Brett had been holed up in his trailer, lights on low, hoping to have a quiet Saturday night. A rarity that he was actually home and not pulling a couple of extra shifts at some hole or other for ready cash. His trailer wasn't much, but it had been even less when he'd moved in and renovations cost money. Not that he did anything fancy - he wouldn't claim to be one with any kind of eye toward 'pretty' - but he took issue with 'leaking' and 'falling apart'. Those were the kinds of issues that should be fixed. So now, his trailer stood mostly neat and clean. Boards even and replaced where needed. He was halfway through fresh painting the outside in spare moments and clear days - increasingly harder to come by as winter set in. The small lawn was clipped short, though inevitably littered with cans, thrown by kids and drunks that found it amusing to use Brett's yard for trash. He never knew if it was just convenience, or if it was some kind of statement about his reputation and all he was good for.
He never tried to find out. Easier just to keep himself to himself and let people think what they would.
When the knock at the door came, he put his book down with a sigh, abandoning it on the bottom shelf of the glass topped coffee table, having carefully marked his page. Halfway through and the cops were calling. Not for the first time and hardly a surprise. He'd heard the ruckus, though hadn't gone to investigate. So, one of his neighbours had decided he was to blame.
No, not surprised at all.
Habitually checking his sleeves were rolled down and his collar buttoned to the top as he walked, Brett opened the door. He arched a brow as he saw that he'd apparently warranted the actual Sheriff this time. Some things did change, apparently. Maybe it was more serious than he thought. "What can I do for you, Sheriff?" he asked, politely enough, though the well toned bulk of his body stayed firmly in the doorway, not even giving the man a glimpse inside and certainly not inviting him in.