Caspian stepped back, instantly focused on the collision. “I’m so sorry. My mistake.”
The other participant, a middle-aged man with a prominent bald spot at the top of his head, stalled at first but then laughed nervously and backed away, raising his hands. “No harm done, I have to pay more attention to where I’m going.”
“Have a good day, sir,” Caspian said, but before he could have made his way to the blue bag of crispy tortilla goodness, a low laugh made him glance over the shoulder and freeze.
Bud Dorset was approaching him with a wide grin that had meant mockery just last night at the gym. His pot belly stretched the front of the graphic tee with a message too indecent to be worn at work—or anywhere, if Caspian had something to say about it—but the name tag attached to his top meant that he was in fact employed here.
The open can of beer in his hand signified he wasn’t fazed by the possibility of being fired.
“You surprised me there, Gun. Thought that bastard would have left trembling, but you seem in a real good mood.”
Caspian needed to breathe. This guy might have overpowered him with ease any other time, but today he had access to every weapon in Gunner Russo’s arsenal and could use all this strength to his advantage, as if he were wearing a military-grade exoskeleton. There wasn’t a person in this town that could have intimidated Gunner, so Caspian should act the part.
“It’s my girlfriend. She’s a star,” he said.
Bud grinned, showing off the unusually white teeth that didn’t go with his grey complexion or puffy eyes. “Sandy? I bet her star’s good and tight.”
Caspian spotted the opportunity and he’d grab it. He slapped Bud’s forehead hard. No one could blame him for defending his woman’s honor, even in this world of degenerates.
“That’s my girl you’re talking about, asshole!”
When Bud raised his hands and smiled apologetically, Caspian walked off to the aisle of junk food with a spring to his step. He normally had this kind of food on special occasions. But in Gunner’s body? He wanted to stuff his face with it. The blue packet of Doritos evoked a visceral feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he also grabbed two chicken sandwiches on the way to the cash registers. He could only hope the pittance in his wallet was enough to pay for the food, because his mind was too scrambled by hunger to count his funds.
He exchanged a few meaningless words with Bud and was off, packing his mouth full of Doritos while he sped away from the trailer park and toward the lovely suburb where he’d grown up. He finished the bag before he reached the right exit but still didn’t feel satisfied enough and glanced at the cold sandwiches with longing, even though they likely tasted like salt and cardboard.
He supposed mayonnaise would make up for the flavorless iceberg lettuce isolating the chicken salad from bread, but it wasn’t something to eat while driving, so he paced himself and followed the familiar route through a woodland separating the residential area from the highway.
It was only once he drove past the stone marker at the entryway to Wild Oaks that he realized the old pickup with rust peeking out from under its white coat and a sticker of a busty skeleton woman on the window of the passenger’s side didn’t quite fit the vibe of this neighborhood. Oh, how different this piece of junk was from the vintage Southfield, which Caspian had renovated last summer. The old car was one of only twelve ever made by a genius mechanic dedicated to craft rather than making money, and one of the very few things his friends envied him for. But one couldn’t have everything.
He grunted, speeding up on the empty road winding between homes tucked among trees, in hope that none of his parents’ neighbors would call the police to report him as a suspicious individual.
His parents should be at work at this time of day, but worry still settled in his chest when the pale walls of their sprawling home emerged from the greenery. He’d have parked in the driveway any other time, but a vehicle like Gunner’s was bound to raise eyebrows, so he ended up pulling into a narrow service alley in the bushes behind the house.
He needed to find the dumb gorilla before he stole all of Mom’s jewelry!
Getting into the house was a breeze since he knew the entry codes, but what he wasn’t prepared for was the smell that hit him the moment he stepped inside.
Pancakes. Fresh, delicious, Mom’s pancakes, which she infused with a tiny bit of Bourbon vanilla. He could barely handle three most days, but his hunger knew no bounds in this overgrown body, so despite being here to confront the menace who had taken over his identity, he made a U-turn for the kitchen with saliva already pooling in his mouth.