Dry County Business: Part Three
Part four soon. The man continues: âQuit talkâin⊠Why? Weâre having a conversation.â
Your hair⊠Thatâs why.
Just before you throw him another sloppy response, Miss Abigail reappears. You are so enveloped in the sheer bizarre nature of his haircut that you miss her approach completely.
âWhat we talkinâ about? Better be âbout my money," She nags, stirring her coffee, then takes a slow sip before makinâ a sour face. âMy lord, this joeâs chillier than a cooler! How can they expect me to drink it like this?!â She exclaims as she waves down a waiter.
âYes maâam, how can I help you?â The young man offers her a charming smile and it instantly melts her attitude away.
âOh, well I hate to be a bother but could you get me another cup of coffee? This one hereâs a lilâ too cold for me, dear.â She responds, batting her false lashes.
The waiter nods with another smile and takes the cup away.Â
She speaks again: âAnyhow, what was I fussinâ with yâall aboutâŠ? Oh yeahâmy money. The bastard who ran off with it was a skinny one, medium height, shaggy hair. He used to hang âround some bar in El Paso. Thatâs where he did all his scoutinâ and such.â
Skinny bastard, medium height, shaggy hair⊠Seems like the sorry one I buried for some other handler this afternoonâfunny.
She continues: âDrove one of them family cars, the fancy ones. âThink it was a Caprice, dunno, couldnât really tell through my CCTV âcourse.â
Caprice? It is a popular car after all. What am I worryinâ for?
Her fresh coffee arrives. The waiter serves it to her with a wink, handing her a napkin with a number written on itâprobably his landline.
âYour coffee, maâam,â he subtly nods his head back, encouraging her to follow him.
 As he walks out back, Abigail smiles bashfully. She hurriedly pulls out a compact mirror and lipstick. You canât help but watch as she reapplies the tacky, bright red shade and adjusts her lashes.
âWell, duty calls,â she excuses herself before following after him.Â
Just shameless.
Once sheâs gone, your mind falls back to the odd similarities between your previous target and this one.Â
âŠYeah, itâs a popular car and almost any Texan feller matches his description.
 A tension in your shoulder you hadnât noticed before instantly eases.Â
A long silence.
âA Caprice.â The man says in the same baritone, monotone voice.
â...H-huh?â You instinctively ask, voice wavering just slightly. Against your own better judgment, you decide to turn and face him. To your absolute misfortune, heâs not facing you.
Heâs lookinâ out the windowâŠ
âA Caprice,â he repeats. His face remains the same, but his eyes are now full of something close to determination.
â...Yeah, it's a popular car,â you add almost instantly, dismissive of the odd coincidence.
âThereâs only three of us here,â he responds, still lookinâ out the window.
Goddamit. Me and my mouthâŠÂ
He turns to you, waiting for you to scoot off the booth.Â
You take a deep breath and ultimately scoot. You donât want to get in the way of this impenetrable force.Â
He immediately moves with you, sliding out from the booth with robotic efficiency. He stands horrifically still, beside you. You canât hear his breathinâ and he brings no warmth to your side...
Thatâs honestly all you can focus on.Â
Clearly heâs expectinâ you to exit with him.
Hesitantly, you exit the diner and walk into the parking lot. The smell of asphalt and the crunchinâ of gravel serves you some comfort.Â
The man follows. Heâs not watching you anymore, he's looking aroundâslowly. The noise of gravel crunchinâ under his feet is enough to take the comfort in the sound from you. And youâve completely lost the asphaltâs smell.Â
 You both stop at the Caprice. He just stands there, not saying a word.Â
You have no reason to be nervous. But, that doesnât stop your heart from poundinâ painfully in your chest. âDoesn't help you breathe easily either. You can feel your breath thinninâ with each second of quiet.
âŠThe silence is digginâ into my ribs.
And the way heâs staring at the vehicle makes you feel defensive. You end up staring at it too.
âŠI didn't do anythinâ wrong by Abigail, after all. Itâs this asshole whoâs makinâ it feel that way.
To clear the air and your conscience, you just tell him a lie: âFriendâs car. âLet me borrow it.âÂ
Sounds plausible. âDoubt this fucker would give a monkeyâs tail enough to pry.
Your heart slows down instantly and youâre breathing again.
A low, deep rumble exits the man.Â
âBorrowedâŠâ
You nod slowly to yourself, unsure of what to respond with. You drag your gaze from the car to the floor and follow up with:
âYou got a bad habit of repeatinââ
âYou didnât borrow it,â he says with the same dead, baritone voice. âStates it like a fact, which is all the more offputtinâ.Â
You immediately snap your gaze to him, fixinâ to defend yourself.
As soon as your eyes meet his face, they get stuck in the disturbing sight.
Heâs staring full at the cuffs of your pants. Seems like he has been for a while.
Unblinkinâ and deathly still, he continues: âHe wasnât your friend.â
Your silence speaks volumes. Itâs apparent by the way heâs fixated on your dirtied pant cuffs that he knows what youâve done.Â
âWhatâs it to you?â Thatâs all you can muster up.Â
Your heart feels like itâs tryinâ to escape from you this time. The churninâ of your stomachâs enough to make butter. And you canât seem to find your breath.
The man stays silent but his face does all the speaking for him. His eyebrow twitches again, a little more noticeably this time. His eyes widen too. He seems to catch the slight tremor in your voice and realizes somethinâ.Â
However, what he does next is not what youâd expect him to.
Instead of tellinâ or pulling a weapon, he just stares. He lets out a quiet, gravelly grunt, a heavy exhale of what seems to be pure dissatisfaction passing through his nose. Then he speaks:
âHeâs dead.â A statement of pure fact, not a question.
A pause.
â...Yes,â you respond.
The man lets out a low, tired sigh and reaches into his pocket. Before you can react, he pulls out a silver coin and rests it on his thumb. He flips itâyou watch it turn, once, twice. Then as it lands on his palm, he covers it.
âCall it,â the man demands.
âŠHuh?



















