Page 72 of No Saint
“Freeing them from farm oppression.”
“You know, without that farm oppression, you wouldn’t have a job. You skate their dead, grilled carcasses out in your tight, sparkly shorts—” God bless those shorts—“for the masses to consume.”
“Because I am also oppressed by being poor, Wolf. We’re kindred spirits.”
“Come on. Out.” I thumbed toward the field. “Let’s go meet your kindred spirit.”
She slid off the seat. “Okay, it’s fine.” She closed the truck door. “Cows just kill more people than sharks. No drama.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, wading through the tall grass toward the fence.
Her footsteps crunched behind me, then stopped. “And if the cows don’t get us, a snake in this long grass will.”
“How in the hell did you survive in Dayton?”
“There wasn’t any wildlife in Dayton!”
“Yeah, just drive-bys and crackheads with knives.” I stopped by the fence, and a light cut on from over my shoulder. I spun to face Jade, who was sweeping the flashlight from her phone over the grass in front of her.
“Rattlesnakes, copperheads,” she mumbled, taking cautious steps forward. “Spiders.”
“Oh, my…” Like we were in some redneck version ofThe Wizard of Oz.
She, however, must not have found the humor in that because she shined the light right on my face. “When you get a tick on your balls, don’t ask me to get it off.”
I shoved the phone away. “You waving that light around is making it way more likely that we get caught.”
“Fine.” The light cut off and plunged us back into darkness. “Go ahead, Buffalo Bill.”
Crickets silenced when I hoisted myself over the fence, landing on the other side with a thud.
“I swear,” she said before catapulting herself over the fence. “If I see a cow, I will use you as a body shield.”
“Do whatever you need.”
She gripped the back of my shirt and walked behind me through the dark. “I need to know. Is this a bear situation?”
I took a few steps, dragging her with me. “What?”
“You know, the slowest one distracts it. Because I’ve seen you run down a football field, and if you really just brought me to be the sacrificial lamb…”
“Sacrificial lamb. Lookout. Whatever you want to call it.”
When a moo bellowed across the field, Jade twisted my shirt so tight that the collar cut into my throat.
“Can you at least loosen your grip?” I choked.
“This is a bad idea.”
“No, driving your car to a house you planned to rob was a bad idea.”
“Not possible-death bad.”
I tried to turn to look at her, but she still had a death grip on my shirt. “We aren’t getting killed by a cow.”
“Tell that to twenty-two people a year.”
“You’ve Googled how many people died by way of cows?” And why would I be surprised?
