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Buck Merril never knew what to expect from those Shepard kids.
They were terrifying, sure, Tim with his soft voice and sharp blade and that friend of his, the girl who’d stomped on a man’s throat in her stilettos and left him unable to talk. Then there was his brother, Curly, with his reckless violence and effortless cruelty, and their sister with her innocent face and shark-like eyes. They were all three of them half crazed, creatures worse than most of what the east side turned out, and while Buck wasn’t any sort of coward he wasn’t stupid enough to tangle with that particular brand of crazy. He’d met rabid dogs easier to control than that Curly kid, and don’t even get him started on the other two.
Still, they were strange. Maybe it had to do with their parents- their Ma half black half Mexican, their pa half Cherokee half white, and the kids all mixed up. Buck himself had grown up spending winters on the rez with his own mom and the rest of the year wrangling cattle and horses with his pa. He knew all too well what jumping between cultures and homes that never quite knew what to do with you could do to a kid. It was hard sometimes, never fitting right anywhere, not white enough for his pa, not native enough for his mom. No wonder those kids were weird.
Perhaps it was because he was used to the Shepard kids’ strangeness by now that he wasn’t all that surprised when Tim Shepard came to sell him blow with a baby propped on his hip.
He’d been sitting on the steps of the porch, smoking a cigarette and wishing for something stronger, when Shepard strolled up the drive, casual as you please, familiar with his purposeful stride and suspicious eyes. What was unfamiliar was the tiny human in his arms.
Buck wasn’t stupid. He knew you didn’t have to be a good man to be a good dad. The careful way Tim cradled the little girl and the way he’d kept his siblings alive and fed as their mother fell farther and farther off the deep end marked him as one of the sort, but still, he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone bring a kid to a drug deal before.
He also hadn’t heard any rumours of Tim knocking up some broad, and he usually heard most gossip before the rest of Tulsa. Part of the territory of being a bar owner on the east side meant learning just about everything there was to know about the goings on. But last he’d heard Shepard wasn’t going with anyone and hadn’t been for a while.
“She ain’t mine,” Tim snapped, catching his look, “so you can quit givin’ me that look Merril.”
“I didn’t say nothin’.”
“You didn’t have to.” He grumbled, rooting through his pockets. The baby, maybe a year old if Buck had to guess, grabbed his hair and yanked, babbling excitedly. Tim didn’t even wince, just removed the girl’s hands with surprising tenderness and fixed her with an unimpressed look.
“That’s quite enough of that little miss. Ain’t your moma teach you to never touch a greaser’s hair?”
The little girl continued babbling, unphased, and Tim sighed, hiking her a little higher on his hip and finally pulling the bag of white powder Buck had been anxiously waiting for out of his pocket.
“You sure she ain’t yours?” Buck asked, eyeing the girl’s wispy dark curls, reminiscent of each of the Shepard siblings.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The dangerous look in Tim’s dark eyes was enough to have him backtracking.
“She just looks like you is all.”
“Jesus, I’m babysittin ’.”
Buck thought anyone insane enough to trust Tim Shepard to babysit had to have a screw loose, but wisely chose not to share that thought. He still needed his blow, and pissing off Tim was a surefire way to ensure he didn’t get any more.
“Whatever. How much do I owe ya?”
“Five bucks.”
“ Five ?” His eyes widen, “It was four last week!”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t pissing me off by asking dumb questions last week, were ya?” Tim snarled. Despite the fact the little girl was dressed in a pink onesie, patting his cheek and waving excitedly, her presence did not undermine the threat in Tim’s voice in the slightest.
“Well excuse me for thinkin’ you’d accidentally father a kid before you’d babysit one.”
Tim offered him a feral smile. “See Merril that’s where you’re wrong. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I father a kid. I ain’t fit to be anyone’s daddy but at least I’m smart enough to know that. You won’t see no accidental rugrats like this little miss,” he tickled the baby’s stomach and she squealed with giggles, “from me.”
Buck eyed the little girl’s clear delight, the way she clung tight to Shepard’s neck, the careful way he handled her- more tenderly than he thought the hood capable of- and thought that was a crock of shit.
“Sure.”
Tim glared like he knew exactly what he was thinking. “I mean it.”
“Whatever man,” Buck said, too sober to keep having this strange conversation with batshit fucking crazy Tim Shepard, “here.”
He slapped five dollars into his hand, almost wincing as he did so. Five was a lot, especially for how much he was getting, and if Tim hiked his prices any more he was gonna have to find a new dealer- no matter how much of a headache it would be. Tim pocketed the money and finally handed over the drugs.
“Same time next week?”
Buck sighed. “Yep.”
Tim grinned that tigerlike grin. “Pleasure doing business with you Merril.”
He turned on his heel and strode away, the same dangerous hood with his feral eyes and catlike grace, intimidating presence not even a little dampened by the presence of the toddler on his hip.
“C’mon little miss,” he heard Tim say as he rounded the corner, his gruff voice somehow managing to be soft and rough at the same time, “let’s go spend Meril’s money on ice cream huh?”
The last thing he heard before his front door slammed behind him was the baby’s overjoyed squeal.
Fucking strange ass Shepard, with his weird ass baby Buck couldn’t say for sure he hadn’t kidnapped.
It was a good thing he sold good blow.