by Mike McCrary
“Hey,” says Gordo.
“Don’t you hey me. Don’t you dare fucking hey me.”
I must have taken on some form of the devil, because they both take a huge step back as I fly from the porch. Their faces drop and take on a white shade of oh damn. Taking a moment to look them over, one thing is clear—they look like shit. Look like something that’s been dragged behind a team of horses for miles and miles, then lit on fire.
As I look over Skinny Drake, taking in his worn state, my eyes begin to fill. Something is hitting me like a tidal wave and I can’t stop it. Heat rushes to my face, can feel my cheeks radiate. A tingle in my gut.
Oh dear God.
This is caring.
This is caring about someone and I fucking hate it, but I can’t deny that it’s happening. I want to tell them both to piss off. I want to scream at them to get the hell out of my life, then rush back inside and write about how much I don’t need them. About how I’m a single-celled organism and don’t need anyone or anything. I do none of that. I’m just standing here, feeling. Feeling like someone feeling something undefined. So, no, I don’t tell them to fuck the fuck off. I wipe the corner of my eye, then eyeball the hell out of Skinny Drake instead.
“Well?” I say to him.
“Well,” Skinny Drake says with his eyes filling up too.
This isn’t helping me. I punch him. It’s just a little strike to the bicep, but I think he gets the subtle message. He smiles as he grips and rubs his arm.
“Oh hell,” I say.
Tossing the shotgun to Gordo I wrap my arms around my brother, squeezing tight. Feel him laugh as I hug him hard as I can. I’m lost while tangled up in this mess of arms and tears. I hug him like he’s someone who’s come back to me after being gone a long time. Which is true in a way. But considering I didn’t know him a few short days ago, and I certainly didn’t know he was my brother at the condo, I feel a little silly crying like a baby in his arms. It’s like a valve just released. One I didn’t know was there, or was at least hidden away from me.
Thank God.
This sucks.
The girl from the bar would never do this. She never knew this feeling was something real and not just on TV or in books and music. She never knew.
Never knew letting go felt this good.
Never stop learning, I suppose.
I see Gordo out of the corner of my eye. Even he’s all misty. He’s holding my gun cradled in his arms like an infant. In this moment I realize something. Without an explanation or a word spoken, I understand something important.
Gordo is either one hell of an actor, or he really does care about us.
All that shit he said before about not wanting this and not wanting his brother Jonathan to do that, maybe, just maybe, that was all true. Sure, he could be lying. It’s not out of the question, considering his family’s history. But the look on his face right now… He’s moved, touched by me and Skinny Drake simply hugging. Us holding and sobbing. There’s a happiness Gordo is experiencing just by being here and witnessing this moment. Maybe he’s wanted this.
For us to be together.
That and the fact he has no idea how to hold that shotgun has me thinking he’s okay. At least, he’s what passes for okay these days. My scale of right and wrong has slid quite a bit recently.
Another point in Gordo’s favor: he brought my brother here safe and sound. All of these things have the arrow pointing up on Gordo. However, like I do with everyone, I’ll put him on a series of one-day contracts. Those contracts are constantly up for review.
I peel off of Skinny Drake and hold his face in my hands, letting the silence do its job. The wind blows through the trees behind me. I feel the warm breeze wrap around me. A Texas blanket. I let the tears fall, don’t even bother wiping them away or trying to hide them. Never in a gazillion years would I have envisioned a family reunion at this house. Certainly not anything as dicked up as this shit here.
“What’s with the bloody shovel over there?” asks Skinny Drake.
I turn and spot the shovel I used to put that little fucker and his big buddies into the dirt. A flash of memory rips. A memory of me using it to minimize the legs of one of the bigger ones so I could fit his big ass into the hole. It was blazing hot and I didn’t feel like digging a bigger one, so I had to alter few things. Like the legs.
