“If you’re looking for a sitter, I’ll take her off your hands.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You will?”
“Sure. I’ve never seen this one. We gotta get to know each other better.”
Is that a weird thing to say? Or is it just typical crazy Gramps? Speaking of… “No fires, Gramps. Hear me?”
“I ain’t gonna set no fire.”
“Don’t ask her to set a fire, either. And no shooting.” He makes to protest, but I put up a hand. “Not even BBs. That spying asshole next door will call the cops again. And the last thing you need is another court date for illegal discharge of a firearm. They’re gonna throw you in jail the next time that happens, Gramps. They’re not fucking around anymore. This town is tired of your shit.”
They’re actually tired of all of us. But mostly Gramps. He’s been terrorizing Fort Collins since 1932.
He salutes me. “Cross my heart.”
I don’t believe him. Not entirely. But I’m too fucking tired to care. So I take this problem to the princess. I point at her. “Don’t let him do anything stupid, got me?”
She nods. “I got you.”
“No matches, no guns, no arrows, no axes.”
“What?” Gramps complains. “You’re no fun.”
“No pets,” I continue. “No wild animals. No knives. No whiskey, no beer, no pot. No porn and no tattooing.” I point at Gramps with a stern face for this last one. “Oh. And no motorcycles. Just… maybe go watch some TV or something.”
“We’ll be fine,” Princess says. “Go sleep.”
I sigh, so fucking tired. “OK. But if he gets out of hand, you come wake me up. Deal?”
“Who’s the babysitter here?” Gramps asks.
Good question. One I should seriously consider. And I will. Later. After I catch a few hours of z’s.
I head inside, pick my way past a passed-out dude on the floor, and head for the stairs. My room is actually an old drawing room. Or maybe it was a parlor? Something weird like that. It’s on the second floor, but it was never meant to be a bedroom. Maybe a ballroom? I dunno. The point is, it’s fucking huge. And it’s got two turrets in it. When you look at the mansion from the street it looks a lot like the house the Munsters lived in. And for many years it didn’t even have paint. That chipped off decades back. And the cost of repainting this thing? Way out of our budget. But I’ve been working on it for several years now. I’ve had to replace most of the siding. And all of the windows. When you’ve got ninety-six windows in your house, that’s not a small thing.
Good thing I have that side job. Because while I do make decent money as an inker, you can only do so many tattoos in a day. This other gig is much easier to scale. I’ve got big plans for the future and none of them include spending my life savings on this mansion.
I yawn cavernously as I take off my shirt, kick my boots into a corner, and then strip off my jeans and socks and crawl under the covers.
I’m asleep before my head even touches the pillow.
The revving of a small engine combined with the squeal of a young girl wakes me from my slumber.
I put the pillow over my head and moan. “No. Noooooo.”
Fucking Gramps.
I didn’t say no go-karts, though, did I?
Do I need to care about this?
I fall back asleep wondering that.
The next time I wake up, little fingers are poking me. “Vicious?”
I peek open one eye and find the niece standing at the edge of my bed. “Hmm?”
“You want some SpaghettiOs and toast?”
“Gross. No.”
“I liked it. First, we had beef ravioli. Then the kind with the tiny meatballs. You know the ones?”
I nod. Gramps has been eating Chef Boyardee since 1935. He’s got a whole story about this disgusting canned food. My pops grew up on it too. Thankfully, by the time me and my brothers and sister rolled around, it was going out of style. I cannot believe people have been eating that crap for almost a hundred years.
“I liked it all.” She sighs. “It’s almost as good as the jackalope dog. You sure you don’t want some?”
This is when I notice she’s holding a bowl of it out for me. “Nah. What time is it?” I’m still tired.
“Three-thirty.”
Now I do open my eyes. “Fuck. Is it really?”
“Yep.”
“I wanted to go to the swap meet. Should we go? There’s still time.”
“Hmm. I dunno. I like hanging out with Gramps. He let me do the go-karts.”
“Did you wear a helmet?”
She nods. “He said I didn’t have to, but I know better.”
I chuckle a little. “Good girl. But listen, your mom didn’t call, did she?” Princess shakes her head. “Hand me my phone. It’s in my pants pocket. I just wanna check.” She grabs the phone and hands it over. But nope. Ronnie did not call. “All right then. I guess they’re still busy. But if we go up to the swap meet”—I make my eyebrows go up so she knows this is gonna be exciting—“we’ll be closer to home. And then you can go to the farm from there.”