Hustler

Leroy got up to walk off some frustration. His long limbs seemed too big for his body, too big for the close room. "I know where I come from," he said quietly. "I'm not forgetting."

"Don't."

"Hey," Leroy protested, "I just spent three weeks hitching all over the country. I did thirty-five hundred miles on a hundred bucks and the old five-finger discount, plus what I could hustle in pills along the way."

Thea put her head back and fought off the urge to shriek. "This makes me so happy, Roy. Any outstanding warrants? Any bikers on your trail? Contracts on your life?"

"Nope, I'm squeaky-clean." He grinned a brittle grin. "Like father, like son."

"Shithead."