Dastardly Bastard(12)

“One… two… three…”

“What do you get when you reach a hundred? A cookie?” The little guy’s nametag read Donald. Mark locked the name away in his memory banks. He wouldn’t forget it.

“Didn’t realize I was counting out loud. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, big fella.” Donald’s legs pumped quickly, carrying him along at the same pace as Mark.

“My name’s Ma—”

“Good to know.” Donald pointed ahead, toward the rest of the group. “You have any of those things?”

“Huh?”

“Kids. Do you have any?”

Mark realized Donald had been pointing at the kid. Mark hadn’t paid much attention to the boy, other than to check his nametag—Lyle. He had noticed Lyle’s mom, Marsha, and wondered if Lyle’s father was still in the picture. “Nope. You?”

“Skirted that disaster so far.” Donald gave him a thumbs up. “You married?”

“Never.”

“Good job, Tubby. Keep it that way. Chicks are nothing but trouble.” Mark started to add something about how being single wasn’t his preference, but Donald cut him off. “See the kid laughing? Betcha he looks back at us. Watch.”

Lyle didn’t turn his head. Donald didn’t seem too happy about being wrong. Mark watched his hands curl into balls. Relax, repeat. “He will. He’ll make a joke to his mother, then turn around and give us a look. Something about the midget and the fat guy. Sure, his mom will tell him to behave himself, but it will already have been said. Just you wait.”

Mark thought about the little girl at the airport that morning—Deborah—and how she’d commented with great enthusiasm about his girth. He’d responded, poorly, by flipping her off. But that had only been the jetlag, or at least he would tell himself that. “Not a good way to go through life, is it? Expecting the worst out of people?”

“You expect the best? You?” Donald laughed. “Good luck with that shit.”

Mark was aware that as he walked, he jiggled. He could feel Donald watching his stomach as it rolled and shook. The little guy was sizing him up, taking in all his faults. Mark had grown used to it over the years, but he thought it funny how Donald wanted to focus on his shortcomings when the guy was coming up short himself.

“I just don’t think—”

“That’s what you get for thinking. I can’t hear a word that guide is saying. Can you?”

Mark let Donald’s brash attitude roll off his back. He was there to do a job. And it would be done. Speaking of which…

He raised his camera and began snapping pictures of the trail. He caught the scrub on either side, the sun coming through the trees, cylindrical beams filled to the brim with motes of dust. He couldn’t be sure how much of it he could actually use, but better safe than sorry.

“… something about who made this trail. Fuck if I know.” Donald wasn’t talking to him as much as he spoke around him. Mark figured not responding was the best response.

Mark caught the couple at the head of the procession—Justine and Trevor. They looked like they were in love. Cute. Mark knew he would never use a picture of them for the paper, but he took it anyway. Glassing them over, he snapped off a shot. Trevor had an arm around her waist. Justine’s hand was buried in the guy’s back pocket.

“Think she’s holding those damn things up for him?” Donald chuckled. “She’s cute… for a black chick. Not that I’m racist. I used to date a…”

“You used to date a black girl?” Mark finished. He had no idea why he cared, but he felt he needed to ask.

Donald’s eyes had changed. He didn’t seem so cocksure anymore. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Say you haven’t been married, huh? So how does Tubby get his rocks off? A man has needs, after all.”

“Why are you so interested in my sex life?” He knew better than to kick a hornet’s nest, but he’d just blurted it out.

“Just making small talk, Tubby.”

Small talk. Mark almost laughed, but caught himself at the last moment and gave no response.

“Nothing? I left the door wide open. Small talk? Get it? Oh, well. You’re thinking it, though. I can tell. I know people.”

Mark felt himself flush. Donald was good.

“I knew it. It’s okay. I get people’s snide remarks all the time. I’m sure you do, too. Tubby. Big man. Fat ass. All that crap. They like to point out the obvious, don’t they?”

Mark didn’t like the way Donald was making him feel, as though he should judge people by their reactions to the fact that he was a little overweight. Okay. Maybe more than a little, but that wasn’t the point. “If you go around hating everyone based on what they might be thinking, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

Donald stopped and focused a cold glare on him. “You saying I’m crazy?”

“No. Not at all. I’m just saying—”

“Calm down. What am I gonna do, Tubby? Kick your ass? Highly unlikely.” Donald began walking again, laughing as he went.

Little bastard’s getting to me.

One… two… three… four…

“You coming?” Donald called back to him.