Like to forget it. It wasn’t pretty, at all. But in my defense, as I said, I was getting hot as hell and I didn’t want to dig anymore. Had to do what I had to do. Just add it to the list of things I thought I’d never do. Things I hope I’ll never do again.
“Not important,” I say, brushing off the shovel question.
“What happened to the Porsche?” he asks.
“Not important,” I say.
“It’s busted all to hell.”
I throw him a look, letting him know to drop it.
He does.
“Bet they’re somehow connected. The shovel and the Porsche. Just a guess,” says Gordo.
All the warm feelings I had a moment ago are starting to fade. Fast. I grab the shotgun from Gordo, giving him a go-to-hell look.
“What happened to you two?” I ask.
“We fell,” Skinny Drake chirps.
“No shit.”
Gordo adds some color to the story, explaining that they hit the water and then fought a bit more in the pool. As he tells it, it became very clear, very fast they both had a problem. The same problem. In a tight spot together. Hotel workers swarmed in and tried to manhandle them. He said there was a moment when they had to use some pool chairs to hold them off as Gordo and Skinny Drake lifted some keys off a MILF (Gordo’s words) at the pool. They stole a Honda and burned-ass out of there, made it to an HEB and then lifted the ride they’re in now. Apparently Gordo is handy in car theft. Said it was a skill from when he and his brother were kids.
“Great,” I say.
Leaning toward the car, I see several empty chip bags and fast food remains littering the car’s interior. There’s also some towels wadded up in the backseat, along with some underwear. I try to stop my brain from reaching the conclusion that my brother and uncle are standing here commando, but it’s too late. Guess we are family, but damn.
“So, you two buddies now?” I ask.
“Same as we always were. We’re family,” says Gordo, wrapping an arm around Skinny Drake.
I look to my brother with eyebrows raised. You trust him?
He nods back to me.
Even though I more or less came to the same conclusion a few seconds ago, I needed Gordo to know I’m not a sucker and, like I mentioned, he’s still under review. Probably always will be in my book.
“Well, I guess I was right about one thing.”
“What’s that?” asks Skinny Drake.
“Those McCluskey assholes will be here soon.”
“Why do you say that?” asks Gordo.
“Because you knew how to get here. Logic suggests if you know how to get here, then they know how to get here.”
Before the little fucker finally died, cleaver stuck in his head, he more or less told me they didn’t have the exact address to the house, but knew the road. That’s why they were camped out where they were. Just lying in wait. He didn’t really offer it up. I found his marching orders in the form of a text on his phone, then I nudged him for the confirming info. Managed to remove the cleaver before sticking him in a hole.
Skinny Drake and Gordo both nod at me at the same time. Like twin dumbass bobbleheads.
“You planning on an Alamo type deal?” asks Skinny Drake.
“Nope.”
“Butch and Sundance?” asks Gordo.
“Hell no.”
They stare at me, blank as hell.
“I don’t plan on dying at the end. This shit here is different.”
Gordo nods, looking toward the house. “Mama McCluskey isn’t going to walk in here looking for you. She’s smarter than that. She’ll send a team of people in here. One af
ter the other. Wave after wave to wear you down. She’ll cut you off from the world and then go with a slow bleed strategy.”
I look down, kick a rock, knowing he’s probably right.
“The people you dropped in a hole out there? They were just the beginning. She probably hoped they would kill you, but really only wanted them to make you afraid, and maybe get a few hits on you.”
“Death by a thousand cuts?” I ask.
Skinny Drake is getting nervous. His anxiety is back and it’s all over him.
“She’ll go for a million cuts if she has to. She’s a mean, patient woman. She’ll wait for her day in the sun. The longer it takes, the sweeter it’ll be when it arrives. She’ll dream of her moment, plot it out in her head. What she’ll wear, what she’ll say. Try to envision the look on your face the moment she wins.” Gordo talks while flipping his phone over and over in his hand. “Maybe I can talk to her.”
