"Hol-ee-crap," Allen muttered as he at last shut the front doors and locked them. "That was one of the longest days of my life."
"Yep," Trent agreed, rubbing at his eyes.
"So how much did you make?" Gregg asked.
"Bea said just over sixteen grand," Trent replied.
"Holy mother of God," Gregg muttered.
"Yeah. How about you? How'd you make out?" Trent asked, looking at Allen.
He chuckled. "Sold about three weeks' worth of material and items today. So I made out really damn well. Gonna need to restock sooner. I think a buncha people made out well today. Hmm...you know what? Come back here with me, gentlemen," he said, grabbing something from beneath the counter and walking into the storeroom.
Trent and Gregg shared a curious glance, then headed after him.
"Now don't you dare tell Molly about this," he said as he opened up a small box that contained several cigars. "But this calls for celebration, indoors laws be damned."
"Whoa, awesome," Gregg said, grinning broadly as he accepted one of them.
Trent considered it and, after a moment, accepted it. "I've never smoked a cigar before. Or a cigarette," he murmured.
"Great time to have your first," Allen replied with a grin as he lit their cigars with a match. "Big success today. Man, never seen anything like it, really."
"Same," Trent agreed. He puffed experimentally on the cigar, found it to be a smooth experience, and then sat down on the floor with his back to the wall.
"This is cool," Gregg said, sitting beside him.
"Yep," Allen agreed, sitting down as well.
Trent looked down at the cigar in his mouth for a moment. "Don't tell Bea about this," he said, then chuckled.
"Ha, yeah. Feel like I gotta hide my cigarettes from her now she's trying to quit," Allen said. He lost his smile suddenly. "Glad you popped that motherfucker, 'cause I was coming out to do the same goddamn thing."
"Yeah…" Trent murmured.
"She's still got her mace, right?"
"Yeah. And a switchblade now, too. I think maybe Mae might've gotten her some brass knuckles."
Allen chuckled. "Oh shit. That Borowski girl is tough as nails. I didn't really realize it at first, but...yeah, I see it now."
"Oh yeah, Mae's hard as hell. I saw her sock a dude right in the gut with her brass knuckles after he swung on her."
"Really!? Damn, what motherfucker would swing on a girl, let alone a girl like her? She can't be more 'n five feet."
"Four foot ten, I think," Trent replied. "And yeah, same kinda asshole that grabbed Bea. It was at a party some time back."
"If I'd've been there, I'd've shanked his ass," Gregg muttered.
"You're pretty tough too, ain't you?" Allen asked. "I swear there was a time I was always hearing about how you were getting in fights."
"Yeah. Lots of assholes in high school," Gregg replied.
"Apparently, that never changes," Allen said. "Better never see that son of a bitch around here again."
"Yep," Trent and Gregg agreed immediately.
They sat around and puffed for a bit longer.
"You two should probably get going," Allen said finally. "I know everyone's waiting at your house to do a little celebration."
"A little celebration," Trent replied, then popped his neck and groaned. "But yeah, you're right." He yawned. "Got a bit of a walk ahead of us."
"I could drive you, if you wanted," Allen said.
"No, that's cool. I feel like I could use a walk to sort of clear my head after everything and you've gotta wind the store down. And if I really need it, I'll call Bea or Angus or Ann and they can drive up and get us."
"All right then. I'll be there tomorrow. I'm mighty curious to hear Bea sing. I knew she could, I heard her once for something at school, but I didn't realize she'd kept it going."
"Oh my God, she sounds amazing," Trent said. "I was utterly blown away."
"Yeah! She's like an angel! It's gonna be so cool!" Gregg agreed.
"Well, thanks for the cigars, Allen," Trent said.
"Yeah! This is smooth," Gregg agreed as they got back up.
"Happy to share them." He paused. "You probably don't need to hear this, not the way you two are going about your lives, but...don't lose sight of the fact that it's good to share what you've got. We get so damned wrapped up in getting more money, more shit, we forget that the whole point is so that we can share it with the people we care about. Or, hell, even just strangers...eh, listen to me, rambling on like an old man."
