I raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to bandage it or not?”
He grumbled something under his breath and walked to the bathroom to peer into the mirror. I leaned against the doorway, watching as he touched the bloody area lightly with his fingers, wincing every time he pressed a little too hard.
“We gotta clean that up,” I said.
“It’s fine,” he said.
“No. I’m not letting you get blood all over my apartment. Look out.” I pushed past him so I could get bandages out from under the sink. I grabbed an old washcloth, as well, and wet it with warm water. “What the hell did you do to yourself, anyway?” I asked, wiping at the blood. The cut was smaller than I’d expected it to be. Head wounds bled a lot, though. They always seemed more serious than they really were.
I hoped the same was true for whatever mess Brent had gotten himself into this time. That it seemed more serious than it really was.
He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details, though. “You know how things go,” he said, the same thing that he’d said before. “I ran into some more trouble in my trade. Nothing I can’t manage, though.”
I snorted. “In your trade?”
“Hey, just because I’m not into manual labor like you, it doesn’t mean that I haven’t worked just as hard as you to perfect my skills,” he said, indignant again. He dug his fingernails into the back of his arm, dragging thin lines of pink into the skin, still clearly agitated.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Sorry, the phrasing just caught me off guard. That’s all.” I paused. “Want to tell me what exactly happened?”
“Just ran into some trouble,” h repeated. “Everything’s under control. I just need a place to crash again. I can ask someone else, though, if you’re going to be a dick about things.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” I said. “Stay here. I just started cooking dinner. Nothing fancy, just some pasta, but there’ll be plenty for you to have some.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said sullenly.
Brent looked gaunt these days. Deep shadows hung beneath his eyes, and his face looked worn and tired. I refrained from reminding him that he had to eat. No matter how gently I said it, I knew it would likely upset him. The last thing I needed was for him to get pissed at me.
But I couldn’t resist saying, “Seems like the weed stuff is giving you more and more problems lately. Have you ever considered finding something else to do? I know McKinnon’s was hiring when I walked past the other day.”
Brent snorted. “A couple setbacks isn’t a big deal for someone in my line of work,” he said arrogantly. “Anyway, it’s not like I’ve got anyone really pissed at me. It’ll blow over, man. You know how it is.”
The suggestion that I would know how things were in that line of business rankled me. The thing was, of course I knew, but that was the root of all my unhappy feelings lately. I didn’t want to be the kind of guy who knew what a drug dealer’s life was like. I wanted all that behind me.
“You’re thinking of getting back into it,” Brent said gleefully, incorrectly interpreting the look on my face.
I blinked at him, and then shook my head sharply. “No,” I said emphatically.
He snorted. “Don’t lie to me, Frye; you’re shit at it. It’s the money, isn’t it? I know you like the stability or whatever of working at the Lazy J.” He wrinkled his nose at the mention of my job. “But you know, the money has always been so much better in dealing.”
That was true, but the thought of going back into dealing left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. That would be the end of everything I’d ever had with Vanessa for sure. And it would definitely mark the end of my time at the Lazy J. John was willing to overlook my drinking and brawling, but he wouldn’t stand by and let me drug myself into oblivion again.
“Brent, I’m not getting back into dealing,” I said, my voice a little too loud.
“I could spot you, man,” Brent insisted. “I could give you all my leads, all my suppliers. I could even give you some of my business. Everything’s been good lately.” His face was still flushed, though, and he scratched at his wrist. I wondered if this was a new tell for him, a way to let me know he was full of shit.
I shook my head. “You know it’s only a matter of time before the cops catch you,” I said.
He stared at me for a long moment, looking incredulous, and then scowled. “The fuck are you talking about?” he asked. “The cops aren’t going to catch me. Not unless someone snitches.”
The way he said the word “snitch” made it clear he was questioning my loyalty.
I raised both my hands in the air, surprised. “Hey,” I said. “You know I’d never turn you in. I just-”
“The local sheriffs don’t give a shit what I do,” Brent interrupted. “Unless someone starts bugging them to come after me, they’re going to let me keep going the way that I have been. So, what? Is this your warning that you’re being a little snitch now, Frye?”
“Of course not,” I snapped, wondering just what his deal was, anyway. He was red in the face with rage, fuming with it. Was something else going on? I didn’t know how to even ask about that. “I’m not going to turn you in or anything. I’m just saying, there are easier lines of work. Work that won’t get you arrested. Jobs that don’t involve risking your life every time you go outside.”
Brent stared at me for a long moment and then scratched a hand through his hair. “Shut the fuck up,” he finally said, though his words lacked heat. “You want to play some video games or something?”