by Steve Gannon
“Get up,” Kane commanded.
“That’s right, pussy,” crowed Junior. “Come and get it.”
Shakily, Travis climbed to his feet. Again he raised his hands. Junior rushed in once more, easily driving through Travis’s ineffectual defense. Two hard blows landed in rapid succession, splitting Travis’s lip. A punishing right cross to the temple sent him down.
“Get up, Red. Plenty more where that came from.”
Travis shook his head to clear it.
“Get up, Travis,” Kane repeated, ignoring looks of disapproval from everyone present. Everyone but Junior.
Bleeding now from his nose and mouth, Travis wobbled to a standing position. Junior stepped in again.
“No!” screamed Allison, throwing herself between them. “Daddy, stop this!”
Before anyone could react Junior pushed her to the ground. “Wait your turn, honey,” he laughed, moving to stand over her. “You’re next.”
Kane started forward. Before he could intervene, Travis drove in from the side, throwing his fists with everything he had. A solid right caught Junior full in the mouth.
Junior staggered back. He wiped his bloodied lips with the back of his hand. Then, bellowing with rage, he again smashed past Travis’s feckless resistance, all thought of toying with his smaller opponent now gone, his knuckles connecting with devastating results.
Barely conscious, Travis collapsed to the ground. Not satisfied, Junior pinned Travis with a knee to his chest, drawing back his fist for another blow. Before he could throw it, Kane dragged him off.
“Enough.”
“Fuck you, old man. I’ll say what’s enough.”
Ignoring Junior, Kane pulled Travis to his feet. Allison rushed forward to help, placing an arm around her brother for support.
Junior’s face darkened with rage. “I told you to stay out of this,” he snarled at Kane. Without warning he threw a roundhouse right. Kane reacted with blinding speed. His thick fingers closed on Junior’s fist, stopping it inches from his face.
Junior’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to retrieve his hand. Couldn’t. An instant later, still holding the youth’s fist trapped in his left, Kane’s right hand flashed out and latched onto Junior’s nose. Using a pinch that could easily crack walnuts, he began to squeeze.
“Get him off, get him off,” Junior squealed in agony.
One of Junior’s friends moved in from behind. Without turning, Kane released Junior’s fist and threw his left elbow. The man’s head snapped back. Groaning, he sank to his knees, holding his smashed and ruined mouth in his hands.
“You cocksucker! Lemme go!” Junior pleaded, both hands now struggling to break Kane’s grip on his nose, tears mixing with blood running down his face.
The sinews of Kane’s right forearm rolled like steel cables beneath his skin. Gradually, he increased the pressure between his thumb and forefinger, shaking Junior’s head with the brutal jubilation of a terrier killing a rat. Blood squirted through his fingers as if he were pulping a fruit. Everyone present heard a sickening crack as Junior’s nasal bones crunched beneath his fingers.
“Oh, Jesus, lemme go, lemme go,” Junior blubbered, a gush of red spattering the dirt at his feet.
Kane twisted his grip, forcing the burly youth to his knees in a genuflection of agony.
“Let him go, Dad,” said Travis. “Please.”
“You and your sister go get in the car.”
“Don’t, Dad,” begged Allison, who from long experience recognized the unmistakable signs, as did Travis, that their father had crossed a dangerous limit, an irreversible portal past which anything could happen. “Please let him go.”
Kane ignored his daughter’s plea. “You want to fight me, punk?” he asked softly, staring at Junior.
“No, no, no,” Junior shrieked. “Just lemme go.”
“I think you do. I’ll tell you what—I’ll even give you the first shot,” Kane said coldly, echoing Junior’s earlier offer. “Hell, I’ll even keep one hand behind my back.”
“Please, please, no more.”
“You don’t want to fight?” Kane released Junior’s nose, at the same time grabbing the youth’s bloodied shirt with his other hand. Roughly, he wiped his bloodstained fingers on Junior’s chest. “Fine. But by way of apologizing, you’re going to do something for me,” Kane added, still mimicking Junior’s earlier words.
