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To call their house a dump would have been an insult to an actual dump. Real dumps had people working hard to manage the place. 'Cultivated chaos,' Craig Degann might have called it if he felt inclined to remark on it at all. His roommate, Aaron Kirby, known more by his moniker of Tweak, never gave any indication he even realized he lived like a slob.
A while back Kim had come by and the wrinkled look of disgust on her face had filled Craig with a sort of shame he didn’t think he was capable of anymore. Their place was far out in the boonies, even for Hope County, so who did they really have to clean for? What did you call the buttfuck of nowhere that was just outside of a slightly larger buttfuck of nowhere?
“Tweak’s working on a new project,” Craig had muttered scratching under his toque, “some hush hush chemical warfare.”
Kim ignored his joke and poked a sweatshirt that had been carelessly tossed on top of a pile of old dishes.
“You’re never gonna get laid again,” Kim remarked, shaking her head. She didn’t even bother to take back the Tupperware she’d lent them.
Kim had a point. Fortunately, the house he and Tweak shared was pretty far from Fall’s End so it was easy to just to crash at a hookup’s place. Not that anyone would have been surprised at the state the two men lived in. They both had a rep among the locals, especially Tweak who’d been born and raised in Hope County. No one had really been surprised when Tweak had returned from a trip overseas with a new friend.
When he didn’t want to listen to his roommate jabber on, or that itch for something to happen grew to be too much, he’d find himself at the Spread Eagle, Mary May and her da’s bar in Fall’s End. The only place within an hour he could get a drink that hadn’t banned him from the premise. “Free America” his pasty white ass.
Today it had been a letter that had sent him running. He'd left it crumpled on the passenger seat of his truck and stepped into the bar with a dry mouth and a loud demand for Mary May to crack open a bottle of whisky and leave it with him. She never left the bottle, but he knew she always kept his favourite brand on hand. She was a good lass.
He’d been there about an hour, having some laughs, when the whole mood of the place suddenly turned sour. Mary May was behind the bar, her smile gone and replaced by cold stone. Craig slowly turned in his seat towards the door and- Well, if it wasn’t one of the devils themselves.
John Seed.
It was fairly rare for people who had enough wealth that they could indulge in the strange fantasy of “getting away from it all” came to Hope County. There was nothing of note here, no famous births, no unusual sights, and the only "hotel" were a few rooms above the Spread Eagle that were usually all booked up by hunters. Craig figured bigwigs would stumble on photos of vast, unspoiled Montana wilderness while surfing the web at work in a high-rise, and come out with dreams of building themselves a piece of progress in paradise. They never stayed long for a variety of reasons: the community was too poor, too small, there was no delivery, it was hard to get water rights, bad cell reception, no internet anywhere outside of the meager townships. Paradise, it turned out, was simply too much work.
Most of the time they came and went barely noticed and with scarcely a mention by the gossips at church. Sometimes they’d stay up to a week, even hire out locals for a hunting trip and putting enough cash in a few peoples pockets that would make for a nice winter.
John Seed had been there a month and seemed to have no intention of leaving. Hell, according to the Ryes he’d bought up some land near their place and was building something. Craig couldn’t help his curiosity, for the man dressed slick, but he’d caught a glimpse of an array of tattoos under his shirts. A wild man who wrapped it up Monday through Friday? Or was it all evidence of a past of fun nights?
Seed flashed a brilliant, perfectly white smile as he walked up to the bar and Craig’s nose ached with the phantom pain of a half dozen breaks. He doubted Seed had ever seen the inside of a thrift store, or that one of his shiny shoes had ever walked through mud. He was gonna end up just like all the rest, too soft, despite showing some remarkable tenacity.
“What do you recommend?” Seed took a seat next to Craig at the bar and turned his eyes towards Mary May. She wasn’t impressed, her face colder than a witch’s tit. Seed’s smile didn’t waver. That earned him a point, Mary May could make a tree whither in spring with the right tongue lashin'.
“Beer,” Mary May said flatly after a long moment.
Craig chuckled and John turned to him.
“Is that whiskey?” he asked. Craig raised his glass in a halfhearted cheer, “Ay.”
“I’ll have a whiskey. Neat.”
