Half My Blood
Copyright © 2015 by Lauren Gilley
“You done yet?”
In answer, Mercy unwrapped the cling film off the second leftover chicken sandwich Ava had brown-bagged him for lunch and took a huge bite of it. He was enjoying setting the guy on edge. They’d walked over to the clubhouse, far enough from the bike shop that, should things devolve to punch-throwing, they wouldn’t be doing it in front of paying customers. Mercy, in what he thought of as an inspired choice, had gone in, snagged his lunch, and was devouring it down to the last Dorito crumb, making Colin wait. He’d never done that when they were kids; it felt damn good.
To be a guy the ladies had always swooned over, Colin’s sneer made him look truly ugly. “Did wifey make you lunch?”
“Did she write you a love note on your napkin?”
It said Love you bunches, Monster, with three little hearts doodled off to the side. He’d crumpled it in his palm first thing when he’d opened the bag and stuffed it in his cut pocket when Colin wasn’t looking. “Nope,” he said, cramming the last square of bread in his mouth. “What’s the matter?” he asked when he’d swallowed. “Wish she’d written one for you? All nostalgic for the good ol’ days when your mama wiped your ass for you?”
Colin ignored the jab and said, “Nah, man, you were the one always starvin’ for a mama.”
Okay. Lunch was over.
Mercy shoved his bag and half-drunk soda off to the side of the picnic table where they sat, giving Colin a level look. “Say what you gotta say to me, and then fuck off. I don’t have time for your bullshit."
Colin shrugged, and in a deceptively calm voice said, “A’ight. You wanna tell me why you put a round of buckshot through my old man?”
“Because he was a betraying son of a bitch. Next question.”