"No, you're right," Trent agreed. "Sharing stuff, spending time together, doing nice things for each other, it matters. It's meaningful. It's why we're here."
"Yeah, exactly, that. That right there. You gotta look out for yourself, but we're here for each other," Allen said. "I just wish I'd've figured it out when I was your age. Ahh, I'm rambling still. Go on, go home and enjoy. You kicked ass today. In more ways than one."
He laughed. "Yeah, I guess so. All right, later Allen."
"Later, Trent. Gregg."
"Later, Mister Santello!"
They headed out and left him to clean up his store. It was past ten o'clock now and pleasantly chill. The street outside the Pickaxe was deserted. As he and Gregg started walking home, (everyone else was there already at Trent's request, because they were all obviously very tired), he felt himself slowly begin to finally unwind. Today had been a pressure cooker. He'd gotten back to work after the...incident, and it had been kind of weird, but ultimately he'd more or less continued on as he had been. The people who had seen it seemed to treat him with a little more...reverence, though. Which he wasn't sure how to feel about.
"Hey, so, like...I've completely lost track of what's happening with you and Angus, and I feel really bad about that, because we kinda just ditched you, and then have hardly said anything to you since then, and it's been like almost a week now…" Trent said.
"Ah no, dude, don't worry about it. Like, you were right to leave, obviously, cuz this whole thing was waiting for you. And then it's just been nuts nonstop. Like, it's totally cool. And me and Angus have been major busy, too. Packing stuff up, prepping our friends and, ugh, family, for us leaving."
"So what's actually happening? What's the real plan?" Trent asked.
"Ah man it's nuts! So, basically, we're quitting our jobs and moving out of P Springs to Bright Harbor. We gotta be there by the fifteenth. Like, it's a Friday, but they want him to come in and do some basic orientation, then he starts work for real on the eighteenth. And I...am going to practice being a house husband for like a week or two while I find a job! Man, I gotta say, Mae is like so lucky. She's dating you and Ann and just chilling in the basement, playing video games, and you guys are so nice to her. I'm real glad this happened. I was worried."
"That's understandable. It sounded like she was having a real hard time figuring things out before I showed up," he murmured.
"Yeah, she was. It was, um...bad. I mean, even besides the, you know, all the crazy shit, like...Mae has always had just such a hard time putting stuff together. I dunno. I always kinda knew, but I remember sometime after she left, I had this huge revelation that if she hadn't gone off to college, she was just gonna be stuck here forever, living in her parent's attic, like, forever. And, like, I wouldn't ever judge her for that, but I knew it would make her sad. And then when she came back, that came back so hardcore...but it's okay now-"
"Hey you fucking pussy."
Both Trent and Gregg stopped. They were coming up on the entrance to the tunnel. It was locked, but there was a bit of space in there to lurk, and lurking someone had been. Two someones, actually, he saw as two figures stepped out. He recognized the voice as the stupid asshole from before, Mike. Apparently he'd come back, with a friend, what looked to be an equally built jackal.
"You're fucking dead meat," Mike growled.
"Is this him?!" Gregg demanded.
"This is the guy who grabbed Bea, yeah," Trent replied.
"Oh man did you fuck up," Gregg snarled, reaching into his pocket.
"Shut the fuck you, you five foot nothing little bitch," Mike's friend growled.
Gregg's hand came out of his jacket pocket and the sound of a switchblade snapping into place was loud in the dark, vacant street.
"You really shouldn't have fucked with my friends," Gregg growled.
"You think you're the only one with a knife, fuckhead?" Mike snapped. He raised his hand and the moonlight glinted off a blade.
Well great. Trent felt his heart kicking up a storm in his chest as he considered the situation and for one insane moment he felt actual gratitude towards Chris. He was a stupid asshole, but the fact that he'd tried to fight him more than once, had actually come after him, meant, apparently, that Trent was more ready for a situation like this and wasn't panicking.
He looked around. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, and all the storefronts were dark and empty, save for the Pickaxe, which seemed very far away right now. No cars coming, no people out. This was between them.
