After a hand of cribbage with Lenny, Powerhouse counted the points he’d gotten and put it down.
Lenny said, “Muggins for two.”
Powerhouse arched an eyebrow. “What’s a muggins?”
“You didn’t count a fifteen in your hand, so I’m taking the two points.”
“You would steal from me?”
“That’s one of the rules.”
“It’s a stupid rule.”
“Look, do you want to play?”
Powerhouse grunted. Someone had to fill Reverend Jones’ shoes. Even if the rules were stupid.
Lenny rattled on about his life for an eternity, then asked, “So, you married?”
Could they go back to Lenny’s stamp collection? “I can’t say.”
“Got any kids?”
“Haven’t you ever read a comic? All hell would break out if I were to answer this.”
“Okay, um, Pepsi or Coke?”
“Look, any personal detail could give a clue to my identity. Night Lord would track you down and torture you. He’d say, ‘Pepsi or Coke?’ as he ripped out your fingernails.”
“Look at the time—I’m fifteen minutes late for my nap.”
Powerhouse left. Why did he have a sinking feeling things hadn’t gone well?
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