[Ed Note: I submitted this to a True Detective fan fiction contest. I did not win. Sorry for the lapse in content, we'll see if I can rectify the situaish. But, you know...I wrote some fanfic?]
“Muther. Fucker.”
He could see the moment, kicked the fridge door shut, caused the tumbledown house to shudder, and he saw the moment again. Again, again, again. The vacant eyes and the slacked jaw. The cook’s indifference. Worst of all, the sriracha dropped onto his octopus swastika tattoo—the 'swastapus' as he called it—wiped up with an offending finger, and fed into his rotten maw. Heft wrapped inside his tank top, red rimmed eyes searing through his beard, DeWall charged the yard. On such a warm day, even his swollen, calloused feet whispered through the stalks of summer grass.
“You got a shadow in you, boy.” DeWall’s complaint registered as he wrenched open the container door.
Reggie, shirtless and bleached blonde, spun around and peeled off his kitchen gloves. “You speaking on me?”
“Corrosive! I seen it…”
Reggie threw his gloves to the ground. “That don’t work on me. I heard that from you one too many time. I’m on a cook!” He sauntered from the container.
DeWall edged back. “It was mine! Them was mine!”
“Two days. That’s the rule. The rule we both agreed on. Two days, that’s fair game.”
“I’ll smash your liar mouth, Reggie. You know that hadn’t been there but since yesterday.”
“You mean the leftover Meskin?”
“Fuckin’ hell. The sandwich. The Chink sandwich.”
“It’s bun me. From Viet-nam. And that wadn’t gonna feed your fat ass.”
“That ain’t the point, man. I gotta, you know…” DeWall motioned outward, “walk through fucking Bosnia to get out of here. Then I gotta take the tarp off the truck and then drive, like, 20 minutes to get somewhere. It’s principles.”
“You wanted to make runs to town! You think I like staying out here all the time?!”
“I thought time was a flat circle. Shouldn’t mean shit to you.”
Reggie punched his finger into DeWall’s chest. “Who cooks all the gear? Who checks the traps, huh? When was the last time you took the shit bucket out of their room? When was the last time you fed one of ‘em?”
DeWall struggled for words.
“Never!” Reggie growled. “You ain’t never done it the once. Maybe, I wanna go play in town every now and again. But I can’t cause I’m here minding everyone’s shit!”
Silence collapsed between them.
Reggie looked to the horizon, DeWall to the ground. In perfect time their eyes found each other, then immediately darted away. The sun, at its particular angle, made them squint. It was almost like a smile. And as the immense, unbroken wheel turned forever around them Reggie said, “I guess I’ll warm some beans up.”
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