Page 72 of Wilde's End
No,I mouth, but he ignores me.
“We need an electrician. We’ve been trying to find one to help us here.”
Ziggy takes an immediate step back from the car.
“Don’t,” I warn Kennedy. “None of them want us here in the first place. You really think he’dhelp? You really thinkWildewould let him?”
“It’s not up to Wilde,” he snaps back. “I’m sure Ziggy can decide for himself if he wants work or not.”
And apparently, he can, because Ziggy closes the small box he’s brought with him, then turns and walks away.
“Hey, wait!” Kennedy calls, but Ziggy doesn’t stop.
He’s about to go after him, and I have to catch Kennedy’s T-shirt to stop that from happening.
“It’s his choice,” I point out. “Looks to me like he made it.”
“No. Like you said, it’s Wilde. He’s probably scared.”
It’s an effort not to roll my eyes. “Or he doesn’t want to see his town overrun, just like everyone else here.” What did Wilde call them?Wenders?
“Then why is he helping us? Why is he checking the car over and washing our motorcycle?”
Those aren’t answers I have for him either. “Maybe he’s bored.”
“I think he wants to make friends.”
“With you, maybe. Definitely not with me.”
“Yeah, well, that happens when you throw people into walls.”
I don’t bother to point out that’s basically Wilde’s and my mating ritual. Or it was. Before … whatever happened.
“We do need an electrician,” Hartwell says, not bothering withthe rest of the conversation. “What’s the luck that one happens to live right here?”
Considering the luck we’ve had so far, I’d say it’s slim. “Is he actually qualified, or does he just know about it? Orthinkshe knows about it.”
Kennedy’s still watching where Ziggy disappeared. “I believe him.”
“Of course you do,” Hart says. “You think everyone is a good person.”
“Not Sutton.” He gives me a pointed look. “Or Wilde.”
Sutton, I’ll give him. Wilde … none of us knows anything about him. The guy made me fuckingcrawlto him, which is evil enough, but … I can’t move on from his anger when I last saw him. There had to have been something deeper there than general pissed-offedness.
“Maybe you could try talking to him again,” Kennedy says without looking at me. “We really need an electrician.”
“You don’t even know that Ziggy wants to do it yet. He literally turned his back on us.”
“Whatever.” Kennedy throws his hands up. “We’ll go back to complaining that we have nothing.”
He leaves, and I feel Hart’s heavy stare on me.
“I do so love to complain,” he drags out.
“Wilde doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“You mean youdon’ttrade sweet nothings while you fuck? Enlightening.”