Well, he could handle that.
Two on two wasn't too bad.
Maybe.
Mike and his asshole friend were advancing quickly towards them now.
"Don't do anything stupid, Gregg," Trent murmured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his mace.
"I'll stab a bitch if I have to," Gregg replied.
"You two are gonna stand there and take your fucking beatdown like the pussies you are," Mike replied, his voice flat. "Jake!"
Trent heard a sound, a metallic click, behind him and glanced back.
"Fuck," he muttered.
Another figure stepped out from the shadow of Fat Pocket Pawn, and he was absolutely holding a pistol.
"Gregg, they've got a gun," Trent growled.
"I'll rush the motherfucker," Gregg snapped.
"Dude, I've been shot, it's not fun. I think we-"
He paused as he saw another figure detach from the shadows beside the pawnshop, coming from behind a large tree, and creep silently behind the guy holding the pistol.
Okay, so, apparently they had an ally? Who the hell could it be?
"All right," Trent said loudly, "let's talk about this."
"Ain't gonna be no talking," the guy with the gun said.
"Like I said," Mike replied, closer now, "you two are gonna get your fucking beatdowns and maybe I'll think about letting you live after you eat my fucking boot."
"Drop the gun, bitch," a familiar and honestly shocking voice snarled.
Trent looked back at the gun-holder again. Chris now stood behind him, a knife to his throat, his other hand grasping his hair.
"What the fuck!?" Mike snapped.
"Gregg, cover your eyes!" Trent yelled as he pulled out his mace. Mike and his friend were close enough now that he could spray them, and he did while throwing his arm over his own eyes. He heard both of them scream and the clattering of a knife as it fell. Without uncovering his eyes, Trent pocketed the mace, grabbed Gregg, and began slowly backing up, towards the street. He managed to step down over the curb without falling, though he grunted with effort as Gregg lost his balance.
"Let go of me, fucking bitch!" another voice shouted.
"Shut the fuck up!" Chris snapped, and then Trent heard scuffling.
"Shit," he muttered, pulling down his arm at last and taking stock of the situation. Mike was on the sidewalk, hands over his eyes. His friend was stumbling around blindly. Even as he watched, he tripped over Mike. Looking back towards the pawnshop, he saw Chris and the other asshole wrestling around. The gun suddenly fell from the guy's hand and Trent winced as it hit the pavement. It didn't discharge, at least.
"Fucking bitch!" Chris snapped, stepped back, and popped him one right in the face.
The guy went down into the dirt and laid there unmoving. Chris looked down at him for a long moment, panting, then looked up at Trent. Trent stared back at him. Chris broke the awkward moment first, looking down at the gun. He reached for it, then hesitated and then nudged it with his foot until it was safely farther away.
"I'm gonna kill you motherfuckers!" Mike snarled.
"Shut the fuck up," Trent replied.
"Now what?" Gregg muttered.
"We should probably call Molly," Trent said.
Chris sighed. "Yeah, probably should." He looked over as they heard more movement, then grunted, picked up the gun, hesitated, then pulled out the magazine and ejected the bullet still in there, then tossed the gun into the grass and jogged over to Mike and his friend. His friend had hit his head when he'd landed and now he laid on his side with it clutched in his hands, not moving very much. Mike was trying to get up.
"Stay the fuck down unless you want an ass whupping," Chris growled, shoving him down with his foot.
"Fuck you, pussy!" Mike snapped.
Chris dropped into a crouch, grabbed the guy by his shirtfront, then popped him one in the eye.
"Bitch!" he snapped.
Chris did it again. "Wanna go for three, motherfucker!?" he snarled.
Mike said something incoherent, grabbing his face now.
"Gregg...run back to the Pickaxe, tell Mister Santello what's up, have him bring three lengths of rope that we can use to tie up their hands," Trent said.
"On it," Gregg replied, turning and sprinting back up the street. Trent grit his teeth for a few seconds, looking at the three assholes who'd come to his town. He walked over suddenly, his anger rising. Didn't he have enough shit to put up with? He came to stand beside Chris, who was still crouched down, staring angrily at Mike.
