I wanted to take a moment to whine about how killing a subplot, which was supposed to make things easier, can be a wretched thing to do to yourself. I decided to save my bitching for a later day, like for the one that I finally wrap up this goddawful chapter.
+ + +
“Uncle Loren’s in the back, Mister Blom.” He turned to Will, “Hi!”
“Go fetch him for me, will you Jared. Mister Holliday needs a word with him.”
The boy gave a quick wave and dashed back into the aisle.
“And have him grab a jar of that Corona ointment, if he would” he called after the boy, “and a roll of Vet-wrap.” He turned back to Will. “That boy’s priceless. Saved me a few hundred bucks on an intercom.”
Will smiled at him and looked away. He tried to appear nonchalant as he ran a hand up and down over a forearm, trying not to put his fingernails to work. When Ouillette appeared, he was carrying a pint sized plastic jar and a roll of what looked like purple crepe paper. He glanced at Will, gave him a nod, and did a double-take worthy of a Laurel and Hardy film, locking his eyes on Will and his random pattern of rents and gouges. “Ouch,” he said.
“I’ve had worse,” Will said.
Ouillette turned to Blom. “Did he come here looking for this?” He held the cellophane wrapped roll and the jar up to Blom.
“My suggestion, Loren, thank you. Whether he accepts it or not has yet to be determined.”
“Cheaper than a co-pay . . .” Will heard from Ouillette. He set the items on the counter.
“That all?”
“No,” Blom told him. “Mister Holliday is here looking for a word with you.” He pointed to Will.
Ouillette turned to Will, making no attempt to hide the amusement in his expression. “What can I do for you?”
Will had decided his appearance as a man who’d been living on grubs and berries and living in a ditch did not put him the kind of position to be a man who could demand answers. He also considered his inquiries would be related to a situation that appeared to be nothing more than a tremendous favor.
“Um… I wanted to thank you for the guys you sent out,” Will said.
Ouillette’s response was a curt nod.
“They got a helluva lot done.”
Another nod.
Will swallowed. Trying to squeeze any information out of this guy through a casual conversation was going to be chore. He had a sold feeling that was how Ouillette wanted it.
“How’d they end up there in the first place?”
Ouillette directed one of his nods at Blom. “You came to Bertie with a big project. He asked me my opinion on a couple of things. You needed labor, I have access to an organization eager to provide it.”
“What’s the going price of that labor?” Will asked, “We never had a chance to discuss it.”
Something that could have passed for a “knowing smile” crossed Ouillette’s face. It was momentary, but Will caught it. He also got the feeling he was meant to notice it. “The price is the opportunity to be of service to the community.”
“Not much ‘community’ six miles down the county road,” Will said.
The smile/smirk flashed again. “Well, we’re all part of the community, aren’t we?”
Will returned it. “As much as we’re willing to be, I suppose.” He let it hang for a moment, then added, “Or as much as we’re allowed to be.”
Blom, who’d been making a show of not paying attention, was now paying attention.
“Maybe you should have said something before you sent the boys out there, Loren.”
“I’d gotten the impression Mister Holliday was . . . indisposed at the time,” Ouillette answered.
Blom appeared flustered, as if he’d found himself in the position of a man who’d suddenly become stuck with being the voice of reason in a burgeoning bar fight. Will entertained the thought of moving the conversation to a location out of his earshot. He hadn’t been sure of what to expect out of Ouillette, but had in no way believed it would be as sour as things were shaping up to be. He was trying to come up with some sort of innocuous comment, something that might lighten things up a bit. Ouillette beat him to it, sort of.
“I’m sorry, Mister Holliday. I might have overstepped my bounds.”
Will matched smile for smile. “By no means, Mister Ouillette. I’m simply here to express my gratitude.” He swung his arms wide and offered a short bow, then added, “And to proffer a donation to the as-to-this-point unacknowledged organization that performed this labor in the name of community service.”
“That would be unnecessary.”
“Understood. But, as it stands, I insist.” Will’s teeth were drying with the grin he’d locked onto his face. He ran his tongue over them as he produced his checkbook.
“No need.”
“But, I insist, as I’ve made clear.” Using a thigh as a desktop, he bent over and began to write.
“Put that fuckin’ thing back in your pocket.”
Will lifted his head. They’d both swapped out the smiles for glares.
+ + +
So… well, like I said, maybe next time I’ll be able to indulge my whining.