Still on his knees and trapped in the alcove with no hope of escape, Junior lowered his head, unable to meet Kane’s gaze. “What?”
“I might be able to overlook your comments regarding my son Travis,” Kane said slowly. “I might even be able to overlook your calling me a cocksucker. What I can’t overlook is what you did to my shoes.”
“Huh?”
“Look at them.”
Junior glanced down. His gushing nose had dripped on Kane’s shoes, staining the surface of the leather and filling the ornate wing-cap perforations with blood.
“Clean them.”
“You want me to clean your shoes?”
“That’s right,” said Kane in a voice as hard as steel.
Holding his bleeding nose in one hand, Junior clumsily wiped at the stains on Kane’s shoes with the other.
“Not that way. Use your shirt.”
“What?”
“Use your shirt.”
Junior hesitated. His eyes darted past Kane, searching for some avenue of retreat, some hope of assistance. He found nothing. Slowly, he removed his shirt.
A deadly silence fell over the group. Sick with fear but unable to look away, Travis and Allison stood mutely with the others, watching in queasy fascination and shameful horror as Junior Cobb cleaned their father’s shoes.
Later that evening, long after the rest of the household had settled in for the night, Travis and Tommy lay awake in their bedroom. “Dad did that?” Tommy whispered from the darkness.
“Yeah.”
‘Must have been something to see. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“No, you aren’t, Tom. It was … I don’t know—scary. Everybody was afraid to stop it. In the end Junior was down on his hands and knees, sniveling like a baby. His nose kept dripping on Dad’s shoes as he cleaned them, so every time he’d be about finished, he had to start over. I’ve never seen Dad like that. And I don’t want to ever again.”
“Junior had it coming.”
“Yeah. But you want to hear something weird? I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I almost felt sorry for him. It was like watching a disaster happening live on TV. You know, where people are dying and all kinds of terrible things are going on and it’s turning your stomach but you can’t look away. And all the time, although you’re ashamed to admit it, you’re secretly thanking God that it isn’t you.”
“Fuck Junior. I’m still sorry I missed it.”
Travis remained silent, realizing Tommy couldn’t truly comprehend what had happened on the job site that afternoon without having been present. His brother had arrived home later that evening and had missed most of the bitter confrontation between Catheryn and Kane that had followed as well.
“Did Dad say anything to you on the way home?”
“Not a word,” answered Travis, his stomach churning as he remembered Kane’s ominous silence on the ride back. All at once he recalled the reason his brother hadn’t been present. “How’s Christy?” he asked. “Did you get her to wherever she had to go?”
“We never made it.”
“Why not?”
Tommy hesitated. “We had an argument on the way over,” he said finally. “She decided she didn’t want to go.”
“Go where?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” Then, changing the subject, “Sounds like Dad really lost it today.”
“Yeah. I wonder what it would take to get him that mad at one of us.”
“Who knows? Burn down the house, wreck his car, say something bad about the Chicago Bears …”
“How about telling him
we plan to climb that wall?”
“Shhh. Jeez, Travis, do you have a death wish or something?”
“He can’t hear us in here. What do you think? Would that do it?”
“Possibly,” Tommy conceded. “Think Dad will check to see whether our climbing gear’s still in the closet?”
“Definitely. But as we’re borrowing Brian’s, he’ll never suspect,” Travis answered, referring to a friend with whom Travis and Tommy occasionally climbed. “By the way, do you have that lined up?”
“Yeah. Brian’s leaving all his climbing gear for us in his garage. We’ll pick it up on our way out of town.”
“Brian’s going to be up at five in the morning?”
“Are you kidding? He said he would leave the side door unlocked. We’ll just grab his rope and rack and be on our way.”
“Are you certain you want to do this? Dad wasn’t kidding when he ordered us not to climb.”
