Page 22 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

“Would you believe I did it to myself?” Let’s face it, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Your hand ain’t that big.”

Well damnit, there went that plan.

“You want to borrow my shotgun?”

Gio took care of that already. Poor Marty.

“No, it was just some asshole at school.” That was some pretty quick thinking. I might have to pat myself on the back for that one later.

“This asshole got balls?”

My brow rose. “Don’t all assholes have balls?”

Call me crazy, but I kind of thought they were a standard part of the male reproductive system.

“Exactly.” He clicked his tongue and shot me a wink. “That’s your ticket, right there.”

“Balls are my ticket?”

“That’s right.”

I was going to need a bit more clarification. “Am I supposed to kick him in the balls?”

That was the only thing I could think of.

“You can kick em, punch em, bite em. Heck grab those suckers and twist.”

Each suggestion he acted out for me. Causing his limbs to swing through the air while his open bathrobe fluttered behind. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Give him a what for. Pow, pow.” He punched his fists one after the other. “It’ll bring em to his knees.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

I didn’t think I could forget it if I wanted to. At one point I was pretty sure I saw one of his balls. That was an image I’d never be able to scrub out of my mind.

Mr. Garibaldi lifted his hand and pointed at me. “It’s all about the balls.”

“The balls, got it.”

“Every man loves his balls.”

I was getting flashbacks to the pussy conversation I had with Atlee.

“And if that don’t work, shove your fist up his periwinkle.”

Not sure I wanted clarification on that one.

“Shove it right up there.” He pumped his fist. “Ain’t no man right in the head after that.”

Pretty sure he was the one not right in the head. But who else would tell me about balls and periwinkles? When I woke up this morning, I did not think those topics would be on my conversation subject list.

We both turned as a familiar Range Rover rolled over a pothole, and pulled to a stop behind my truck. My eyes rolled. So much for a relaxing morning.

Mr. Garibaldi’s eyes narrowed. “Never trust anyone in a fancy car. They ain’t right in the head neither.”

Well, he got that one right.

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