3 - The New Kid

xxx

Trevor is roused from a half-sleep with his face submerged in soapy dishwater by the buzz of his phone on the counter.

"SORRY TREVOR. THERE'S A KID HEADED TO YOUR TRAILER I JUST SOLD SOME METH TO."

Growling, Trevor deletes Ron's message just in time to receive another. "I TOLD HIM NOT TO."

Disgusted, the lunatic throws his phone across the room, his teeth grinding together with a quiet snarl that shoots pain from the cracks in his incisors straight to his brain. He rolls his shoulders sharply against the cramps burning dully in them and kicks open his door.

"T-Trevor Phillips?"

The gangly kid standing at the mouth of his driveway jumps at the crash of the trailer door against peeling shingles, his mouth opening and closing as the man of the hour bares his fists and cracks his neck like he's ready to fight a bull. Gaze hawklike, Trevor measures him, the panic on the kid's face allowing him a good uninterrupted look.

Jet black hair falls in straggly pieces around his narrow face and his eyes are bright with wariness, dim hope, and a frantic, barely-concealed desperation just peeking through at the edges. The pockmarks of a few acne scars trail across his forehead and cheekbones where the glimmering of sweat has settled. His wrist bones strain through his skin like they're trying to escape something horrible.

He looks embarrassingly lost and pitifully nervous.

Rage smoothed down to an almost-silence in his stomach, Trevor throws his arms out. "Well. You found me. Now what the fuck do you want?"

The kid takes a step forward and dust plumes up around his grungy high-top shoes. "I-I didn't wanna impose or some shit but I wanted to meet you face-to-face. I just figure if I'm gonna be doing business with you, you should, uh, know who I am in case I fuck something up and you need to track me down and beat the shit out of me or something."

Trevor snorts. He appreciates the self-deprecation too much to point out that if the kid were to fuck anything up that badly, a beating wouldn't come close to what would happen to him.

"That, I appreciate. And Ron knows ya, too, so you can contact him if you need to scream at somebody." The psychopath stuffs his hands in the pockets of his filthy jeans, sauntering across the porch and down the steps. The kid's shoulders go rigid and his face turns pale the second Trevor moves toward him. His stare falls to the ground and his slim throat flexes in a gulp. Trevor circles him slowly, critical stare burning into the kid's skull for a long moment as plumes of sand rise up beneath his boots.

He's scared. And yeah, he should be scared. But hell, this kid is terrified.

"Name. You got one?"

"Y-yes. Alex Krevitz."

"Mmmm. Sounds Russian." Trevor runs his tongue through the grit on the backs of his teeth as he comes to a stop. The kid's stare is firmly on the dirt between them. His scrawny body jolts once almost imperceptibly as the psychopath nods sharply. "All right, Alex. Ya met me." Trevor leans in close, hissing, "Satisfied?"

The words start out as a snort trapped in the back of his throat and solidify into a loud gulp before coming out. "Y-yeah, yes, yes sir. I appreciate it."

His deep blue eyes flicker up to find Trevor's gaze and hold it.

"Mmmn. Well!" He backs away from the kid, clapping his hands. The sound sends the kid an inch off the ground. "Be seein' you around, Sonny Boy. Now, you can fuck right off back to where you came from."

He's all but jogging backwards out of the yard immediately. "All right, uh, thank - thank you, I..."

Already back on his porch, Trevor slaps his palms against the sun-bleached railing. "Just, ah, call Ron if ya have any questions."

Alex Krevitz nods vigorously, pivots awkwardly on one decimated shoe, and practically sprints away from the trailer. Trevor sniffs and squints after him.

Interesting.