âHey â uh ... hey, pops.â Grendel may have taken to Cutter faster than Cutterâs own family had, but that doesnât mean shit between them doesnât carry a hint of awkwardness. Heâs hiding something behind his back, eyes darting from side to side, before he slips him a small black felt box under the counter. The Casioâs gold, topaz-faced, and looks ten times more expensive than everything Gren owns put together. (How he got it ainât important, donât worry about that.) âThought itâd look good on ya.â
  Cutterâs eyes lift from the newspaper heâd been reading, one brow arching high on his forehead. He drops it onto the table, setting his reading glasses down on top and folding his hands together, resting them beneath his hairy chin. See, he doesnât mind Gren so much either â thinks heâs a good kid. Real smart; understands things a lot better than most people. Cutter can respect that. But that doesnât mean he isnât a little uneasy when it seems like Grenâs hiding something from him, especially considering the company Gren likes to keep. Cutter squints, craning his neck to the side. Makes no secret of the fact heâs onto him.
  âWhatâcha got there, sport?â he asks, keeping his tone relatively light and pleasant. He reckons it ainât truly fair to bite Grenâs head off when he ainât the mastermind of all this. Thatâd be like kicking a dog whose master sicced it. Ainât the dogâs fault itâs too loyal. âNot somethinâ from Murdoc, I hope.â Cutter forces a laugh. It doesnât reach his eyes. ââCause I gotta tell ya, I ainât exactly keen on the idea of gettinâ blown to pieces a second time.â
  Grenâs wordlessness when he sets that little box down isnât exactly reassuring. Cutter eyes it, momentarily debating with himself before sighing, reaching for it. Oh, hell. If Murdoc wants him gone that badâŚ
  But what he pulls out ainât a bottle of cyanide, or one of them lithium battery mini-bombs, or nothinâ like that â itâs a watch. Bar none the most fancy-ass watch Cutterâs ever laid his own two eyes on, let alone been able to touch. He gawks at it, dangling it right in front of his face. Takes it in his hands, then, real careful-like, examining the strap up close â half-expectinâ to see the words âGO FUCK YOURSELFâ engraved in rhinestones or some shit. When he doesnât, a breathless laugh leaves him, and Cutter finds himself compelled to try it on.Â
  So he does â slides it right onto his wrist after undoing the clasp, then folds it all back up again. Holds his arm up, admiring the way that pretty yellow colour glitters under the light. Heâs never been one for material things â has always dismissed them as a waste of time and hard-earned money â but even a stubborn old bastard like himself canât deny:
  âGod-DAMN. I DO look good!â
  He chortles, beaming at Gren. All teeth and bright, crinkly brown eyes. If Gren hadnât won him over before, he definitely did just now.
  âWell shoot me in the leg and call me gimpy! I think I owe you a whole goddamn tree after this, never mind a coupleâa beers.â
  Maybe Christmas with this new motley crew wonât be so bad after all.