But if he told Ty any of this, he would say that it was all bullshit. Like the fat jokes Benny promised would end. Or the alcohol he wouldn’t drink. Or the amazing week they’d spend living like robbers and kings. What happened to those promises, huh? Still, the more Cory toyed with the idea, the more he allowed himself to believe this house would transform into something good for all of them. Until he thought about the shed with its beefy locks and Benny’s storm of anger when Ty brought it up. That was a rabbit hole that didn’t belong in his dream. He pushed it out.
Ty still hadn’t moved. Cory turned away from the window, ready to make all the good bits real. An appropriate place to start would be the empties on the floor. But first there was a scourge beast at the bottom of a hidden stairway, unaware that he was about to be shredded by Cory’s weapon of choice on this level: the saw cleaver.
Cory slipped on the headphones, paused to savor the moment, then hit resume.
PORTLAND, OR.
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
12
Cory was five steps up a ladder in the living room, his freshly dipped roller spreading paint across the wall, when a vehicle roared into the driveway and all the way up to the garage. He knew by the thumping Cajun music whose truck it was. Cory climbed down the ladder a little too fast, slipped off the bottom rung, and stepped on the edge of the roller tray, spilling thick green paint on the tarp and coating his left sneaker. He righted the tray, put the roller in it. By then the heavy steps were on the deck approaching the back door. He considered making a dash upstairs to his bedroom, locking himself in and pretending to not be here. But the paint on his shoe would leave tracks. His pulse raced as the doorknob rattled. A key slipped in, the door squeaked open and closed. Heavy boots thumped on the kitchen floor; then Tirk with his massive black coat and beard passed through the walkway between the kitchen and the living room. He was trailed by a man not quite half his size, who Cory and Ty called Tweaker Teeth. Cory had seen him a half-dozen times before, always in Tirk’s presence except once a few weeks ago when school was called early due to freezing rain, and he and Ty caught Benny and this man smoking in Benny’s pickup. They hadn’t been expecting Benny home until the following day. He had a big scratch down the side of his face. The other man smiled at them through the passenger window as they passed, revealing varying shades of brown and yellow, hence the name Tweaker Teeth.
Tirk pointed to a closed door off the living room and said, “Check there first.” Tweaker Teeth went to the door, opened and closed it behind him. A few beats later Cory heard a bump, then breaking glass. Tirk walked up to Cory, nodded at his freshly coated sneaker, and asked, “What color’s that?” Cory could smell the beer on him. And weed. Familiar smells. Like Tirk and Benny shared cologne from the same bottle.
“Apple meringue, apple pie,” Cory said, hoping that Tirk wouldn’t notice the bump under his eye and ask how it got there. “Something with apple in it.”
“Looks more like puke green to me.”
“That’s what we told Benny.”
“What’d he say?”
Cory tried to ignore the loud sounds coming from Benny’s bedroom. “Something dark would hide the spackle better.”
Tirk scanned the spots where the former tenants had punched holes in the drywall. “Well, he may have to rethink that plan. When it comes to hiding shit, your dad isn’t as good as he thinks he is.” He turned from Cory and stalked the room, moving from the Craigslist sofa, to the Goodwill recliner, to the IKEA desk, bookshelf, and lamp. Cory imagined a bear inspecting a campsite. Meanwhile the sounds from Benny’s bedroom had stopped. Tirk paused in front of the new Vizio TV.
“This a sixty-inch?” he asked.
“Sixty-five.”
Tirk whistled in admiration. “I only got a fifty-inch. Where’d he get it?”
“Costco.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. He had a coupon for two-fifty off.”
“You and your brother watch any porn on it yet?”
“No.”
“Not even Skinemax?”
“We don’t have cable.”
“You gonna get cable?”
“Probably. Or Dish. Benny’s never home on weekends to get it installed.” He thought about adding He’s at the warehouse, wherever that is, but Tweaker Teeth emerged from the bedroom holding a shoebox.
“What you got there?” Tirk asked.
“It ain’t shoes,” Tweaker Teeth said.
“How much?”
“Twelve hundred.”
“That’s all?”
Tweaker Teeth nodded.
“Check the kitchen. Don’t forget the freezer.”
Tweaker Teeth left with the box.
Tirk said to Cory, “Where’s your brother at?”
“Upstairs,” Cory lied. “In his room.” He didn’t want Tirk thinking that he was alone. But that’s probably exactly what Tirk was thinking.
“Yeah?” Tirk picked up the remote, looked at it, frowned. “Too many buttons for my tastes. We’re not flying the space shuttle, right? It’s just a fucking TV.” He put down the remote. “So what’s Mr. Badass doing up in his room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why isn’t he painting too?”
“He was.” Cory heard the refrigerator door open, bottles rattling, something hard hitting the floor. He said, “Can I help you with something?”
Tirk regarded Cory for a moment, looked down at his green shoe. “No. I just came by to have a chat with your dad. I thought he’d be back by now.”
Tirk knew Benny was at the warehouse. And he also knew that Benny rarely returned before midnight. Yet here he stood.
Cory said, “He’s still gone.”
