Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

ready to do that, but what I saw when I finally opened my front door made things worse. Bill was in his yard. He’d put up a strange little decorative hook. It held a bright flag that said Happy Fourth of July. He was standing at the curb, talking to Velma.
Except her name was Lorraine.
“It’s cute as can be,” I heard her say, though she looked right at me, cheeks flushed with her triumph as she preened at her new contest favorite. “If you put in a few more flowers by the porch, and maybe a birdbath—”
“That’s a great idea,” he said.
She kept walking, and Bill watched her go, bouncing a little on his feet. He looked over at me. He was practically gloating.
Goddamn Bill and his cute little flag and the motherfucking Curb Appeal contest. I had no doubt he’d have a birdbath by Sunday. And what did I have?
I looked out at my lawn, which suddenly seemed far less inviting than it had.
All I had was the fucking Detroit Daisy and a goddamned one-legged chicken.
“I told you to take whatever you thought was yours,” I mumbled.
It took a significant amount of effort to wrangle the chicken into the backseat of my old Volvo, its head or top or whatever the apex of it was sticking out of the rear window like a demented dog. Bill watched me from his lawn, frowning slightly. I didn’t really know what I thought I was doing with the damn thing. I only knew I wanted it gone.
That seemed like enough, right up until I pushed my way through the door of El’s shop with the thing propped precariously on my shoulder. It was damn heavy.
“What the fuck is that?” El asked as I set it down. MoJo came running over to investigate. I half hoped she’d pee on it.
“It’s art,” I said.
“Only in Hacktown.” He raised his eyebrows and scratched the back of his head, and I noticed his hair was damp, like he’d taken a shower. “I know I adopted this damn dog, but I’m not sure I can take that monstrosity.”
“I don’t care what you do with it,” I said. “I just don’t want to have to see it every day.”
He pursed his lips, as if thinking it over. “Well, I’ll figure something out.” He smiled at me. “You ready to go?” “Sure.”
He took a bright piece of fabric that looked almost like a giant purse from a hook behind him. He looped it over his head. “What is that?” I asked.
“It’s a baby sling. Couple of years ago, I thought I’d start a maternity department. Turns out nobody wants to buy baby stuff from a pawnshop. I still had this lying around.”
He whistled at MoJo. She ran to him, clambering expertly up the staircase of stereo equipment to the countertop. El held the sling open, and she climbed inside. After a bit of squirming and turning, she finally settled down against him. Only her head stuck out of the sling. She was panting happily up at him.
“You look ridiculous,” I said.
“Says the man with the one-legged chicken.”
He had a point.
I waited for him to lock the door, then followed him down the street. “What’s got you all riled up?” he asked.
“Is it that obvious?”
He shrugged.
“Stacey came by.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “Enough said.”
We were silent the rest of the way. He finally led me into a small, dark bar. “The food here’s better than you might think,” he said. “But it’s better out back, on the patio.”
“No dogs allowed,” the bartender yelled as El led me past.
“Good to know,” El said. But he didn’t stop, and the bartender waved him on. I had the feeling he hadn’t expected El to pay any attention.
The patio was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. El let MoJo out of her sling. There were four tables, one of which was occupied by two women who immediately went gaga over the dog.
“The bartender said no dogs,” I worried.
“I know the owner,” El said. “He won’t mind.”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I started looking over the menu. Everything sounded good.
“Will you share a pizza with me?” I asked El.
His eyes danced and he winked at me. “I’ll do anything you like.”
I blushed and ducked my head. The waitress arrived, saving me from my embarrassment. I ordered the pizza and El ordered drinks—a Coke for himself, but a rum and Coke for me.
“Keep them coming,” he said to the waitress. “My friend’s had a bad day.”
For better or worse, the waitress obliged.

chapter 18
    B
    y the time El and Paul finished the pizza, Paul had also polished off three rum and Cokes. When asked if he wanted to go home