“Well now, looks like we got us a little situation here son.” He leans back looking at the ceiling and blows a perfect smoke ring, then another.
“Yessir. You got that right.”
He lowers his head and stares at me with his one good eye. The other, the lazy one as my dad used to call them, drifts up above me and to the left. Whatever you want to call an eye like that, I didn’t like looking at it so I concentrate on his mustache for the most part.
“And I ain’t your son.”
“Well yeah, there is that. Thank heaven for small miracles.” He shifts his position on the couch as he speaks and I follow him with the Remington. Des is a rough piece of work. My mother’s latest in a long line of boyfriends. This one was a hard man no doubt, as big as a fuckin’ doorway and not an ounce of fat on him either.
We stare at each other for a bit more.