“Damn, Trav,” said Tommy. “Do you plan on doing exactly as Dad says for the rest of your life? I sure as hell don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying. And I’m saying I don’t give a shit. Dad thinks he can plan out my whole life, but he’s wrong.”
“I thought we were talking about climbing the wall.”
“We are. Are you in?”
“Yeah, I’m in,” said Travis reluctantly. “If nothing else, it will get us out of the house,” he added, again recalling the fierce argument that had raged between his parents over his fight with Junior.
“Right,” Tommy agreed. “Things are gonna be tense around here for a while. You feel okay enough to climb?”
“I think so. Junior didn’t bust me up that bad.”
“Ali said you got in a couple good licks yourself.”
“A couple,” Travis admitted.
“Good. I’m proud of you, bro.” Then, in an apparent non sequitur, “What do you think Dad’s reaction would be if I told him I had decided not to go to college? What if I told him I’d decided to apply to the police academy instead?”
“Huh? Oh, I get it. We’re still on ‘What would it take to push Dad over the edge,’ right?”
“I’m serious. What do you think he would say?”
“You’re not really thinking about it, are you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, what’s the point of my spending four more years in school? The only reason I got accepted to college in the first place is because I can snag a football. You and Ali are the ones with the brains. I would just be spinning my wheels, and when I graduated—assuming I did—I’d be no further ahead. At least if I start now, I can get going on some kind of career.”
“Like being a cop?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. Look what it did to Dad.”
“I’m not Dad,” Tommy said stubbornly.
“He’s really set on your going to college, Tom. You know that.”
“So?”
“Tommy, you can’t really be—”
“Look, it’s just something I’m thinking about. Forget I said anything. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything crazy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Now, let’s get some sleep. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”
“Okay,” said Travis, still bothered by his brother’s words, but sensing that the subject was closed. “Good night, Tommy.”
“Night, Trav.”
Within minutes Travis could hear the sound of Tommy’s rhythmic snores drifting across the room, mixing in syncopated counterpoint with the waves crashing on the beach outside. The moon had risen, and cold slivers of light now reflected from the ocean’s surface, sending an arctic phantasm of light and shadow dancing into their room. Instead of sleeping, Travis lay in bed watching the ghostly flickerings on the ceiling and pondering the events of the day, trying to decipher the brutal images that had been indelibly burned into his mind, struggling with questions of love and courage and cowardice and fear.
Hours later, in the hush of early morning, no closer to understanding the painful events of the day, he finally fell asleep.
Part Three
21
Flushed with excitement, Kane climbed the ladder to Nate’s loft. “Nate! Get up!” he called, banging on the hatch.
A thump sounded as Nate rolled out of bed. The hatch slowly lifted, and a tangle of red curls appeared in the opening. “Is it time for church already?”
“Naw, we’re not going to church, as least not right now,” Kane replied. “It’s too early. C’mon, get up. I have something to show you.”
“Are Tommy and Trav and Allison getting up, too?” asked Nate, wary of his father’s early-morning summons.
“Allison’s still asleep, and your brothers left yesterday to go backpacking,” said Kane, feeling a stab of regret that he hadn’t been able to talk with Travis about the fight before the boys had left. Though he hated to admit it, Kane realized he had handled the situation at the job site badly. Frustrated by his middle son’s seeming lack of backbone, he had lost his temper, and from there things had spun out of control. If not the apology that Catheryn insisted was owed to Travis, at least a sincere heart-to heart with him was in order. Not for the first time disappointed in himself for losing his temper, Kane sighed, making a mental note to square things with Travis as soon as he returned.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” said Nate, sleepily rubbing his eyes. “They’re gone. I forgot.”
“C’mon. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, right now. I have a surprise for you.”
Still groggy, Nate stumbled outside a few minutes later, joining his father on the lower deck. The sun had yet to rise, but a glimmer of red in the eastern sky hinted at the approach of dawn. Kane’s dim figure was sitting in a beach chair, his back to the ocean, a giant-sized mug of coffee in his hand. He grinned as Nate descended the final few steps from the house.
