Free Merry Random Christmas by Julia Kent Page B

kite when you were helping dig Popsicle out of that dumpster, so I don’t remember much, but I sure as hell know you didn’t blow me. A man would remember that.” His eyes shifted from me to Joe, gauging whether he’d said the wrong thing.  
    Joe’s shoulders flared up and out in a hyper-masculine anger, but he said nothing.
    “You ever joke about her sexually and I’ll—” Joe left the threat undefined.
    “I swear! I swear!”
    “He’s harmless, Joe,” Darla said in a weary voice. “Really.”
    “I know he is,” Joe said, eyes still on Tortilla. “But I’m making myself clear.”
    Darla’s mouth went shut, her face a battleground for conflicting emotions.
    Joe reached into his jacket pocket, peeling off a thick stack of twenties, fives, tens and ones.
    “Here, Tortilla. You and Popsicle go get a hotel room or a nice, warm bed for the next few nights,” Joe said as he handed the guy an amount of money that could either get him a hotel room for a few nights or buy him enough drugs and booze to knock him out for an equal period of time.
    “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Tortilla exclaimed, eyes suddenly big and bright. It occur r ed to me that they were the same color as my own.
    Jesus. He really was like me. I looked again at his hair and noticed he didn’t have dark brown hair like I’d first thought. It was just so oily it looked dark. Based on his beard, skin tone and eye color, he was probably a blonde.  
    L ike me.
    “How much is that?” Tortilla asked Joe. H e seemed hesitant to count it out, a certain shyness emerging .
    “Two hundred bucks.”
    “I can get a bed for a week down at—well, anyhow.” He looked sadly down at Popsicle. “Problem is, I can’t take her with me. No shelter will let me have her. No hotel will, either.”
    Popsicle began pecking lightly on Joe’s foot.
    Tears in Tortilla’s eyes made it clear he was torn. Living on the streets of Cambridge couldn’t be easy. That was an understatement. I had no ideas to offer. This was one area of life where I couldn’t contribute one iota of effective advice, because I’d never, ever been exposed to anything quite like this.
    Joe just looked down, as if he was out of ideas, too. Offering up all that money to the guy had probably been his problem-solving gesture. I n our world, if you throw enough money at a n obstacle , it goes away.
    Our world didn’t involve street people whose only emotional support in their entire world was a chicken on a leash.
    “Joe,” Darla said quietly. “You’ve got chickens at your parents’ house. Any chance your mom will babysit Popsicle for a week?”

Chapter S even
    Darla
    “I can’t leave Popsicle,” Tortilla said in a mournful voice. “I’m all she’s got. She would be lost without me. ” He gave Popsicle a pitying look. The damn chicken just stared with one eye like it didn’t give a shit in the world.  
    W hich was pretty much true, because I’m sure that chicken was about as emotionally attached to Tortilla as I am to a used condom .
    Joe and T revor exchanged a look, then Joe closed his eyes and shook his head with disgust. When he peer ed at me, and not Tortilla, I realized who the disgust was aimed at.
    “You want me to call my mom and ask her to take on a chicken?”
    “You can’t take my Popsicle away!” Tortilla shrieked, snatching the leash from Joe’s fingers.
    “Not away,” Darla explained in a soothing voice. “Joe’s mom has a mini farm. Just outside the city. Popsicle could go on a little farm camp week for chickens.”
    “Farm camp,” Joe groaned.
    “Like a spa,” Darla added. “Give Popsicle a little freshening up.”
    Popsicle was in Tortilla’s arms and looked like she was about as interested in a spa as Joe was in reading One Direction fanfiction .
    “ No. It’s a kind offer,” Tortilla said, squeezing the chicken so tight it started squawking. “But no.” he shoved the wad of money into one of his Santa pants pockets and