Weecho: First Shots

Chapter 8 - Snake Pit

“Keep moving,” Weecho said to Juna. 

God bless her, she did. 

They could see there was no choice but to go straight into the store. The door was unlocked, thanks for small favors (or maybe not), Weecho holding it open for Juna, hearing the SUV crunch to a stop behind them. 

They stepped inside and looked around, just another pair of customers, just happened to be the only ones here. Weecho heard the car door slam, tried to look fascinated by the cages of birds and tanks of tropical fish that took up just about all the space. Any other time he likely would have been. He moved behind a glass tank that had small alligators in it, bent down to see through to the front door. 

Saw the door open and Soul Patch come in. 

The man didn’t have his shades on now, had pale eyes, chilly, reminding Weecho of his father’s, like the old man’s would get when he’d lose it, take something out on you. Soul Patch swept his own eyes around the store, held them on a pen over in a corner where Juna was making a fuss over a litter of puppies. 

“Can I help you?” he said, like help was the last thing he had in mind. 

Bless her again, she didn’t miss a beat. “I’m looking for work.” 

“We’re not hiring.” 

“You would if you knew how good I was with animals.” Showing it with the pups, them making happy sounds, licking her hand. “And you need somebody in front here.” 

He kept his hard look. “Our animals are different.” 

“I can see that.” She glanced at a tank with a pair of dinosaur-looking iguanas in it. “I’ve been around wild ones all my life, snakes, gators…” 

A baloney merchant, Weecho thinking. Join the family. 

Or maybe she really had been around them. 

Soul Patch stood there nodding.  

Then whipped his eyes to Weecho. 

“Who’re you?” 

“I’m with her.” What else could he say? 

Soul Patch stared at him – like this wasn’t the first time he’d seen this kid, trying to place where else. Weecho still had his shades on – Ray-Bans don’t fail me now. 

“Where you from?” 

“New York.” 

“I mean family.” 

“Cuba. Manzanillo.” 

He’d shaved off the mustache he’d been wearing at the crash, like he’d promised his mother. Glad not to have it for Soul Patch to clue on.   

Soul Patch squinted at him – spic punk probably doing this white chick – then turned his eyes back to Juna. “And you?” 

 “I’m a swamp girl,” she said. “Atchafalaya. Biggest in the country.” 

Weecho could see Soul Patch liked that, even if he didn’t totally believe her. 

The man waited, like he was trying to make up his mind. 

Then nodded. “Come in back.” 

He turned toward a door in the rear of the store, wasn’t looking when Juna grabbed a handful of puppy treats from a bowl by the pen and shoved them in her pocket. She turned and gave Weecho a straight face, the two following Soul Patch through the back door.