"You were warned to stay out of this town," Trent said.
"Fuck off! You think this is over?!" Mike snarled.
"I think it's a dog eat dog world," Trent replied, then put his shoe against Mike's shoulder when he tried to get up again and shoved him back down, hard, "and we've got bigger teeth than you."
"Possum Springs is my town, motherfucker," Chris growled. "I don't give a shit what you're fucking beef is, you fucked up. I know you know not to come to another town round these parts and stir up shit. Everyone knows that."
"You think I give a shit about that?!" Mike snapped. "You think I won't come back here and kill you pussies!? You think I won't find that goth bitch-"
Trent stamped on his wrist and dropped into a crouch. Mike cried out. Feeling very much not like himself, Trent reached out and grabbed Mike's knife, then pressed the blade to one of his fingers. "Tell me what you're gonna do to her," Trent said quietly. He wasn't angry anymore. He wasn't even furious. He had reached some kind of level beyond that, something where his rage felt like it now consumed him whole. "Please tell me, so I can take one of your fingers."
"Don't," Mike whispered. Trent pressed the blade a little harder. "Please!"
"You gotta be shitting me," Trent muttered. "I put a blade to your finger and you fold just like that?"
"Look, fine, we'll go," he said.
Trent considered it. He could let them go. Getting Molly involved would very likely escalate things. Or it might knock some sense into them, at least make them think this wasn't worth it.
"No," he said finally, "I'm out of patience for this shit. Stay down."
"What the hell are you gonna do?" Mike asked.
"I'm calling the cops," Trent replied, grabbing his phone.
"Maybe I should get outta here," Chris muttered unhappily.
"No, I think you should stay. Molly should know that you helped," Trent replied.
"Great...fine."
They heard footsteps and looked back. Gregg and Allen were jogging down the sidewalk towards them. Allen came to a halt when he caught sight of Chris.
"Chris?! What the fuck are you doing here you son of a-"
"Wait!" Trent said, raising one hand. "He helped us, Allen. Honestly, he probably saved our asses flat out."
Allen looked momentarily stymied, then grunted and shook his head. "Whatever, we'll settle up later." He walked over with Gregg, then hesitated. "Can you tie a knot?" he asked, looking at Chris.
"Yeah, Mister Santello," he replied awkwardly.
Allen tossed him one of the lengths of rope and pointed at the guy Chris had initially taken down. "Tie him up. Hands behind his back."
"On it," he replied, heading over quickly.
"What the fuck are you doing!?" Mike growled as Allen knelt down and began to tie his wrists behind his back.
"Making sure you don't do anything stupid. You're lucky I'm not stomping your motherfucking guts out you little punk shit. That was my daughter you grabbed."
"Fuck," Mike muttered.
"Yeah, you're fucking right 'fuck'. Trent, you calling Molly?" he asked.
"Yep," Trent replied, already looking up her personal number she'd given him what seemed like so long ago. She answered on the first ring.
"Trent? What's wrong?" she asked.
"That asshole who grabbed Bea came back with two friends and tried to jump me and Gregg out in front of Fat Pocket Pawn," Trent replied.
"Are you hurt? What's the situation?" she asked, and he could hear her moving.
"I'm fine. We took care of them," he said.
"We includes who?"
"Gregg, Chris Whitmore, and Mister Santello are here with me. They're tying the assholes up right now. I maced two of them and Chris took down the third guy," Trent replied.
"What-all right. Listen, I'm on my way, I can be there in five minutes. You said Fat Pocket Pawn?" she asked.
"That's correct. You should also probably bring an ambulance. All three of them have been hit in the head, kinda hard," he replied.
She sighed. "Great. Fine. Do not move from that spot, any of you. And don't hurt them any further."
"All right. Like I said, Mister Santello's tying them up right now," Trent replied.
She sighed again. "Well...fine. Just, once that's done, stop touching them or talking to them. And don't move, any of you, I need to get this sorted out."
"Understood."
"I'm coming." She hung up.