Page 41 of Down Bad

I frown, pissed off instantly.

Did he go in to work? On his day off? Is that a thing he does?

I answer my question with a lengthy walk into town. And sure enough, Wyatt’s car is parked outside his store, even though the little sign on the window still reads “closed”.

No customers? Just us? Works for me.

I head across the street and let myself into the shop.

Then stop short.

Wyatt at the back. Tensed face. Fingers curled on the counter.

In front of him, that dickhead customer in a golf polo, shades on his head, and a slimy-ass smirk on his face like he’s got Wyatt and the whole town under his rich thumb.

I hated him the first time I saw him.

I hate him a thousand times more today.

“Diego …” comes Wyatt’s voice, surprised to see me.

For a second, the tension is released from his face.

Is that because of me?

Did my intrusion actually relieve him?

“Sorry, son,” says Mr. Dickhead, leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, “but Mr. Callahan’s busy.”

I go to the counter, unfazed, and plant myself by Wyatt’s side. “Maybe you should invest in a pair of glasses, old man,” I say right back, “because that sign outside says ‘closed’.”

—9—

Wyatt

Oh, no.

What did he just do?

What did he just say?

Why is Diego here??

Mr. Bellamy stares down Diego with terrifying indifference. It isn’t clear whether he’s looking at a human being or a gnat that just landed on the end of his 9-iron.

I choke back an apology.

Am I capable of one?

Is there a world that even exists where it’s okay to speak to a customer like that?

And not just any customer.

Grant-fucking-Bellamy.

Just when I’m about to speak, Grant laughs.

A full-bellied, eyes-scrunched-up, pleasant laugh.