Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One
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“I did buy her a pig,” he said, laughing like the notion was ridiculous even to him. “I read an article online about service dogs for people suffering from dementia but those motherfuckers are expensive and the waiting list is years long. So I looked up alternatives to service dogs and BOOM. Now Mirna has Oscar.”
“What exactly does he do?” I said, and as if he knew we were talking about him, the cow-colored pig came traipsing into the room as if he was supervising and checking on our progress.
Preppy patted him on the head. “In a nutshell, he’ll alert us when the shit’s about to hit the fan.” He unraveled yet another plastic hose and opened a small tool box.
“Where did you learn all this?” I asked.
“From a fucking ten-year-old on Youtube,” Preppy said, unloading equipment from a box marked as dog food.
“Shut the fuck up!” I said, covering my mouth. “There’s no way.”
“It’s the truth. We’ve been having issues with our source, guys a real douche. When King was sentenced I wanted to come up with a plan B, so I set this in motion. I first thought about buying a house and setting up our operation in there, but growhouses are kind of obvious. Usually, a guy that looks like a thug coming and going is kind of a tip off. The smell is harder to handle on a mass scale, as well. So I wound up on Youtube, watching videos of how these young kids were growing it in their closets and using these intricate filtration systems they set up with tubing from hamster cages and science projects. Figured we could do the same thing. Smaller scale of growing scattered around the town.”
“Ahhhhh, so that’s when it all started.”
“Yes, it is. So we look for older women. Someone who lives alone. Not a lot of family to ask too many questions. Someone needing to supplement their social security check. It was actually a lot easier than I thought to get people to agree.”
“Why women? Why not an older man?” I asked, dropping the drill I was holding when Oscar ran into me like a bull from behind, taking out my knees and knocking me to the floor. “Thanks, buddy,” I mumbled.
Preppy helped me off the floor, and I rubbed the spot on my tailbone I’d landed on. “Want me to get that for you?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“I think I can handle it.”
“Report back if that situation changes.” Preppy went back to his tools, and I drilled another hook into the wall.
“There are a few types of people my charm and wit doesn’t work on. Old men being one of those kinds of people. Besides, old ladies make the best cookies. We have four now, but in order to stop getting supply from the asshole we get it from now we’re gonna need more. A lot more. That’s where you come in.”
“So not only am I forging documents for you, but you’ve somehow roped me into co-conspirator of your drug ring?”
“Yep.”
“Sneaky bastard,” I said, pointing the drill at him and pushing the trigger, giving it a few spins. I looked around at the progress we’d made. “This is actually kind of a genius idea.”
“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said with a cocky smile. “It doesn’t raise suspicion and the Granny’s are compensated well. It’s win win all around.”
“So you make your pitch and they hand you the keys to their house?”
“Something like that. Some prefer not to know what I’m doing in their guest bedroom. For those who want to know, I try and make them see that I’m not dragging them into a torrid drug trade.”
“How do you prefer them to see it?” I asked.
He grinned from ear to ear. “Subletting.”
Preppy passed me one end of a tube and we each climbed one of the ladders set up on opposite ends of the room.
“Was Mirna your first?”
He scoffed. “Far from it.”
I flashed him a middle finger salute with my free hand. “That’s not what I meant, although I wouldn’t doubt that your first time was with an elderly woman who seduced you with cookies and reruns of the Golden Girls.”
“It was Jeopardy,” he deadpanned, before his face cracked open into a smile. “Would have been cooler if that were true, but if you must know, the truth was I was fourteen when a woman stole my precious virtue.” Preppy got down from his ladder, and crossed the room to pass me the nail gun.
“And what was this lucky lady’s name?” I asked, tacking my side up with a lot more finesse than Preppy had.
“Her name?” He laughed. “Anything I wanted it to be.”
“You lost your virginity to a hooker!” I said. Preppy grabbed me by the waist and brought me down from the ladder.
Preppy opened the top of the filtration system. “I sure did. Best birthday ever, thanks to King. Turned into kind of an annual thing after that.”
I stood there gaping. Not that he’d done it, but that he admitted it.
“What?” he asked, when he saw me staring with my mouth open. “Your family doesn’t have traditions?”
“Something tells me that you don’t have a lot of skeletons in your closet.”
Preppy shook his head. “Nope, I don’t keep evidence.”
Oscar darted out of the room. “Are all pigs that fast?”
“Not sure. He’s the only pig I’ve gotten to know on a personal level.” Preppy stripped some wires while I sat on the floor untangling extension cords. “So what about you, Doc? When did you lose your virtue?”
“What is this, Pride and Prejudice?” I asked. Preppy narrowed his eyes at me. After his admission last night, the least I could do was come clean. “It was…” The look on Preppy’s face told me that I didn’t need to continue, he knew exactly what I was about to say, that I’d lost it when I was raped by Conner and Eric. His jaw tightened and he was white knuckling the screwdriver in his hand so hard, I thought his knuckles were going to pop out of his skin. Suddenly, his entire demeanor shifted.
“So that’s the only time you’ve ever fucked?”
“Way to beat around the bush about it,” I said dryly, biting my lip as embarrassment and shame washed over me. Suddenly, Preppy was crouched down in front of me. He lifted my chin so I could face him. “What?” I asked, as he searched my eyes.
He cleared his throat and for a second I thought he was having a stroke, because I’d never heard him go quiet for so long. He took a deep breath and held my gaze. “Doc?”