I Knew You Were Trouble
Robby climbed out of the Dodge, shading his eyes against the blazing light. Blearily he checked his watch, only to see with some shock it was now mid-day, the sun high in the sky. He had been asleep for more than twelve hours. As if on cue, his stomach clenched painfully, reminding him he also hadn't eaten for the same length of time. His throat was as dry as a bone, and he really needed to take a leak. The searing heat wasn't helping matters any either, tempting him to retreat back into the Dodge where it at least had AC, one of its few virtues.
Instead, he glanced around, taking in his surroundings, refusing to think about what he was running from. Not yet. Right now, he had to keep a clear head. From where he stood, he surveyed where he'd parked the Dodge beside a grass verge where a few people had camped out beneath an old sprawling tree. One of them was a young girl who had her back turned to him, with long, lank amber-hued hair falling down to her waist, whilst the other was a middle-aged woman muttering to herself and sitting on a deckchair, both taking advantage of the shade the tree afforded. Nearby, a couple of guys were gathered around a makeshift grill constructed out of a propane tank, the younger watching the two females with hooded eyes whilst his companion desultorily turned some burgers over, the smell making Robby's stomach rumble.
Pushing back some loose strands of hair, Robby then tried to find somewhere he could take a piss in peace, and was pleasantly surprised to find a portable toilet not six feet away from the Dodge. The graffitied interior left a lot to be desired but despite the stink, it served its purpose, and there was miraculously toilet roll and a half used pump bottle of Purell hand sanitizer. He also tried to clean up as best as he could, but it was a losing battle. He stank of sweat, and the only clothes he had was literally the ones on his back, a pair of black ripped jeans and a white singlet.
Once he was done, he went back to the Dodge, half expecting it to be gone. But it was still where he'd parked it, the only difference being that the two men from the barbecue were now circling it, eying it with unmistakeable avarice. Robby approached, fists unconsciously clenching, bracing himself for even more trouble. The younger man glanced up as he drew level, his face darkening, whilst his companion also straightened up, chin tilted as he appraised Robby through narrowed eyes.
"Are we done comparin' dicks or what?" a harsh Southern accented voice asked from behind them, making Robby turn around, only to find a large middle-aged woman bearing down on him. "Are you deaf, pretty boy?" she snapped, snapping her fingers in front of his face at the same time. "Answer the goddamn question!"
Blinking rapidly, Robby quickly recovered himself. "Oh, I'm done, ma'am," he said respectfully, discreetly eying her huge girth with some trepidation, her bulk barely contained by her stained sundress.
"Don't get smart with me, pretty boy," she retorted, before rounding on the other two men. "Hey, Limp Dick and Limp-Dick 2: The Sequel Nobody Asked For, get a move on with those burgers," she ordered, waddling over to them. "That shit ain't gonna cook itself."
"We're on it, Miz. Delilah," the older man said with sarcastic servility, "we just welcomin' the young gennelman to the neighbourhood, tha's all."
"I don't give a shit if you were welcomin' Satan himself," Delilah spat, "get to goddamn work." With that last rejoinder, she shuffled off, giving them all one last glare before disappearing into a makeshift shack of sorts made out of tin and tarp.
The two men sidled back to the barbecue, the younger man watching Robby as he went until his companion elbowed him in the side, before stooping down and whispering something in his ear. Whatever he said, Robby didn't know, but it soon stopped the staring competition. Exhaling sharply, Robby finally allowed himself to relax before glancing around; trying to find the least threatening looking person he could find to speak to so he could gain some intel on how to scrape by in this shithole.
His gaze fell upon the red-haired girl he'd seen earlier, only to see she had removed herself a good six or so feet away. She was now sitting on a white plastic garden chair, head bent low whilst she sewed, long hair falling across her face as she drove the needle back and forth. Up close, he saw the chair had a broken front leg propped up by a brick, the other legs wobbling violently with every movement she made.
Robby hesitated. "Um, excuse me," he began, only for the girl to start violently, stabbing the needle into her forefinger, dropping the pair of floral faded briefs she'd been attempting to mend, stitching its cheap lace trim back into place where it had torn from the fabric's edge.
"Darn it!" the girl exclaimed, examining her injury. "Literally," she added darkly, brandishing the needle and bloodied finger up at Robbie, who just stood there, startled.
