THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 028 ] women and parrots first, ol' bean

XXVIII.

w o m e n a n d p a r r o t s
f i r s t , o l ' b e a n

—"I THINK," said Five, "that I just might hate her."

"You don't hate her," chided Luther, craning his neck to look down at his brother. "You only think you hate her, because you hate everyone else."

They were standing out on the hilly terrain, watching Hazel and Cha-Cha pull over at the side of the road. Zara had insisted on staying safely back inside the car. She always did have a strong instinct for self-preservation. Five sort of liked that about her. Say what you will about the girl, she had brains.

"Maybe I don't hate her," murmured Five. "Is it possible to hate someone, and not hate them at all? At the same time?"

Luther blinked.

"You mean . . . that you have a crush on her, but you resent her for not giving a damn about you?"

Five scowled at him. "Oh, aren't you acting exactly like Zara now! All the stupid mind-reading crap, and—"

"I think you should talk to her," Luther interrupted. "See what her deal is. And then ask her out. With flowers . . . or, like, a dead raccoon. She'd probably prefer the racoon."

Five gazed at him coldly. Even an idiot would know not to give a girl a dead raccoon. Live raccoons, that was the way to do it. Not that he'd be doing anything. But if he was . . .

"Okay, this right here? You trying to give me relationship advice for my non-existent relationship? It's not working. So, shut up. Please."

Luther raised his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright. But can I say something? Just one last thing, and then I'll stop talking."

"No. No, you cannot."

"She creeps me out," Luther declared honestly. "But . . . so do you. And I've never met anyone who matches your level of creepiness, so I think you guys would be good together."

Five shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out at the long, winding road. "There will be no together-ing."

"Why not? Don't you like her?"

"That's none of your business."

The blue car a few feet ahead of them parked, giving one last rumble of the engine as the ignition was turned off. Luther held the briefcase closer, watching as Five walked up ahead. He looked back.

"If this all goes sideways," said Five sombrely, "tell Delores I'm sorry." He glanced at the car, where a very sheepish Zara waved to him. He exhaled quietly. The words were there, he just couldn't seem to find them.

"And?" prompted Luther, following his gaze. "What would you want me to tell Zara?"

"I don't—" Five shook his head and scuffed the sole of his shoe against the pavement. His expression became grave for a moment, like he had something of the utmost importance to say. Then he thought better of it.

"Well?"

"Alright." He nodded seriously. "If I don't make it, tell Zara—tell her my knee-high socks are great, okay? Tell her they look frickin' hot. She wishes she could pull these babies off."