Page 23 of Small Town Hunter

Everyone in Tippalonga will know what I’ve done. I’ve disgraced myself and humiliated the Reverend and my family.

Good, I think.I’m not going back. I’m going to California to stay with my Mamie. I’m going to university, I’m going to get a degree, I’m going to do everything they said I couldn’t.

I jump out of my skin when the door opens, but it’s just Crash. He’s been outside; the smell of fresh air follows him. I crawl out of the bed as he takes off his dirty boots.

“We need to talk, Trina.”

My heart pounds. “Okay.”

Crash sits down and absently touches my wedding dress. “Allow me to apologize for earlier.”

“It’s alright.”

“I can tell you’re in a tough situation. The problem is you caught me in the middle of some very important business.”

“I understand.”

Crash pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I came to this town for a purpose.”

“Okay.”

“Ah, is therenobodyyou can stay with here in town? Nearby? Aunt? Estranged cousin? Ah — secret boyfriend?”

“No. Nobody. I’ve never had a boyfriend; that would be living in sin.”

“Right,” he says, giving me one of his funny looks. “We wouldn’t want you to live in sin, would we?”

Crash turns his gaze to the window, clearly conflicted. I feel bad. Even if it’s God’s unavoidable will, it is a huge undertaking to help me get to California.

I wonder what he’s doing in Tippalonga and why it’s such a big secret. Is he some kind of government agent? But then again, what kind of government agent would dress like he’s gone wrangling catfish?

“If it’s too much trouble, then forget about it,” I say. “I can make my way out there alone.”

“No offense, darling, you couldn’t make your way out of a cereal box,” he tells me bluntly. His eyes narrow. “Unless you’re a whore, and this is some type of elaborate set up to rob me of my valuables.”

“What did you call me?”

“Nevermind.”

“Just to be clear, I’m a good Christian woman, not like these other women you are used to, Mister Crash!”

“Who are those women I’m used to?”

“Women like the ones over there. By the gas station. That was Jada Gambino, wasn’t it? I didn’t realize that was who you meant when you asked if I knew her. She’s a born slut!”

Crash muses, “I knew a slut once. Except she was a nice little church girl like you. Acted sweet as a peach…and took just about every cock she could find. Preacher’s daughter, if you believe it.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t say disgusting things like that.”

“Well, I like Jada. You’re the one being a bitch.”

“Don’t call me a b- word!”

“Or what?” he asks, which is a good question. He looks down his nose at me. “We’ll stay here one more night, and then tomorrow we find you a way to get to California. I think that’s more than fair.”

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