SCRATCHED

Chapter 24

2020, Wickerstone.

Old Mike belched, watching the boys from where he sat. His old chair squeaked with his every move, and he cursed so much Sid had to offer, come next morn, to bring him a new one from Darius's old storage room on the other side of the Stone.

"Poor old thing can't carry carry your fat arse no more," he had said, cigar in mouth.

The bar was thin, but Old Mike could not remember the last time it had been empty. Even with the creatures lurking and roaming in the neighborhood woods and counties, his doors always swung open, welcoming the same fearless faces. The Stoners did not like visitors.

Ray walked up. Old Mike pushed the two little cups towards him. "Rough road, eh?"

Ray emptied one in a single gulp. "Ain't no road too rough for this man."

"Those things bother?"

Ray nodded, gulped down the second. "Aye. Stubborn like my grandma, they are. They stink like her too."

Old Mike laughed, his potbelly flapping.

"You two be'a not be talking 'bout me," Sid said.

"Ain't nothin' to talk abou'," Ray retorted, "I gave up on you since Old McKenzie was wearing a wig."

He raised his glass, and the bar roared in laughter.

The door was opened, Old Mike cursing when the bell clicked. It'd been a month since he vowed to remove the goddamn thing. A young man walked in. Tall with sharp eyes. He wore a long jacket despite the heat, and a hat, which he removed and placed on the counter.

Old Mike looked him in the eyes, then stuck his hand in a compartment below. He placed a roll of dollars besides the man's hat. The man took it and tucked it safely inside his coat.

"Somebody asking for the Smoke House," the man said.

"Who?"

"I dunno, some kid outside. Any of your guys know the place?"

Old Mike pointed to the sign hanging over the counter. It was so old and dusty the letters were barely readable. But the man was able to draw out the letters: S-M-O-K-E-H-O-U-S-E

"Dumb fool," Old Mike chuckled as he poured him a cup. The man took it in one gulp, then eyed the pack of cigars Old Mike had pushed his way.

"Somethin' extra, for a fellow smoker."

"Always a pleasure doing business with you," the man said, standing to leave.

He was at the door when Old Mike barked his name, adding a polite curse. "Your end of the bargain, or you won't have a mouth to smoke those cigars with."

The man smiled. "Look under the hat."

Old Mike looked to the hat he never took, then lifted it. Satisfied with what was underneath, he nodded with a smirk.

"Old fool," the man chuckled as he grabbed the knob.

"And the hat?"