“Didn’t I tell you smoking’s bad for you?” he asked, pausing in the parking lot so she could catch up before continuing to the front doors.
“Yeah, and so is spending your entire life working, day in and day out. We all gonna die in the end anyway.” It was her go-to answer every time he mentioned her bad habit. “Why you still alone? All those muscles and dreamy blue eyes. Sho’ nuff makes my old heart skip a beat.”
He looked down at his body, following her eyes and grinned. “You like my chicken sticks?”
“Not like any chicken sticks I ever seen.”
Kellus let her enter first, then followed her inside. She crossed in front of his path, heading to the other side of the store. “I’ll pull your order. Have it ready for you.”
“I’m gonna grab some fruit, and I’ll be over there in a minute.”
“Take your time,” she called out, waving a hand behind her. Kellus reached for the cart and slowly made his way through the store. Grocery shopping was right up there with laundry—something that had to be done regardless of how bad he didn’t want to do it. He stuck to the basics. He didn’t vary his diet often—fruits, vegetables, fish, and chicken. Throw in some protein bars and he had his breakfast of champions ready to go.
His one highlight would be whatever Velma had back behind the deli counter. That was always a treat. She’d save the best pieces for him of whatever special they made that week. She knew his dietary restrictions and never failed to make sure he had at least one delicious homemade meal every week. Velma always gave him preferential treatment, stopping what she was working on when he came to the counter.
“I got you, boy. Cute guy like you needs to make this a dinner for two,” she called out across the counter, drawing every eye around to focus on him.
“Yeah, I’ll work on that.”
“You need me to come spend time with you?” she teased as she slid his wrapped bag over the counter.
“Probably not a bad idea.” He took the package, waved at a couple of others behind the counter, and took off for the checkout. Not twenty minutes later, he pulled his delivery van into his driveway. It was still pretty early in the afternoon. He could get a good ten hours or so of work in, which he needed badly, especially with tomorrow being the delivery day.
Kellus grabbed his duffle from between the seats and stepped out of the van. He walked around the vehicle to the back door. Inside, he had a setup that extended from the driver’s seat all the way to the back door to help keep his art secure while in transport. There was a section carved out for things like groceries, packages, or even his passed-out ex.
Surprisingly he managed all twenty or so sacks in his hands, slamming the door shut with his foot. He bypassed the garage and went for the front door, coming to an abrupt halt when he noticed the door standing wide open. Dread filled his belly. He dropped the groceries, pushing open the door with his foot as the duffel came off his shoulder. He could see from where he stood that the television was gone. His heart sank. That was brand-fucking-new. Well, brand new to him, bought from a pawnshop to replace the other one John had stolen.
“Are you still in this house?” he called out, moving inside the front entry. He looked down the hall, then moved around the corner, looking in the kitchen. He stood there quietly listening to the silence around him. Even though no one had answered, he still checked the house thoroughly, looking for whatever else John might have taken. As he headed toward the back door, he caught a glimpse of John’s medicine still sitting on the coffee table. It didn’t look like he’d touched it. Of course he hadn’t. He could put in his system any illegal drug that could possibly kill him, but not the FDA-approved medication. Kellus sighed and shook his head. So dumb.
He stopped when he reached the back door and palmed his phone. He sent John a very clear text message.
“I’m done with you. I’ve said that before but I can’t live like this. I just bought that TV. Where did you pawn it? I want it back.”
He opened the back door to look out at his studio garage to see if the lock was still holding the large metal door down. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Besides the professional security system installed in the studio, he’d added an industrial-size lock, as tamper resistant as it got. There was a new indentation in the rolling door. John had tried to get inside, but luckily, the lock had held. Thank God. The strong wave of relief helped ease some of the churning in his stomach. Tomorrow was too important of a day. Delivery meant payday, and he needed that money to keep afloat.