Re: Trailer Park: Brett T & Cris M
Unfortunately for the botha them just then, Cris had a badge, and he had the right, if not the want, huh? He was a private kinda guy himself. He got that outlook on a real personal level. But, this was his job and he'd been called. So here he was, enduring condescension from a 20-something white kid with a chip on his shoulder, all before ten o'clock at night, insteada being in the office with some Swiss Miss cocoa in a styrofoam cup.—He watched the man heel back, arms folding, and he swiped at the cornera his mouth with his thumb, eyebrows going up almost beneath black brim.—He'd been trying real hard, huh? Since he'd come to this place. Least, hard for him. He didn't care much for pleasing other people or making them like him, but the sheriff's position meant he needed more tact and diplomacy than came natural. So he tried—nobody could say he didn't.
Pero, Dios, he didn't care about the lacka handshake. He could read that too, as much as the tonea voicea the guy and the way eyes cast distrust like an abused dog before a lifted hand. The guy hadn't said stuff 'wasn't his business,' but maybe it'd been implied enough or something, with the closed blinds comment. Either way, Cris didn't point it out. He took it as another mental note.
"That stuff uncommon enough to get somebody called out here on a weekend?"