He stared down at her, taken aback by her exotic appearance and soft, cultured voice. The girl wasn't as young as he'd thought her to be, being closer to his age, Robby guessing her to be about fifteen or sixteen. From the back though, she'd looked like a child, her short stature and too thin frame adding to the illusion. She was wearing a grubby ruffled ivory dress laden with white lace to an inch of its life, teamed with battered black cowboy boots. Her wide blue eyes formed the centrepoint of an ethereally pretty face, the delicate bone structure lending her an otherworldly look, smears of grime staining her creamy skin.
As Robby continued to stare at her, the girl's gaze instantly became guarded, face shuttering, making him recover himself. "Sorry," he said awkwardly, running his hands over his head as he spoke, "I didn't mean to startle you. I'll just be on my way." He made to leave, not wanting anymore trouble, but the girl stood up, halting him.
"What is it?" she asked, hiding the briefs behind her back as she tilted her head to the side, studying his battered face with a small frown, the expression in her eyes a strange mixture of sympathy and suspicion.
Robby bit his lip, hesitating. "I… I just wanted to find out where I can score some food and some clean clothes," he then said, ramming his hands into his jean pockets, glancing around on reflex.
"Why did you ask me?" the girl said suspiciously, tone defensive, setting Robby further on edge. "Do I look like the fount of all knowledge?"
"You just looked like somebody who doesn't want to steal my car or beat me up," Robby snapped, only to instantly regret it, but to his surprise, the girl smiled. It was a small smile at that, but it was at least the first sign of friendliness anybody had shown him around here.
The girl then tossed her head back, her bright hair falling around her face, framing it with fire. She studied Robby again, smile slipping. "There's a van that comes round around every couple of weeks dropping off clothes and stuff," she then said, chucking the briefs down onto the garden chair behind her, alongside the needle and thread, "but you need to be quick on the draw. Some people will grab anything that can be hawked. As for food, there's always something floating about but you might be better off sticking to the soup kitchens."
Absorbing this information, Robby nodded, his gaze travelling instinctively to the makeshift barbecue, the smell enticing him again, but the girl grabbed his arm, halting him once more.
"Don't," the girl admonished, dropping her hand to her side, as though she'd been burned, "most of the meat is of questionable quality. Plus the level of food hygiene around here is pretty low. When you're out picking, stick to the non-perishable items, tinned or pre-packaged stuff. I only eat cooked food that comes from the do-gooders or the roofers but when I have readies, I'll score myself a Happy Meal."
"The roofers?"
"People who have a home to back to," the girl explained impatiently, "a lot of them want us gone, say we're a pestilence, but some genuinely do try to help. They bring round food and clothes and some of them will even serve up home-cooked food on Sundays, like full on potluck dinners. There's a really nice woman called Maria - she comes down every Friday night with a pile of stuff from Burger King. She buys it herself and everything. She gave me this dress," the girl said, gesturing down at herself, "it was her daughter's but she outgrew it and Maria thought of me. Wasn't that kind? She knows I like pretty things, but pretty doesn't really exist out here, you know?"
Slightly taken aback by her sudden stream of consciousness, Robby looked at her for a long moment, confused. Her mobile features were suddenly alive with vivacity, her guard down for once; giving him a glimpse of the girl she had once maybe been or could have been. He instinctively sensed she was starved of normal interaction with others, where it was just one person talking to another without any agenda; where she could be herself, not a charity case or a victim or vermin. "It's a nice dress," he then said weakly, privately thinking it was hideous, personally preferring something simplistically stylish, like the designer clothes Sam wore.
The girl studied him, her face suddenly shuttering again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to talk your ear off," she apologized abruptly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "If you want, I can check when the van is coming around, it might be this week if I remember right," she then continued, her tone becoming brisk to the point of brusqueness, "and I'll see if I can scare us up something to eat."
"That would be great, thank you," Robby said, relief coursing through him, overriding his unease at her erratic behaviour, "you have no idea how much I appreciate this."
"You staying?" the girl asked even more abruptly, picking up the briefs and sewing stuff. "Or are you moving on? If you're planning on hanging around, just know Delilah don't like trouble around here."
Robby raised his chin, uneasy again, trying to catch the catch. "I'm in trouble," he said slowly, holding her gaze, "but I'm not trouble, not the kind you need to worry about anyways."
"Oh, I knew you were trouble when you walked in," the girl said cryptically, before turning on her heel and leaving.
He was long gone
When he met me…