The Old Virgin

by Travis Mills

(Continued)
     "What’d he say," Rick asked with starving eyes.
     The hulk of a man sighed and crossed his legs. Rick glanced inside and caught Margie spying from the kitchen.
     "A dog whines and whines for hours, he can expect one of two things. One, he gets what he wants. Two, he gets what he doesn’t want."
     "I figure I’m the dog," Rick said.
     "Right."
     "I don’t remember whining."
     "Alright. Barking."
     "Barking?"
     "Howling."
     "If you say so," Rick grumbled.
     "No. If he says so. He’s been listening to you howl since Christmas and it’s already November."
     Rick shrugged. He turned his back to the man and hung his head down so his eyes pointed down into the mud.
     "What’d he say," Rick asked.
     "He said no."
     "No?"
     "Right."
     "Why?"
     "I sure as hell don’t ask why and he likes me."
     "He likes me too."
     "Sure he does."
     Rick faced Gat.
     "So why doesn’t he have anything for me?"
     "Because you’re no good," Gat hissed.
     Rick cringed. He wasn’t sure if Gat noticed.
     "I’m good for numbers."
     "I run the numbers," Gat said.
     Rick didn’t say anything. He glanced inside at Margie. She was pretending to cook rice.
     "I know what you want to say,"Gat said," but you haven’t got what it takes. You want to say, ‘Why is this big old thug doing the kind of work that a smart guy like I should be doing,’ right?"
     Rick stayed quiet.
     "Well, I am a big old thug. But I like doing what I do and so does the boss and as long as it goes that way, that’s how it is. Another thing is, you’re not so smart as you think. I played ball with sons of bitches who could run laps around you, and I ain’t saying with their legs."
     Gat stood. Rick glanced up.
     "I can collect," he said.
     Gat chuckled, then he stopped himself. "You’re done," he said.
     "Let me collect."
     "You’re not up for it."
     "I sure am."
     "You’re rusty."
     "I can do it."
     "You ever twist a man’s arm before?"
     "Plenty of times," Rick said.
     "You ever beat a woman till she was almost dead so her husband might pay?"
     "I’m good for the job, Gat."
     One of the big man’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "There isn’t anyone to collect from anyhow," he said, "Everyone’s already paying."
     "I’ll find someone."
     "You’ll find someone?"
     "Right."
     "What are you gonna dig up a beggar with two coins in his pocket and take one?"
     "I’ll find someone. Give me the shot."
     Gat’s eyebrow sank back down.
     "All I care is that you stop howling."
     Rick glared at him and nodded. Gat turned away.
     "I’ll come by tomorrow with the dough. You’ll see, Gat. You’ll both see I got something left."
     Gat looked back. He smiled. Rick didn’t know what it meant. The big man crouched through the doorway and left.
     Rick stayed on the porch. After a few minutes, Margie came out. She bent down and put her head next to his knee.
     "I don’t like that man," she whispered.
     "He’s going to make me some money," Rick grumbled.
     "What you need money for," she asked. She looked up at him.
     "Did you cook some rice?"
     She nodded.
     "I’ll have some," he said. After a few minutes, she brought him out a bowl of rice. He ate it, chewing and swallowing on instinct, while he thought of other things.