by J. Bengtsson
“The little fuckers,” I exclaimed.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice rattling with alarm.
“They’re attacking. Paintball guns.”
“They’re hitting my car with paint?” Emma fumed, forgetting her moment of fear. “The little fuckers!”
“If it makes you feel any better, the paint is probably biodegradable.”
“No,” she said. “No, it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
We blinked in the scene unfolding before us. At least a dozen toy soldiers, faces streaked in black war paint, surrounded our car. Even four-year-old Posy had apparently gone through basic training and was now pointing a paint gun at my head.
A giggle escaped Emma’s mouth. “Is this for real?”
“Oh, it’s real. Don’t underestimate them. They may be pocket-sized, but I’m warning you now, they’re a highly organized unit.”
A squeaky, prepubescent voice cut through the confines of the car. “We only want Indy. Send him out and no one else has to get hurt.”
Simon. My eyes narrowed in on my diminutive adversary. I should have known he’d be the ringleader. Simon – the kid who’d figured out at three years old that if he ran away from home, the police would give him an ice cream cone for his efforts. So as if he were Pavlov’s dog, Simon regularly climbed the fence and hoofed it to the police station every time he had a sweet tooth. It wasn’t until the authorities threatened to remove him from the home that the behavior ended. Yeah, Simon was a formidable opponent, but he didn’t scare me. I knew how to handle little shits like that, because I was once exactly like him.
“Let me out,” I insisted.
Emma, picking up on the ridiculousness of the situation, played along with the charade by dramatically grabbing my arm. “No, Finn. It’s not safe out there.”
“You heard them. They’ll let you live if I sacrifice myself.”
Emma choked out a laugh. “In that case, get the hell out of my car.”
I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before opening the door and climbing out in a display of thunderous pride. I embodied the bravest of heroes. After so many onscreen deaths, today, in this crackpot movie, I would be the hero who lived.
Click. I whipped my head around. What in the fresh hell? Had my heroine, the woman I was defending with my life, locked me out of the damn car?
“Really?”
She shrugged, the smile wide across her face.
All righty then. I knew where I’d stand in an actual emergency. Taking inventory of the situation, I counted at least thirteen hostiles. Who had given these delinquents paint guns in the first place? This seemed the worst possible toy to give a bunch of destructively bored kids. I surveyed the group. Most were wearing bike helmets for protection, but one had chosen to accessorize with a Darth Vader mask. That threw me off a little, but I got my head back in the game when they surrounded me, weapons at the ready. I even spotted one soldier doing a low crawl through the bushes... Emma’s phantom stalker.
“Hands up!”
“Guys, remember what I told you the other day about my bruised ribs? I can’t play with you today, but once I’m feeling better, it’s game on.”
“I said HANDS UP!” Simon demanded, his face twisting in a grimace. I glared at my pint-size foe and startled as he leveled the firearm. Little jerk.
“Simon, I swear to god, if you shoot me, I’m going to kill you. Put the gun down.”
“Time’s up,” he announced. I heard the pop and then pain rippled through my lower regions. It was a point blank shot and it hurt like hell. Shocked, I dropped my eyes and found a big green splotch on my jeans just north of my crotch. The shrimp had probably been aiming for my head, but that was as high as he could see. I lunged for him, but the kid shot me in the legs. It was like getting into a gunfight with a militarized troll.
“Light him up, boys,” Simon yelled, even going so far as to raise his arm in a rallying cry. Darth Vader didn’t have to be told twice; he opened fire. The others followed suit.
“Not the ribs,” I yelled, trying my best to protect them while frantically attempting to shield my sensitive balls from harm. My dick, the victim of a direct hit, forced a high-pitched scream from my lips. Laughter rang out, and I glanced at Emma, all safely locked inside her sanctuary, only to find her bent over the steering wheel, giggling uncontrollably as she wiped tears from her eyes. I would have appreciated more support, but then these devil’s spawn were my flesh and blood, and it really was up to me to put them in their place. Or run. Yes, running seemed the better option. I took off in the direction of the house.
“He’s retreating, soldiers,” Simon yelled. “Get him!”
“Stand down!” I screamed, still running in a panic. Then I realized that these types of rebels needed visual cues, so I started flailing my arms in the air, offering my surrender.
For whatever reason, these kids had never heard of amnesty, and they kept advancing. I was all colors of the rainbow by the time I reached the hose on the side of the house. The little shits didn’t see the wall of water coming, and I hosed down the entire front line, even knocking a few of them onto their itty bitty rumps.
Once I’d turned the tables on my tormentors, they retreated to the holes they’d crawled out of. As Emma drove up to the house, tears of hysteria rolling down her checks, I balked at her abandonment and turned to access my own car, my beautiful gray Charger, which Shelby had parked near the house. Running my hands over the still pristine paint, I thanked the lord in heaven that she hadn’t put a dent in my baby.
“Is that your ride?” she called out, still trying to get herself under control.
“It is, and wasn’t it nice of my mother not to wrap it around a tree?”
“So sweet.”
Stinging pain still radiating through my lower limbs, I staggered over to Emma’s car and propped my elbow on top, panting. “Did I or did I not warn you?”
“You warned me. I just never could have imagined that it would become a full-on reenactment of Saving Private Ryan.”
“Yes, I’m glad you enjoyed the special presentation. That was all for show – the latest in the Perry family interpretive theater group.”
“That’s such a relief, Finn. For a minute there, I though you were a real-life wuss.”
