“Great, it’s seven to two and we are slaughtering those New England bastards.”Like my mother, my dad’s waistline grew at the same rate.That’ll happen with a life foundation built on football games,beer, andwings.
I nodded and again resisted the urge to stick my hands in my pockets.
“Is everything okay, dear?” my mom asked.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” I asked.
My mom shot a quick longing look toward the living room.I was interrupting. Feeling like a kid, intruding on adult time, I wanted to slink back out into the night.“You don’t usually just show up out of the blue,” she said.
I waited two breaths then gave up waiting for her to realize. I could tell her and mydadit was my birthday,but it would just make them feel guilty. They’d reluctantly turn off the TV, apologize, and do their best to pretend to be interested in my life.
Forcing them to celebrate me felt like thesleaziestthing I could do. It was enough just to know they were okay. If they had happenedto remember my birthday, itwouldhave been a bonus.
“No, ma. I was just in the area and wanted to make sure you guys are okay up here.Say hi.”
She smiled, realizing this was a short call. “Oh,you know me and your dad.We get along just fine. Evenbought some of those repellants off the home shopping network, all organicand sustainablemind you.”
“Your mother and I started taking Tae Kwon Do down at the YMCA,” my dad said, joiningus by the dining table, sipping his beer.Then with an appraising look he said, “You look like you’re doing well. You been working out?”
I couldn’t help but smile a little. “Sort of, I’ve been —”
“Run,run,Flacco,” my mom started yelling, her eyes glued back on the television screen. My dad immediately diverted his attention to the screen. They bothyelledand hootedover the touchdown. I don’t think they even realized they’d moved back to the living room, my mother sitting on the very edge of the couch and my dad standing over her as they watched the replay.
Then as anafterthought, my dad said, “Oh hey,Trav, did you want a beer and to stay and watch the game?”
When did I shove my hands in my pockets?I’d already backed up to the door.“Nah, like I said I was in the area and just wanted to say hey.”
“Okay dear, drive safe,” my mom said, her eyes still glued to the television.
I wasn’t sure theyevenheard the door close behind me. Outside, I took a deep breath offrozenmountain air and let it fill me up.
Getting back in the van, I wondered if Sophie would let me read her a story again when I got back.
10
My phone buzzed angrily, pulling me out of unsettling dreams. Smacking it, I hopedthe impactwould turn the damn thing off, but it wouldn’t shut up unless I answered it.This was probably also why my phone screens were constantly cracked if the unit itself wasn’t falling apart.It took shoving asidehair ties, little bottles of lotion, and a liquid eyeliner off the nightstand before my fingers touched the phone.
“Whack aGhoul,” I managed to remember to say, my voice rough with sleep.Sitting up, I rubbed my legs against each other and grimaced. Overduefora shave, they felt like battling hedgehogs.
A rush of incoherent and outraged cries on the other endsignaledit was good day to earn that cash money.
I sat upstraighterand cradled the phone closer to my head. “How many of them? Yes, we charge by the body. What’s the address?We’ll be right there.”
When I hung up, I almost fell over myself trying to pull on my pants. Someone in Cherry Creek, a neighborhood where thehouseswere the size ofapartment complexes, needed our help and was willing to pay. Today wasgoing tobe agood damn day.
Today was a sucky ass day.
Razor sharp wings fluttered against my neck and the backs of my arms as I ran. Therewereonly a few feet left to cross before I'd run into theFrenchdoors that led to the backyard. But I wouldn’t be able to stop and open it withoutbeing chopped into mincemeat.
When we’d arrive a meretenminutes ago, Mr. Patel had led usto the west wing of their McMansion to their little girl’s room.We’dcarefully opened the doorinto a world ofpink froth and unicorns. Except the bedroom was occupied byhundredsof tiny creatureslittered the roomin hues ofiridescentgreen and purple. They hadlong wingslikedragonflies.Despite their pretty pearlescent color, oncloser inspection, you could see their round heads had expressive, evil eyes and big mouths of full of needleteeth. Travis and Istood in thehalf-openeddoorway. He was armed with his electric green bat while I massaged the handle of Batman.
“What do you think?” I asked, him in a low voice. “Run in there swinging?”
He shook his head, watching them closely. “That seems too easy.”
“Right?” I scoffed. Not that I didn’t feel we were overdue for some easy money and a simple job, but one of the things that set Whack a Ghoul apart from the rest was we had come to expect the unexpected which is why we stayed in business.Our reviews may be lowerthatmost onyelp, but we lived to take the customer’s complaints if the job turned messy. Thecompanies that had five stars didn’t typically stay in business longer than three months.
“Are those boxes of wine over there?”Travis whispered, tilting his head to the corner where a mountain of stuffed animalswaspiled. Sure enough, what looked like a thick patch of congregating fairies, were fivewine boxes, all shiraz. Dozens of fairies had sunk theirneedle teethinto the boxes andoccasionallyone would get up and buzz around unevenly before landing again.