Skinny Drake’s eyes light up off the idea. He nods his head at Gordo as if soliciting a response. “You think you can?”
“I can try.”
“Please,” I say, going back inside the house. “Too hot out here for this bullshit.”
They follow me in.
“You don’t think she’ll listen?” asks Skinny Drake.
“In all the shit that’s happened, have you seen anything to suggest this is a reasonable woman we’re dealing with?”
Gordo takes a seat on the couch. “Teddy—”
“I’ve thought it over quite a bit. She has to die.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, I do, but they have us outnumbered. They hold all the cards. We have to reach out and at least try to make the peace.”
“First of all, we? When in the hell did this become a we type deal? You two have a pool party and now it’s all for one?”
“Teddy,” Skinny Drake brakes in.
“Yes, Skinny Drake?”
“I really wish you’d find a better name for me. Ya know, family and all.”
“You were right earlier. They know where I am,” Gordo says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“They just know. They know everything.” Gordo looks at me, taking in my questioning look. He smiles. “You don’t get it. Do you? You have no idea who or what your father—sorry. What exactly should I call him?”
“Accidental parent.”
“Can I go with AP?”
I think about it. “Fine.”
“AP and his group are into a lot of things. Dirty, nasty things. This isn’t just about Mama McCluskey getting her feelings hurt over another woman. That’s a huge part of it, don’t get me wrong, but not the whole story. She’s worried you two will have a claim to the empire. A legal claim to the real estate, art, cars and the accounts—the clean ones out in open. They make up a substantial amount of money. She’s afraid you’ll talk to legit attorneys and try to sue the money away from her. That would shine a light on things. The family business. Bring in an audit, perhaps. Raise questions.”
Gordo gets up, walking, talking and thinking at the same time, as if working it out as he goes. This is the first chance he’s had to lay it all out. “She also thinks her enemies, or worse, her allies, will learn about all of this and the fact you two even exist will be used against her. Any combination of these things, and others, are not good for her. Don’t make her happy. And they all go away if you two are dead.”
I look to my brother. He’s back to terrified. I touch his hand and look into his eyes. I can feel him calm a bit as I give him a slight nod. We got this.
Turning back to Gordo, I ask, “So how exactly are you going to talk her out of all that?”
“I don’t know, but what I do know is it’s all we’ve got. Otherwise we might as well open that fridge and see what we can pull together for a long series of last suppers.”
I look back to Skinny Drake. He releases my hand and stands up. The happiness that was on his face outside a few minutes ago has vanished. He’s pacing the living room at a speed that resembles a cartoon character. Chewing his nails, spitting them out. Disgusting, but I’ll cut him some slack given the situation.
I turn away, leaving the room. Slipping outside to the porch I take a seat back on my swing. The iPad is still there. I glance over at the piggy article. My mind spins. A breeze blows over the land, passing gently over my face. It’s damn nice. It won’t last. The heat is relentless out here. The sun never lets up.
Much like Mama McCluskey.
Gordo is right. She will simply wear us down out here in the country. There is no reason to come in here with guns blazing all Alamo style. That’ll just raise the body count and might not even get her what she wants done. She has time on her hands. We’ve—sorry—I’ve made it easy for her. I’ve backed myself into a corner. A corner she knows all about, and all she has to do is apply pressure and watch us bend until we snap.
Need to somehow shift control back to our side.
Need find some power, some leverage in this thing of ours.
Find something to throw her off her game. Derail her ass.
I look back over to the iPad. To that piggy story. I see that big mama pig looking over the spread of dead little ones. That look on her face.
Sad pig.
Angry pig.
I throw open the door and storm toward Gordo and Skinny Drake, who are both on the couch watching Full House.
“Which one is her favorite?”
“What?” asks Gordo.
“Which one is her favorite son?”
Gordo glances to Skinny Drake. They both seem a little scared of me. Maybe they’re afraid of the look on my face. I don’t care. I need an answer. I snap my fingers over and over. Skinny Drake shrugs his shoulders. Gordo thinks, then says, “There is one. One she likes more than the others. Why?”
