Page 49 of Fast and Dirty

“You know, I thought you were walking funny. That silver spoon you were born with is still in your ass.”

He squints at me before I turn to Ryan who has just finished locking up one of the tool chests. “Ryan! Go grab a couple pizzas and a case of beer and we’lldeal you in.”

“What kind of pizzas?”

“Everything but mushrooms.” Hunt turns to his brother.

“Extra mushrooms, got it!” Ryan turns to head out the side door as Hunt flips him off.

“Aww, Hunty doesn’t want to eat his vegetables?” I jab.

“What the fuck are we doing down here anyway?” he asks, crossing his arms. “Your shitty apartment is upstairs.”

“Need you to help me with the table.” I unlock one of the larger storage closets in the garage.

“We might as well just hold it down here, it’s no worse than your shit hole,” he jerks his chin in the direction of my stairs. “I’m afraid of what I might find up there.”

“What the fuck is your problem with my pad?” I glint at him.

“Who actually lives there, a rabid squirrel that escaped a frat? A toddler-aged Tasmanian devil?”

“No but sounds like you need to lay off the cartoons,” I observe as we get the tables flat on its legs and straightened out. “Besides, I’ve been a little busy with this place.” I gesture around. “Not to mention keeping your idiot brother out of trouble.”

“Not to mention a certain new woman in town. Which is why you need to clean the place up a bit.”

“I’m pretty sure you have more time on your hands - and your dick - than I do,” I point out. “So, why don’t you get off my nuts about it and go out and pick out some frilly curtains if you’re so worried about it, Martha Stewart.”

“Blow me. At least my place has amenities, you know; essentials.”

“Ah, but does your place have this?” I step inside the storage closet and take hold of my new find. I gently roll the flat, octagon shaped tabletop that’s sheathed in a leather cover. It also has leather padding around the edges but still, I take care. Once it’s clear of the threshold, I gesture for Hunt to take hold of it. “Here, hold this while I grab the stand.”

“Holy shit,” he whistles out. “Is this what I think it is?”

“As in not a chintzy, square folding table? You’re correct.” I huff as I position the tapered cedar base in the middle of the garage’s most open space.

“I’m impressed.” He nods. “A little in love, too.”

Hunt helps me to heft the table top and secure it to the base before the big unveiling. I unzip the protective cover, and when I free the tabletop, I’m gratified to see my stupid friend has a look of awe on his face.

“Where’d you find this?” He eyes my new-old poker table appreciatively.

“Thrift store in Indianapolis.” I shrug. It’s one of the few places I travel to pick up reusable car parts and such. This beauty of a table has brand new bright green felt, leather padded edges for arm comfort and built-in drink coasters.

“I could build a better one.” Hunt snickers, and he’s just being a pissy little asshole because he’s never even thought to build one.

“Have at it,” I sneer at him. “But until you actually do that, how about we use this one for now?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he nods favorably. “Let’s play.”

We’ve just gotten the oversized cooler rolled in and stocked when the door at the far end of the shop slams.

Hunt and I look up to find Ned, - a semi-retired bachelor who helps out part time with oil changes and mysteriously disappears on his lunch break - is here with Scottie, the man that’s owned the drive-in movie theater on the town’s outskirts since the dawn of time. But their presence isn’t nearly as curious as their attire. Both men are dressed to the nines, complete with pinstripes and fedoras.

“Holy shit, this is lame!” Ned bellows as they both amble across the concrete cavern that is my bat cave.

“Where are the chicks?” Scottie adds. “If this is how you guys spend your Friday nights, no wonder you’re single!”

“What are you two doing here, and what in God’s name areyou wearing?” Hunt looks them up and down. “Cat’s Meow Night at Agnes’s is canceled,” Ned informs us matter - of -factly.

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