“So I guess you and I are gonna have a chat instead. Unless you want to get your brother. Then the three of us could have a chat. Or if you’d prefer”—he nodded to the stairs—“I could just go up there and chat with him myself.”
Cory swallowed. “That’s all right. What do you want to talk about?”
Tirk walked to the coffee table, picked up a stack of envelopes, looked at them, and dropped them to the floor one by one. He said, “What’s Benny told you about the warehouse?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even where it’s at?”
“No.” All Cory knew was when Benny returned there were pine needles on the floor mat of the truck, and his clothes made the hamper smell like wood smoke. And there was that time with the bad scratch under his right eye. He spent a lot of time in the shed the next day.
Tirk dropped the last envelope. “What’s he told you about the shed?”
“We can’t go in it. Ever.”
“But you did anyway?”
“No.”
“Has Ty?”
“No.” Cory wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not.
“Not even a little peek?” Tirk moved to the bookcase.
“Benny keeps it locked. And the window has that curtain.”
Tirk pulled out books. The first two were Cory’s favorite cookbooks, A Taste of Tuscany and The Ultimate Soup. He riffled pages and said as he dropped them to the floor, “What about your friends? They ever ask you what’s in the shed?”
“We don’t have any friends.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
Tirk looked at Cory, his eyes as dark as space. Finished with the books, he shifted his attention to the desk. Tirk swept aside Cory’s chemistry homework; his notes and textbook went flying. A half-consumed glass of orange juice shattered against the wall and mixed with the fresh paint. He pulled the drawer all the way out. Dumped the contents on the floor. Peered at the bottom, the back, then dropped it. Cory heard a crack, winced at the sound. He shifted his weight, reminded himself to breathe.
Tirk moved on to the side table with a new lamp on top. “Has he let anyone into the shed?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
Cory hesitated. He wondered the same thing. Ty said a couple nights ago he was ge
tting a glass of milk at two a.m. and he saw shadows on the fence, meaning Benny was in the shed. Ty had thought he heard voices, so he opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the deck to hear better. After about thirty seconds the voices stopped. Cory said that Benny had probably turned off the radio. Ty said no, there were two voices and they were arguing. He checked the driveway but all he saw was Benny’s truck.
Tirk turned the lamp upside down and studied the base.
Cory said, “Yes. I’m sure. No one else has been in it.”
Tirk dropped the lamp. It shattered. “All right.” He walked to the couch. “What about the house? Any odd birds stopping by?” Tirk picked up the cushions, gave each one a squeeze, tossed them to the floor.
“Like for a chat?” Cory asked.
Tirk turned. He walked up to Cory, stopped well within reach of his thick arms. His eyes behind those Santa glasses weren’t smiling. “Wanna try answering that question again?”
Cory swallowed, said, “He’s been bringing a woman over. Brenda. Brenna. Something like that.”
“She got an accent?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen her dance. Good on a pole, better on laps. How long’s he been tappin’ that?”
“A couple weeks. Ever since he bought the bed.”
Tirk allowed a thin smile. “I hear your dad’s a good tipper.” Tirk reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Shook one out and lit it. Tweaker Teeth returned from the kitchen with one of Benny’s beers and the shoebox under his arm. Tirk looked at him. Tweaker shook his head.
Tirk turned to Cory. “Looks like we’re done here.”
“Looks like it.”
His eyes narrowed on the side of Cory’s face. “Unless you got something to add.”
“No. I’m good.”
Tirk reached out, put his hand with that stubby pinkie finger on Cory’s head. He turned it a few degrees. “How’d you get that bump under your eye?”
“PE.”
“Doing what?”
“Dodgeball.”
“They tossin’ pool balls in class these days?”
Cory didn’t answer. Tirk leaned in a little. “Looks pretty fresh to me. You should put some ice on it. Or a piece a cold meat.” He pulled back, rubbed his beard. His eyes shifted from Cory to a spot behind him on the tarp. He said, “Give me that hammer.” Cory picked up the hammer, gave it to Tirk. Wished his hand didn’t shake so much.
Tirk walked over to the Vizio. He spun the hammer in his hands a couple times, looked at Cory, studied him for a long moment. Then he raised his arm—and crushed the remote.
Tweaker Teeth smiled. It was a scary thing to see.
Tirk said, “Tell your dad about our chat. Let him know that next time I’ll be sure he’s here.”
Cory watched them walk across the room, stepping over the mess on their way out, that hammer still spinning in Tirk’s hand. He stopped by the kitchen entrance, turned, and pointed the hammer at him. “My advice to you. Stop playing dodgeball. Or learn how to duck.”
By the time Ty got home, Cory had finished the painting and cleaned up the wreckage from Hurricane Tirk. He asked Ty about the dojo and if he sparred with that new guy from Kenya. Ty said, “No, but it’ll happen soon. I spent most of my night on the heavy bag working on kicks and combinations.” Then he held up the mangled remote and asked him what happened.
“Tirk.”
“What did he do? Back his truck over it by accident?”
