Re: Sonrisa: Hunter R & Cris M
Hunter gazed into Cris' face, trying to decide if that 'good' was the kind of good he gave Becky when she sat and stayed, and if it wasn't, what kind of 'good' it was. He still hadn't quite bought into the do-gooder picture of the current sheriff, capable of tackling at a full run and skidding across pavement to pin him to the ground like a fucking spy movie. Hunter was searching around for an angle, Cris' angle, whatever benefit he had from the current situation. It could be that the angle wasn't visible yet, that Cris might benefit from having a continual errand boy. Hunter didn't expect charity from anyone that wasn't talking about God at the same time.
(Hunter was respectful of God, God as just judgment, and not a God of directionless charity. If possible Hunter tried to avoid His notice.)
Hunter's eyes went down to the cash. He straightened his spine, chin lifting, eyes brightening. He eyed the bills, then he eyed Cris. He looked over his shoulder to see if the waitress or the cook was watching. Again he went looking for the angles in his head, to no avail. He put a hand out and pushed the bills flat on the table to draw them in, pulling them close and herding them into his lap to join his other prize. Hunter made his eyes very wise an innocent. "Got it."
Hunter pushed his coffee cup, now empty, back onto the stained formica. He tried not to look worried at the source of the question. "Six foot. Why? Trying to pin something on me?"