Page 10 of Snowbirds
“We’ve seen a lot, you know,” Morrison agreed. “A lot of bad stuff comes from drug running. Sh-stuff I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
Susie nodded. “I understand that. Just a couple of weeks ago, some locals were found locked up in a Conex box out in the desert. Police said it was a drug deal gone wrong. I can’t even imagine.”
Chris could imagine. He’d seen it with his own eyes. So had Morrison. Ivan squeezed his shoulder.
“I’m a bit peckish,” Morrison said. “Is there a good place to eat around here?”
If he’d hoped to change the subject, food was an excellent choice. Chris figured he really was hungry though.
“It takes some serious calories to keep up this svelte figure.” Ivan motioned to his chest.
Was Morrison self-conscious of his size? Yeah, the man was big, but it was mostly muscle. If he had a little extra, it suited him, and therefore it was not extra.
“We’ve got plenty to go around,” his mom said. “Right, Lance?”
But first, his mom poured more drinks all around, and when those were empty, his dad fired up the barbecue. It was a damn good thing none of them were driving anywhere.
They laughed and talked loudly about nothing important while scarfing down Lance’s world-famous barbecue chicken and seared corn on the cob. Chris hadn’t laughed that hard or felt that comfortable around his parents in years. Maybe ever. And it was all because of Ivan, who fit like the perfect odd-shaped puzzle piece between Chris and his folks.
When everyone was finished eating, Chris and Morrison took everything inside and loaded the dishwasher before saying their goodbyes.
“Thanks for feeding us, Lance,” Morrison declared while rubbing his stomach in satisfaction. “I haven’t had a meal like that in ages.”
“You’re welcome, son. We’ll do it again tomorrow night!”
FIVE
Morrison
“Oh, my god,” Morrison groaned while Chris took his time unlocking the front door. “Hurry the fuck up, I have to pee.”
“Serves you right,” Chris said heartlessly, turning the key and pushing the door open. “Mom’s drinks are always dangerous. It’s best to pace yourself. How many did you have anyway?”
Morrison had no clue and couldn’t calculate anything due to the aforementioned need to urinate. “You weren’t here to warn me, so how was I supposed to know? And anyway, I was pacing myself. But then I lost count.”
Chris stepped aside so Morrison could go ahead of him.
“Losing count is inevitable when Susie Hatch is making the drinks, and extremely dangerous.”
“Where’s the damn bathroom?” Ivan couldn’t see well in the dim interior. Why didn’t the owner at least have a couple of handy night-lights?
“Down the hall to the right. Watch the coffee table there.”
Turning toward the hallway Chris had indicated, Morrison immediately knocked into the coffee table. Pain radiated fromhis shin, almost but not quite overwhelming his need to use the bathroom.
“Fucking motherfucker, that hurt.”
The coffee table hadn’t budged from its spot in the middle of the carpet. It was a beast, with what appeared to be several sets of encyclopedias piled onto a shelf underneath while the upper surface was covered with magazines set in stacks, like the place was a hair salon or doctor’s office.
Morrison heard Chris’s distinct snort as he pulled the front door shut.
“Was that a laugh?” he asked. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and he began to move across the room more carefully. Who knew what else the owner had stashed in plain sight?
“Maybe it was.”
Morrison made it into the bathroom without further injury and quickly took care of business. When he returned to the living room, a knock-off Tiffany-style lamp had been turned on and Chris was relaxed on a truly heinous couch Morrison had somehow missed on his first pass-through. Personally, he thought the couch was better served by the dark.
The thing should’ve been in a horror museum. The frame was made of wicker, maybe bamboo, and spray-painted black by an amateur who’d missed huge swatches of the thing. Some of the ugliest floral upholstery and matching pillows Morrison had ever seen hid the worst of the paint job, but not all of it. The piece of furniture took up most of the real estate against one wall, across from a picture window looking onto the street.
