Page 11 of Lesson on Depravity

Another wave of impulsiveness wrecks through me. “Good evening, where the fuck is Coco?”

Dorothy tightens her wrinkles around her eyes. The glare she gives me is still as fierce as back in the days. She hasn’t lost her touch to old age yet, and dementia will have to wait another couple of years.

“She’s working unlike some people here who laze around.” She puts down the flyswatter and comes out from behind the counter.

Her short height and white hair make her resemble the stereotypical grandmother mold. Having never been married, Dorothy doesn’t have children either because she had verbally stated that she hates children and yet made sure Tito and I never died on the streets when we were young.

“I’m keeping this place safe, and it’s a full-time job.” I don’t know why I even bother with Dorothy.

I walk around, noting every section of the shop is the same as the weeks before. I have no reason for being here other than to pick up and drop off Coco, and when that two weeks of absence came to a stop, there was no such thing as absence makes the heart grow fonder.

I don’t miss the provoking from this old woman.

Every time I would come here with Coco, she would tease me about being a weak boy because I have a weakness now. I don’t believe Coco is my weakness; she is someone who gives me the strength to be more of a monster than I already am to ensure she is not taken away from me.

This time, Dorothy is oddly silent.

“What happened?” I ask the older woman.

She stares at me, lips tight and unmoving until the curtains move. Coco comes out of the back room with a clipboard in her hand and a pen in her other hand. Her mouth opens, ready to say something when she sees me.

“Oh!” She gasps. “Alis, you’re here early!”

Coco grins, practically flowing towards me with her cheeks flushed from working. She’s so fucking pretty that I would have thrown her on the counter if Dorothy wasn’t here. I miss my princess so much, and when she stops in front of me, I lean down to kiss her.

She meets me halfway, finding my lips with a smile before landing on her feet.

“We’re leaving.” I take her clipboard and reach behind her to untie the apron around her waist.

She fumbles with my hand, looking for Dorothy for help, but she’s quiet. Coco pats my chest to get my attention as I toss the apron the glass counter.

“I’m not off yet—”

“Take the rest of the day, Coco.” Dorothy waves her hand before going back to the counter and lifting her flyswatter.

“I’m closing early today, so get the hell out of my shop!” She smacks the floppy weapon on the counter.

Coco jerks in surprise, planting her face in my chest while I wrap my arm around her shoulder. She hesitantly waves goodbye to the older woman, and we’re out of the pungent shop. The air of the darkened sky is a fresh start down to road to our home.

“Did anything happen, princess?” I ask, eyes sweeping across the nearly empty street.

Some are smoking and doing drugs out in the public eyes, and a lot of houses have their lights on to indicate that the homeowner is there.

Coco tips her head up, cocking her head in confusion. “No. Just kids coming in for candy—oh, there were some guys asking for a really old brand of trail mix. Mrs. Curtis doesn’t sell those, and they were really disappointed—”

“No,” I reiterate. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

She thinks for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I was in the back doing inventory the whole day.”

The truth is in her green eyes; she doesn’t know anything. I will have to find out from my men around the shop to see if they saw anything. Strangers will stand out, but if they look like someone who blends in, then it will be more problematic.

When Dorothy Curtis finds something troubling, she doesn’t tell anyone because she wants to take care of the problem herself. She has a tell, and when she doesn’t act crazy, something is wrong just by the unusual shift in her demeanor.

“Why?” she asks back, curiosity filling her green eyes. “Did something happen to you or Mr. Tito?”

“Don’t worry about me, baby.” I bring her closer to me as my house gets closer. The dark windows and the bolted doors disconcertingly welcome us home after a long day.

“I worry about you, Daddy. You’re always doing something dangerous.”

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