the other Son

Chapter 19

The bell above the door chimed softly and Tristan briefly looked up from the newspaper before returning to the crossword puzzle he was in the process of solving.

"Becks."

Her coat rustled as she climbed onto one of the barstools - the one directly in front of him.

"You seem delighted so see me." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

He shrugged, unimpressed. "Absolutely."

Silence settled back in, only disturbed by the gentle tapping of raindrops against the windows. The weather had been shit for days now and no one could deny the bite of winter in the air. That combined with the uncanny threat of an unsolved murder kept people inside the safety of their own homes and Tristan had been alone at the café for the majority of the afternoon - a real treat, until Becks showed up.

"Where's Brenda? And Griffin?" she inquired curiously and shifted around on her seat.

Tristan finished writing Boudica into the corresponding gap - queen of the Iceni - and replied with another shrug, "Out."

"So that leaves you to serve me a cup of coffee."

Tristan slowly set the pen down and straightened from where he'd been hunched over the counter with his elbows resting left and right of last weekend's local newspaper. Becks appeared very happy about his increase in attention directed at her.

"Extra foam, please."

Tristan scoffed and turned around to prepare her coffee - too much milk, too much sugar but what did he expect.

"Ralph hasn't been the biggest fan of you," Becks told his back casually.

Not granting her an answer to that damn obvious observation he placed the hot cup in front of her and went back to the crossword. Her slim, pale fingers wrapped themselves around the ceramic.

"I don't expect you to apologize or anything but-"

"Author, Lord of the Flies."

She opened her mouth and blinked several times in confusion. "What?"

"Author, Lord of the Flies. Seven letters."

"I don't know, Tris-"

He sighed softly and began jotting down the right answer. "Golding. You should read it."

Becks rolled her big, round eyes with a shake of her head. "As I was saying Ral-"

Finally Tristan glanced up at her, eyes stormy blue and features sharply accentuated by the low lights. "I don't fucking care what he thinks about me, Becks. As long as he stays on his part of the fucking island he can do whatever the hell he wants."

"Way to be an asshole." She tried to stare him down but then relented and looked down at her steaming beverage instead. "I like him, really, and I'd hoped you two could get along."

"He's a fucking mutt."

"And I'm a fish, so what?"

"You outgrew your hormonal teenager phase, that's the main difference." Tristan picked up the pen and focused on the crossword. "River crossing through Wroclaw, four letters."

"Sounds like you sneezed."

"Oder."

"Bless you."

Werewolves. His thoughts wandered back to the brothel near the harbour, Summer and the cashier pretending to act as her protection. The haggard man had known Ralph, hadn't he? They were pack or however one liked to call a group of flea-infested mutts.