‘“Here’s the money. Don’t wander off. And be sure you aren’t short-changed… for the love of Job.”
‘The Ferret, still a boy of less than 12, and dressed as one might imagine in short dark pants, long striped socks, a close-fitting crew shirt of the same fabric and design as those socks, and perhaps less expectedly – a propeller beanie up top that he would don indoors and out.
‘On this particular day, he was headed to a not-so local establishment spotted recently by his father on the way home from work. Josh Davies’s Choice Flesh & Catch was a good way away from the home of Fred Ferret and family but could still be safely considered walking distance for his notoriously incorrigible eldest son, who is now simply known as The Ferret.
‘After a few blocks of aimless stone-kicking, unprovoked cat-scaring, stomping into puddles with the purpose of spraying mud on a shiny parked car, and at least one instance of an unsuccessful attempt as a peeping tom, The Ferret begins to approach the shop of the fish monger, nothing more than a shack really, with tackle hanging from a dented metal awning.
‘“Cool!” The Ferret likely thinks to himself, picking up the pace of his approach but careful not to miss any opportunities for future mischief along the way.
‘There was a bloody meat hook, for instance, left to dry in the sun, and bones almost everywhere, large and small.
‘Davies could be seen through the shack’s only entrance, which had the door peeled back on its hinges and fastened open with a wire.
‘The old man, large-eyed and small-mouthed, appeared to be humming to himself as he skinned something.
‘The knife he wielded was more than large enough for the job, thought The Ferret, who remained standing outside with almost all but his bulging green eyes hidden from sight.
‘“Cool,” he likely thought.
‘“To purchase a fish burger or not – that is the question,” quips Davies, clearly addressing his furtive young visitor but not lifting his head from his work, as older people sometimes do when approached by timid children.
‘“How do you know what I want,” shoots back The Ferret, who’s clearly used to talking on par with adults.
‘Davies halts his carving work, stabs the blade into the cutting board and says: “Well, why don’t you come in here and tell me?”’
At this point Dickerson, who’d been listening to the tale about the fishmonger, which was somehow supposed to represent background material for a case that he had already found himself into up to his hips, slams down his hand hard onto the desk and cocks back his hat to reveal a red and ugly face.
Jack Step, Dickerson’s partner and the teller of the tale, looks at him with the small seasoned eyes of the workaholic, alcoholic, loser in a light-gray suit who probably should have already been fired but hasn’t and won’t quit on his own for reasons he refuses to even consider, has stopped talking and reaches into his breast coat pocket for a cigarette and matches.
Dickerson never takes his eyes off him and finally says: “And just how the fuck do you know all this?”
Filed by The Half Guinea, Classification Confidential, September 22, 2017