittle silence. Mitch watched the ham- ster skittering about in its cage. He noticed that the cage didn’t have an exercise wheel.
“Awesome. No conversation. No friendship. Just find out what the weird guy wants, get him out the door, protect the family.”
“Look, I’m—”
“Speakin’ of which, heard you two had a baby not too long after I saw you last,” said the man, the old-bud- dies voice switching back on. “A girl.”
“You heard right,” said Mitch, still convinced that the safest thing for now was to placate the man. “Name’s Emily.”
“More since then?”
Mitch shook his head no.
“One’s plenty huh?”
“Actually, we wanted a second. Tried a lot of—”
“So tell me ’bout the one you got. Sweet l’il Emily.”
“Well, she’s—” Mitch paused. “Look, you still haven’t told me why you—”
“Right,” the man said, again holding his hands near his eyes like blinkers. “Cut to the chase.”
“It’s just that it’s late and—”
“Sure. TCB. Gotta get to work early, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay. Here’s the deal. I’m here to offer you an invest- ment opportunity.”
“Jesus.”
“That is so like you, Mitch! Thinkin’ there must be a catch. No catch, bro. Just gotta loan me your Ram pickup. Plus a couple thousand dollars.”
Mitch wasn’t sure which was more alarming, what the man wanted or the fact that he knew what Mitch drove. “My truck?” he said.
“Plus a couple grand. Or maybe more like four. Busi- ness expenses.”
“Business?”
“But the main thing is the Ram. I get that an’ four, five grand, and in a week, ten days tops, I bring it back to you, not a scratch on it, guaranteed. You don’t have to pay for the gas or the mileage or nothin’. Can’t beat that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh, almost forgot. When I bring the truck back, I pay back the money, toss in another couple grand as interest. Practically a gift. An’ we could keep doin’ it—beginnin’ of a beautiful friendship. You just gotta trust me.”
“Trust you?”
“Money for l’il Emily’s college fund, let’s say. Bet she’s got high expectations. I could be her secret benefactor, like that Magpie dude in the book.”
“Just a minute. Why—”
“I get it. You’re wonderin’ why I don’t just use your wife’s little Kia ’stead of your bigass truck.”
“How did you—?”
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