Mary May nodded and grabbed a glass from behind her, poured, then smacked it on the bar in front of him. It sloshed too the brim, but didn't spill a drop. A professional through and through.
“Thank you,” John remained unruffled.
“Don’t worry, she’s just prickly until she gets to know ya,” Craig heard himself say. John swirled the whiskey in his glass and then finished it in one long drink. Craig was impressed, the shit wasn't exactly top shelf. Either he liked the burn or didn't care.
“The accent,” John remarked, “you’re not from around here.”
“Ay, you noticed,” Craig leaned forward on his hand, “consider me adopted.”
John Seed was silent for a long moment. His brilliant blue eyes taking the measure of him until Craig felt the back of his neck start to prickle.
“What brought ya to Hope County?” Craig pushed his now empty glass forward for Mary May to fill when she passed.
“Opportunity. You?”
“Nowhere better to be,” Craig shrugged.
Mary May swept by, filling both of their glasses, and moving over to smack the hand of a drunk trying to reach behind the bar. Craig and John both took their drinks, raising them in the briefest of salutes, and then knocked them back. Craig luxuriated in the warm spread of confidence that now tingled through him.
“You’ll never last here,” Craig remarked, “your kind never does. You’re all too… Too…”
“Too?” John prompted.
“Soft. Too much of an outsider.”
“Unlike you?”
Mary May passed by with another refill and while Craig was starting to feel a little loose, John’s gaze and hands seemed steady as ever. Man had a gut like iron. Maybe there was a little Irish in him?
That thought trailed off into more vulgar territory before Craig slapped his palm on the bar to shake whatever sense he had left to him. John was suddenly very close, close enough that Craig could smell his breath. Whiskey. Minty. ‘Tic tac or gum?’ he wondered stupidly. Probably not gum, spitting it on the sidewalk outside of a bar seemed like the sort of thing a man like John would find crass. Maybe he just brushed a lot.
“What part of me seems soft?” John asked calmly. He wasn't offended, and seemed genuinely curious.
“You dress like a gobshite tool,” Craig said huskily. John laughed.
“Part of my professional life. Now…” John waited expectantly.
“Craig,” Craig muttered.
“Now Craig, what I don’t think you understand is we’re all outsiders. Some of us simply realize this a little faster through trial and tribulation.”
His blue eyes really were piercing, Craig felt like he was being peeled like an onion.
“I think you might understand that,” John’s voice was silken, “but you’re a runner when you should be embracing what comes.”
“Oh?” Craig’s throat was oddly tight. He felt unsure of their conversation.
The bar phone rang and Craig jumped in his seat.
“For you,” Mary May held out the phone to John who took it with a respectful nod.
“Seed,” he said and suddenly his catlike smile slipped away, “No, Joseph.”
Joseph? Who the fuck?
“I understand,” he handed the phone back to Mary May, “Thank you.” Getting to his feet he smiled at Craig with an expression that seemed almost... Nah, he was drunk. There was nothing to read into there.
“I’ve got to go, but I’m sure we’ll be seeing much more of each other."
“Planning on sticking around that long?"
“Oh, you might be surprised at the Project we’ve got in mind. I hope I can expect to see you join us in some capacity.”
“Not much of a joiner,” Craig was already turning away.
“You’d be amazed at just what you can say yes to,” John said softly. Craig frowned and turned to ask what the hell that meant, but he had already turned in a swirl of his coat and headed briskly for the door. He didn't look back.
“That guy’s a real weirdo,” Mary May commented as she poured another drink for Craig, “boarding on creepy.”
“Then he might be right at home in a town of weirdos,” Craig teased.
“Have you heard back from-“ she started to ask before Craig interrupted her with a wave of his hand. Everyone was always listening in on conversations in the bar and he wanted to keep this quiet for just a bit longer.
“Yeah, yeah. Passed the physical. Passed the written. Got invited in for an interview,” Craig took another drink before the nerves could swell up again.
“Hey that’s great,” Mary May congratulated him, “I had no idea you could read and write.”
“Oi!” Craig’s protest turned into a cough and then a laugh. He forgot about John Seed as the night wore on. He wouldn’t see him again until quite a while late, and it was the piercing blue gaze that brought their meeting back.
This time it wouldn’t be drinks between them.
And there was something sad about that.