“We’re going to take her favorite son.”
Chapter 47
Gordo mentions something troubling.
“She’s always leaned more toward the smallest one.”
I freeze, thinking of the little fucker. “You mean the youngest?”
“No, there’s a son who just turned out to be smaller than the rest of them. As in short. She always felt he got a bad deal in the genetic crapshoot. He was always picked on by the other brothers. Made him mean. She had a soft spot for him.”
I stop him, not needing to hear more. “Okay. Forget that one.”
“But he’s the favorite, no question.”
“Just drop it, okay?” I glance over at the meat cleaver.
“Teddy, if we’re going to grab one of them, he’s the one.”
“Gordo, I’m—”
“Sounds like he’s the guy we want, Teddy,” Skinny Drake butts in.
I hold up both hands, calling for a stop.
“Is there a problem?” Gordo asks.
“Yeah, what the hell? Let’s get this guy,” Skinny Drake says.
“He’s dead, okay? Okay? I stuck him in a hole out there.”
Silence.
Skinny Drake’s eyes slide over to Gordo and then Gordo’s to him. Neither one looks at me, but Gordo points his head in my direction. Not sure what that means. Maybe they talked about me during their little buddy-bonding time. Really? These two have inside jokes on me now. Fantastic.
“There a second favorite?” Skinny Drake asks.
“I guess. Not as effective as the first one, however.”
“Of course, but it’s what we’ve got to work with.”
“I realize that, but you understand it doesn’t quite pack the same punch as nabbing the favorite son, right?”
They talk like I’m not in the room.
“I understand that,” Skinny Drake says.
Gordo thinks about it as he walks the room.
Skinny Drake nods to me and makes with some hand signs, trying to let me know everything is fine.
I simply look at him. Really, guy?
Gordo thinks about it and comes up with one he thinks will work. Her
firstborn. As far as he can tell she likes him just fine. Not as much as the little one, he reminds me, but moms tend to take a shine to the first one, so it makes sense logically.
Chapter 48
Gordo is now driving us to the airport, en route to take a second-favorite son.
His plane is still there and he was able to find his pilot. He hasn’t told us where we’re going, but he did say we’re headed to the location of the first son. He’s being very secretive all of sudden. I don’t like it. I’m feeling what I felt when I was in the condo. Paranoid. Alone. They’re all out to get me. And I don’t think it’s unjustified at all.
Skinny Drake and I are riding in the back. My request. I felt they needed to be separated a bit. Didn’t like the dynamic that was developing. I need to know more about Gordo before I push all in.
Back at the house, Gordo had gone on to explain that even though he doesn’t agree with his family and what they’ve done or do, they are still family. The McCluskey sons are still his nephews. Boys he’s seen grow up. Babies he saw in the hospital. He’d appreciate it if I wasn’t so cavalier about killing them.
I explained that me taking out the little fucker was self-defense, pure and simple. His feelings are a little raw on the subject and my words didn’t land as I felt they should, but I let it go.
He reiterated his stance that we should try and bargain with Mama McCluskey. Make the peace, he called it. I agreed, said my plan to nab the son was an attempt to get her to listen. I want peace, but if there cannot be peace, meaning she won’t let there be peace or I don’t believe her bullshit, then there will be blood.
Gordo nodded.
I’m not completely sure where his head is. I want to trust him, but I can’t. How can I? There’s evidence to suggest both trusting and watching everything he does.
I look to Skinny Drake. I’m hoping he’s not blinded by his time with Gordo. I hope if it goes the wrong way and Gordo turns back to the McCluskeys’ side of the fight, Skinny Drake will be able to come back over to my side.
I touch his leg, getting his attention. Once I’ve got his eyes, I point my head toward to Gordo. On a pad I brought for planning purposes I write: Trust him?