“You’re the one Scott hired.”
“Yes. To do...”
“I know why he hired you. I don’t like it when he does that while I’m on
vacation.” This querulous,
red-faced man was Joe, Scott’s partner.
“My name’s Steven…”
“I know your name.
What’s that?” Joe pointed
to the tip of a devil’s tail showing beneath Steven’s short sleeve.
It was a regrettable tattoo. The kind you get and then and
dream about covering up for the next couple years: a cartoon devil, pitchfork
ready, giving the finger.
“I keep forgetting about that. You can barely see it…”
“But I do see it.”
The devil shuffled around inside Steven’s shirtsleeve before
poking his head out. “I see you
too, jackass.” He waved his
pitchfork at Joe. “How about you
let the kid do his damn job?”
Joe, confused, skulked away.
“I'm never thinking of covering you up again,” said Steven.
“Damn straight.”
