He faced me fully now, chest out, shoulders squared.Enjoying the fact that I needed something from him, and that God had clearly stepped out of the negotiation.
He gave me a number.
I laughed, the sound sharp and incredulous in the quiet street.
He didn’t smile.Nor did he avert his eyes.Fearlesswas one word that came to mind.
“That’s steep for basil.”
“You stepped on my garden and killed my rare basil,” he replied calmly.“And you want me to remember things I’d rather forget.”
I tilted my head, studying him.
“That number would buy you a new garden,” I said.“And the house next to it.”
He shrugged.“What can I say?”Meaningtake it or leave it.
I took a step closer without appearing threatening.I just needed him to remember who he was bargaining with.
“You’re charging me like you’ve got leverage,” I said calmly.
He met my gaze without wavering.
“I do,” he said.“You stepped on my basil.”
I stared at him for a long moment.Then I laughed again—quieter this time.Appreciative.
“Oh,” I said.“You’re one ofthose.”
He crossed his arms.“You want cheaper, you can find another witness.”
We both knew there wasn’t one.
I countered.
He shook his head immediately.“Not worth the confession.”
He countered back.Catholic duty vanished entirely somewhere around the second offer.
In the end, greed won—as it always did.He sighed, making a deep and dramatic sound.
“Add a little extra,” he said.“For emotional distress.”
I stared at him.
“I watched a bride run barefoot down the street,” he continued.“That stays with a man.”
I exhaled slowly, then nodded once.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
He nodded back, satisfied.
Only then did he tell me about the car.
“She got hit by a black sedan,” he said, finally.“And I have the registration number.”
I stepped carefully around the rest of his plants as I left.