I’m writing a novel about bees and crystal meth. (Not bees on crystal meth. Shudder.) Here’s a teaser.
Unlike me, Doug has no reservations about offering up his life story. “I jacked a car and needed to get away from the cops. I’m from Surrey. It’s a fucking war zone there, man. I was selling meth too, it was just a matter of time before I ended up on the inside.”
“Fascinating.” Donna hands him a smoke. “Ember here is getting away from drugs too.”
“Really?” Doug sneers. “You don’t look like the type. What was it, coke?”
“Ritalin,” I say somewhat sheepishly, though I’m not sure why.
“That’s a good drug,” Doug says.
“That’s what I said!” Donna chimes in.
“I’d be dead without it.” Doug grins at her.
“You and my son both, kid.”
They high five. I’m not about to explain myself to some thug kid from Surrey, so I take a bite of my sandwich. Now I’m almost positive he’s the lawnmower thief. How could he not be?
I don’t have to wait long for affirmation. “Thanks for not ratting on me with Meg by the way,” he says to me.
“So that was you.”
“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs.
“And you’re just gonna put it out there like it’s no big thing”
“Sure,” Donna says, “ride on mowers go missing all the time.”
“Would’a got away with it too, if it didn’t run out of gas.”
“What the hell were you going to do with it?” Donna says. “Sell it at the farmer’s market?
We’re all quiet for a moment, exhaling smoke, wondering where to go next. With Donna, you never have to wonder very long.
“So, planning on stealing anything else while you’re here?”
“Nah,” Doug says. “That was just a relapse. I’m gonna lay low and just work for awhile. Thanks again, Ember.”