Cory told him all about the visit. About Tweaker Teeth and the shoebox. About what Tirk said, what he did, and his fall off the ladder, which explained the green sneaker in the sink and the bump under his eye, at least as far as Ty needed to know. When Cory was finished, Ty sat beside him for a minute watching him kill an endless string of zombies.
Ty said, “All this carnage is making me hungry.”
“Want me to make you a grilled cheese-and-turkey sandwich? I found a new recipe that uses mayonnaise instead of butter.”
“Nah. I’ll just get something from the fridge.”
Ty returned with a plate of chicken wings and a beer. He sat on the couch, pointed at Cory’s eye. “You didn’t fall off the ladder.”
“Actually, I did.”
“But that’s not what happened to your face.”
After a beat, “No.”
“Did Tirk do it?”
Cory torched a zombie, reloaded his flamethrower, smoked two more.
Ty took a hit off the beer.
Cory said, “Benny counts those, you know.”
Ty said, “Do I look concerned?”
“No.”
Ty watched the on-screen mayhem. Cory’s fingers were a blur on the controls. After a minute Ty said, “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Tirk and his minion can’t come in here, toss our shit around, and unload on you ’cause our dad’s a total fuckup. That’s just not right. I think I need to have a little chat with our bearded friend.”
“No. No chats.”
Ty pulled out his phone.
Cory glanced at his brother, paused the screen. “Don’t.”
Ty pressed a button. “Too late.” He held the phone to his ear.
Cory said, “Okay, okay. It…it wasn’t him.”
Ty stared at his brother.
Cory said, “Tirk didn’t touch me. Hang up.”
Ty disconnected, pocketed his phone. “Benny?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it!”
“How?”
“ ’Cause if it was Tirk, you’d be dead.”
“Good point.”
“Was he tweaking?”
Cory nodded. It was a rhetorical question. Benny always tweaked up before going to the warehouse.
“What happened?”
“Let it go, okay?” Cory pushed play. “I’m all right.”
“Well, I’m not!” Ty slammed his bottle on the table. He stood, stared down at his brother. “This shit has to stop, Cor. You know why Tirk was here. Benny’s skimming. He’s out of control.”
“He didn’t hit me because of that. It was my fault this time. I told him there’s a better way to—”
“Wait a minute. This time? It’s happened before?”
Cory switched from a flamethrower to the grenade launcher. “Once. Well, actually twice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you’d get all pissed. Do something stupid.”
“Well, you got the pissed part right.”
“Sit down. You’re disturbing my game chi.”
“Your game chi? Screw that. How can you not be totally pissed?”
“Because he’s under a lot of stress. But he said it’s only temporary, okay? He told us six months and he’ll be off Tirk’s tab. Then it’ll be spring break and he’d take us to Stumptown to stock it up for our summer trip. Six months, Ty. I can live with that. You should too.”
Ty’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. “It’s Tirk.”
“Don’t answer.”
“I should tell him to c’mon over. Put that worthless shit out of our misery.”
The phone kept ringing.
“Please,” Cory said.
Ty sent the call to voice mail.
Cory said, “So you gonna play in or what? I’m up to my ass in monsters here.”
Ty said, “Dude, you’re such a pussy sometimes.”
Cory snorted. “Tell that to the legion of zombies who fear my wrath.”
Ty sat down, picked up the second controller. They blasted their way through three levels, considered switching to Black Ops II or Halo because Ty knew those games better. They decided not to risk it. The better choice was to be upstairs when Benny arrived. Especially if he was in the company of Brenna Dee or Breanna Dee or whatever-the-shit stripper name she used.
Cory heard the pickup pull up to the garage. He checked his phone for the time. 1:38 a.m. He listened for a female voice, didn’t hear i
t. Heard Benny pissing in the toilet, then the familiar sounds of him settling in for whatever he did between then and when the sun came up. After the refrigerator opened and closed, Cory counted down from fifty. Got to six and smiled in his bed when Benny roared: “Hey, dickheads! What’d ya do ta my fuckin’ remote?”
PORTLAND, OR.
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
13
Cory had three herb-roasted turkey recipes picked out from Foodnetwork.com, but Benny said, “My way’s cheaper an’ better.” So instead, Thanksgiving dinner was courtesy of Costco’s kitchen. Mashed potatoes with a pool of butter, presliced turkey, mystery gravy, and green beans with soggy shaved almonds that Cory picked out and piled on the side of his plate. Benny sprang for a cherry pie, which they ate on paper plates while watching The Expendables 2. He didn’t comment on Cory’s three helpings of potatoes, his second piece of pie, or the Cool Whip he piled on top. He just smoked and sat in his recliner with the footrest up and a beer in the armhole.
As soon as the credits rolled Benny turned on the light. “Stay put, I got something to show you.” He left through the kitchen door and closed it behind him. They heard him opening the lock on the shed.
Ty said, “What’s he doing?”
Cory said, “Like I’d know?”
“I’ll bet he comes back high.”
“He wouldn’t. Not on Thanksgiving.”
“Want to bet that last piece of pie?”
“Sure.”
They heard a sound. Benny was doing something outside the door.
Cory said, “No way he could tweak up that fast.”
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