Page 14 of Property of Bull
Teppy is undoubtedly the man that Margo referenced as having worked on the heater in the plow, and while he was the go-to mechanic back in the day, the squint that’s pointed in my direction explains away half of the problem. The flip phone in his shirt pocket provides the rest of the explanation.
You can’t fix what you can’t see. And considering he’s been retired for a number of years, technology has passed him by.
“Margo was pleased with the work you did on the plow,” I tell him, getting a big grin in return.
“I still got it, don’t I?” he replies. “Your daddy always trusted me with his bikes.”
My dad wasn’t stupid. He could do the work himself, or he could cozy up to the rich, politically connected town mechanic. Keeping any kin of the Teppy’s happy made all the difference when he was running drugs, weapons, and big rigs full of stolen goods through town.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your first name,” I admit and he takes it gracefully.
“That was always a problem when I was growing up. Too many Teppys’ running around, no one wanted to keep track of all of us. I’m Clem,” he says, reaching a hand across the table. “Thank you for the beer, Stryker. Most of the young guys whograceus old-timers with their presence weren’t taught right.”
“You’re more than welcome, although I have to admit I came in here a little hot tonight,” I reply, finally shifting my eyes down to Margo’s. She’s staring up at me, her blue eyes full of curiosity. “You see I got this bill today for having my truck towed out of a ditch yesterday.”
“It’s highway robbery, the rate they passed at the last meeting,” Clem instantly agrees with me, slamming his palm on the table.
“Now, I understand it’s a service, but my problem with it was that I wasn’t informed about the charge.”
If I wasn’t still locked in a staring contest with Margo, I would have said more, but it occurs to me that if I tell the mayor’s uncle that she didn’t have the first clue how to pull me out of the ditch, she could lose her job.
It also occurs to me that all the mailboxes in the county would be safer if she got canned.
She flares her nostrils and I blink.
It’s so fucking cute. Like an angry bunny kind of cute.
I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing while taking a moment to slowly run my eyes down her body.
Jesus fucking Christ. Just how many layers did she have on to straighten out all of these curves yesterday?
Looking across the table, I see that Tucker has noticed my interest and his nostrils are now flared in my direction, but he’s not nearly as cute as his granddaughter, so I look back to Clem.
“Excuse me?” I realize I missed something he said.
“There’s a form you should have had to sign. Margo, did you give him the form?” he asks, looking between us, seemingly oblivious to the subtext that Margo’s grandfather has caught.
“Yes, he signed off on the form,” she quickly assures him.
“Ah, well, you should have read it, Stryker,” Clem informs me, shaking his head to reinforce the error I made. “Are you staying for music bingo? My lady friend wasn’t up for joining us this evening, so we have a spot on our team.”
“Music team bingo?” I ask, thrown off by the change in topics but grin when I see Margo frantically shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. “What kind of music?”
“Well, there are all different categories, you see, like ‘movies’ or songs with weather in the title and it’s anything from the sixties through the eighties. Margo here is our ringer,” Clem prattles on, to the point that I think he’s just needling the Tuckers. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed the silence nor the glares from George and Margo.
“Sounds like fun,” I drawl out my agreement, looking at each of them in turn.
“What are you doing?” Margo hisses when Clem and Tucker start talking about whether or not ‘lady friend’ is the right term for Clem’s love interest.
“Enjoying a night with people I’ve known my entire life. And taking the opportunity to get reacquainted with you,” I smoothly answer, sounding as innocent as possible. “Hey, I don’t suppose there are prizes, are there?”
“If you’re looking to recoup the tow fee, I’d happily pay you half to be on your way! And we were neveracquainted.”
“Oh, no. This is going to be fun. Besides, I can pull my weight. You might need me,” I tease her back, signaling to the announcer that I need a Bingo card.
George explains that over the years, the organizer gave into the fact that friends were sharing answers so allowed teams of up to four people; with the size of the prizes increasing as the four rounds progressed. “Now it’s set up, so the actual winner gets a gift card and the table gets a coupon for a free draft beer or hot dog.”
“I know it’s been a difficult time for you, George. How are you holding up?” I ask him, changing the topic to the one we usually seem to be discussing.