“Well, I’m here,” said Nate. “What, uh …” He looked down. At his feet, tugging at his cuffs with resolute determination, was a seven-week-old yellow Labrador pup.
Speechless, Nate knelt and cupped the pup’s sleek head in his hands. The pup licked his fingers and then resumed her attack, shifting from Nate’s cuffs to the laces of his tennis shoes.
“She has a lot of spirit,” said Kane proudly. “I got her from the same guy who bred Sam. She’s the best bitch of the litter. According to her papers she has some of Sam in her, too. He’s her great-granddad.”
At the mention of Sam, Nate stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What’s her … What’s your new dog’s name?”
“She’s not my dog.”
Confused, Nate glanced down once more at the tiny animal. She had her rump in the air, shoelaces firmly gripped between her teeth. The pup looked back at him, the white crescents of her eyes gleaming in startling contrast to her rust-yellow fur. “She’s not yours? Whose is she?”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Kane answered mysteriously. He stood and headed for the stairs. “Pick her up,” he ordered without looking back. “We’re going someplace, just the three of us.”
“What for?” Nate asked numbly, kneeling to scoop up the pup.
“You’ll see.”
Cradling the pup in his arms, Nate hurried up the stairs after his father.
After following Kane out to the car, Nate sat in silence as they drove the deserted highway north. The pup nestled quietly in his lap, content to be held. Nate stared straight ahead during the ride, seemingly paying little attention to the small animal, but by the time they had parked on the ocean side of Pacific Coast Highway just past Pepperdine University, his hands had begun to travel her soft fur with unconscious, proprietary interest.
“I used to train Sam in this field,” said Kane as he turned off the engine. “That was before you were born, so you probably don’t remember.”
Nate shook his
head.
“That was supposed to be a joke, kid. Come on, let’s take a stroll up to that knoll. Bring the pup with you.”
Nate followed his father along a path that wound through knee-high grass and sage toward a low ridge. As the sun finally broke over the horizon, they reached a promontory overlooking the field below and the ocean beyond. Kane sat, indicating for Nate to join him. The boy sank down beside his father. Quickly, the pup squirmed from his arms. Kane absently picked up a small stick and tossed it a few feet down the hill. The pup scampered to retrieve it, but refused to relinquish it upon returning. Kane snagged her and reclaimed the stick, then threw it again. Immediately warming to the game, the pup ran after the stick again.
“She has plenty of fetch in her,” Kane said with a nod of approval.
“Uh-huh,” Nate agreed.
Sensing the game was over after several more throws, the pup settled at their feet and happily began reducing the stick to splinters.
“You know Tom’s leaving for college soon,” said Kane.
“I know.”
“He’s not going to be around much after that, and Travis and Allison won’t be far behind. Soon it’ll just be you, me, and your mom.”
Kane looked at Nate carefully, then went on. “That’s why I’ve decided that if we’re going to have another dog in our family, it’s going to have to be yours.”
“Mine?”
“That’s right. Think you can handle it?”
“I … I don’t know,” Nate stammered, taken aback. “I mean, I want to …”
“That’s a good answer, Nate. I like to see you think before you commit to something. Shows you’re growing up. And you’re right; there may be more to owning this pup than you realize.”
“Like what?”
“Well, first off, I’ll help you train her, but it’s going to mean getting up early every morning for the next year or so, just you and me and the pup.”
“That’s no problem,” Nate said seriously. “We’ll train her to be a bird dog, just like Sammy?”
“That’s right. By the time she’s twelve weeks old, she’ll be doing simple retrieves and know ‘sit,’ ‘stay,’ ‘come,’ and ‘heel,’—both on and off the leash. After that we’ll move on to steadying her, whistle commands, multiple retrieves, handling, and finally the gun and live birds when she’s ready.