Page 63 of Dangerous Obsession

Outside, there was another loudbang, and a diesel motor rumbled closer. There was a loudpsshtfrom a set of air brakes, and the vehicle came to a stop in front of the camper. He flattened his hands on the floor, straightened his arms and pushed up, then hurried over to the door. He rubbed the side of his hand in a circle on the small, filthy window to clear a spot and risked a quick glance outside. Air exploded from his lungs when he saw the huge, green garbage truck.

“Fuck.” His ass plopped to the edge of the bed, and he loosened his grip on the pistol. He set it on the chipped laminate countertop, scrubbed his hand down his face and over his whiskers.

After a minute or so, he picked up the gun and tucked it into his duffle. The tiny platform bed groaned when he shoved up off of it, then he shuffled to the small john at the back of the camper. Cliff turned, pushed down his underwear, and let them pool around his ankles. He scratched his ass a few times and sat on the cold plastic seat. Duct tape held the fuckin’ thing together, and it was uncomfortable as hell, but sitting to pee was a habit he’d picked up in prison to keep himself from being vulnerable to attack. He’d learned very early that one of the keys to surviving in prison was to always watch your back.

After finishing his morning ritual, he got dressed in some of the clothes his mom bought him and jammed his arms into his coat sleeves. He secured his toiletries in his duffle and slung it over his shoulder. Cliff made sure the revolver was concealed in his coat pocket, turned the knob, but the damn door stuck when he tried to open it. He rammed his shoulder against the flimsy aluminum, and it swung out and smacked against the side of the camper. There was already a rusty, circular dent created by years of the knob slamming into the same spot.

The temperature had dropped overnight to a damp fifty-six degrees, and he’d almost frozen his ass off. At one point, he’d considered sleeping in the truck because at least it had a heater. He’d decided against it, not wanting to risk raising the suspicion of the people staying in any of the trailers nearby. Even if the woman in the trailer directly across from him had different men coming and going throughout the night, and he was pretty sure the loser living in the motor home two spots away had been cooking meth.

Cliff yanked open the truck door, bristled at the obnoxious noise, and tossed his duffle across to the passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel, jammed the key into the ignition, and pressed the clutch to the floor. A a quick jiggle of the shift knob, and he put it in first gear and turned the key. After a few attempts, the engine gasped and sputtered to life. His mom certainly hadn’t broken the bank on the bucket of bolts, but it was better than walking and far better than depending on Greg or Deborah.

Speaking of …

While the engine warmed up, he opened his text with Greg and sent him a message.

Hey kid. Wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was an asshole. Let me buy you breakfast to make up for it. Oh, and I still owe you fifty bucks.

He was actually surprised when three dots began to move across the screen. He figured the kid would still be asleep.

G:Fine. Whatever.

He envisioned the disrespectful punk rolling his eyes in that annoying, immature way of his.

“Fuckin’ loser,” Cliff grumbled to no one in particular, but he needed that loser one more time, so he replied.Excellent. Is now a good time? We could meet at that diner by your house.

G:ok

See you there. He added,Oh, and I think it would be a good idea if you parked in the back. Just in case someone from that store saw your car yesterday.

G:no one saw me but whatever just make sure u bring my 50 dollars

Cliff silently cursed the kid’s inability to use punctuation and sent him a thumbs-up emoji before pulling away from the camper. He stopped at the entrance to the trailer park, waited for a tractor trailer to pass, then headed toward the ritzier part of town. Hell, pretty much any part of town was ritzier than where he was currently forced to live.

His resentment for his parents, especially his father, grew with each hardship he endured. They could easily help Cliff improve his situation but chose not to. At least his mom gave him some money and wheels. She never could say no to him.

He clicked on the radio and rotated the nob searching for something to listen to. Unfortunately, the only station that came in clearly was some talk radio show. They were discussing some controversy swirling around a crooked, high-ranking politician. Nothing new there.

Cliff shut off the radio. He’d rather drive in silence than listen to some self-important radio host drone on and on about a topic he had no interest in.

The diner appeared ahead, and he pulled into the small lot in front and parked in the last available spot. He climbed out of the truck, swung the door shut, and looked around for the kid’s car. Greg had either done what he was told or wasn’t there yet. Cliff sauntered over to the door, and there was an electronicbong bongsound when he stepped inside.

A few diners and the woman checking someone out at the register eyeballed him, then went back to what they were doing. He spotted Greg in a booth toward the back, hunched over, his arms on the table, his hands wrapped around a mug. His hair stuck out from beneath a ball cap.

As he made his way to the table, on the right, he spotted an exit door at the end of the hallway where the bathrooms were located. He slowed his steps and saw that it was propped open with a cinder block. Probably to keep employees from getting locked out during smoke breaks or something. Good—that meant it either wasn’t alarmed or the alarm had been disconnected.

“Hey, kid?” Cliff slid into the booth across from him and signaled to the waitress for a cup of coffee.

Greg lifted his head. He looked like he’d been dragged behind a bus. His skin was ashen. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed, and sunken with major shadows around them.

“Jesus. What the hell happened to you?” Looked like Cliff had been right about how the kid would spend the fifty bucks he’d given him.

“That is none of your concern.” The kid tossed Cliff’s own words back at him, dragged the mug closer, and lifted it to his lips. He slurped a sip and winced. “You brought my money, right?”

“Yeah. But first, it’s bad manners to wear this inside.” He reached across the table and whipped the hat off the kid’s head.

“What the hell, man.” Greg lifted his ass off the cushion and tried to grab it.

Cliff held it out of reach, then set it next to him on the bench.

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