“No, no,” I said, playing along. “I’m only a coward on film. So do you still want to meet the fam, or have you seen enough?”
“Oh god no, this whole episode has only heightened my excitement,” she replied, exiting the car.
“Okay, you asked for it. And by the way, don’t tell Shelby who your brother is. That’s not information she should have this early in the game.”
“Shelby?” I called out as I helped Emma over a couple of boxes sitting just inside the front door. “What the hell are these for?” I asked no one in particular.
A voice from the other room yelled back, “It’s a bird feeder. Can you carry it in for me?”
Picking it up, I was shocked by the sheer weight. Emma followed me into the throne room where grandma Gigi reigned supreme.
“Oh, wonderful,” she clapped. “I’ve been trying to get someone to bring that in here for three days.”
“Are you planning on feeding an eagle?”
“No. It was a special on QVC so I bought six.”
Emma and I exchanged an alarmed glance. Gigi had a habit of hoarding, and in recent years she’d taken it online. I honestly had no idea how she had money left to keep buying.
“You do understand that if you hang it, they will come, right?”
“Of course,” Gigi sighed, shaking her head as if I were one step up from the village idiot. “Isn’t that the point?”
“Well, I don’t know what the point is. You never leave the chair. When did you plan to witness this Southern migration?”
“Come here, boy,” she demanded, snapping her grabber arm at me menacingly. I did as I was told. “Now get down on my level and what do you see? That’s right
, a window. Now who’s laughing?”
She was talking about the one two rooms over. I seriously doubted she’d see an eagle smashing into the panes much less a family of swallows enjoying an afternoon snack. Of course, my opinion meant nothing, judging by the threatening expression on her face, and I took that as my cue to drop the conversation entirely. There was nowhere to go but down.
“Oh, you’re here. Thank god,” Shelby said, coming out from the kitchen. “The kids have been bugging me for hours. They’ve been hiding in bushes all morning waiting for you.”
“You knew this would happen?” I asked, gesturing toward my multihued clothing. “They were shooting up her car.”
Shelby wasn’t listening; in fact, she’d lost complete interest in me the moment her focus landed squarely on Emma.
“Well, hello there, I’m Shelby, Finn’s sister. Nice to meet you,” she said, with a greedy scan of her eyes. She reached her hand out.
Gigi’s head snapped back and her eyes widened in surprise as if Emma had suddenly materialized out of thin air. With that attention for detail, there was no way Gigi would be witnessing a bird convention outside her window.
As Emma was reciprocating the greeting, Shelby, always the subtle one, turned to me and mouthed loudly enough to be heard, “Is she the skank?”
“Shelby!” I admonished, glancing over toward Emma in hopes she hadn’t heard. She had.
“What? How am I supposed to know? You haven’t introduced me to your lady friend yet.”
“I was trying to, but you always beat me to the punch, don’t you?”
“So you’re not Alexis?”
“No, I’m Emma. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Shelby shook her hand and said, “Oh, what a relief. I was about to punch you in the face.”
I was busy dying just a little bit inside. Shelby was nothing if not brutally honest, and her in-your-face personality had a tendency to break even the heartiest of souls. I shouldn’t have worried. Not only was Emma a girl who could appreciate sarcasm, but she was also clearly one who could stand up for herself.
“Nope, not the skank,” she answered, grinning. “At least I hope not. I’m a friend of Finn’s.”
“Not just any friend, MOM. She’s the woman who rescued me after you sent me off to die in the desert.”
“Oh, well, you’re welcome.” She grinned at me and then gave Emma a full and incredibly impolite body audit. “So then I guess a ‘thank you Shelby’ would be in order.”
Emma’s eyes flickered with amusement.
“Coming here like this… bringing him home to his mama, you must’ve really enjoyed saving him.”
Nooo. I flashed Emma my sincerest apologies. What had I been thinking, bringing her around Shelby? She was too unpredictable to expose to the public.
“I did, actually.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” She nodded knowingly. “My Indy’s a catch.”
I groaned. The last thing I needed was my mother playing wingman.
“Yes, he is,” Emma confirmed. She caught my eye, doing a little downward scan. Okay, so maybe my mother wasn’t the worst co-pilot.
“Sorry about the paint ball pellets to your car, hun, but don’t worry, they disintegrate. The kids have been peppering Indy’s car all day, and you don’t see a mark on it.”
“Yeah, it’s no problem. They were already disappearing before we came in.”
“Why were you letting them shoot at my car?” I asked, disbelieving but kicking myself for even being surprised.
“Yours was the only car in the driveway.” Shelby shrugged, as if her logic made perfect sense.
“Except for the pile of junk that Bucky towed back – you know, the one that’s already many different paint colors… and is parked directly in front of mine.”
Shelby sighed, like my questioning was totally unreasonable. “Hey, I raised my kids. I’m not responsible for those brats.”
That wasn’t accurate in the least. Not only had Shelby never actually raised any of us, but she was also now the primary caretaker for Rocky’s two kids, Posy and Nike, now that he was in jail and their mother was off pursuing other loser leads. Not wanting to get into a fact-finding mission with Shelby, I just let it go.
“Why isn’t the paint coming off my clothes, if it’s so harmless?” I asked.
“I don’t know, maybe you have to wash them. Go get some of Rocky’s clothes. God knows, he won’t need them for a while. Did Indy tell you his brother was in prison?”
Boom. That explosive piece of information had the desired effect on Emma. She was sufficiently shocked. I’d almost forgotten how perfectly honest a chat with Shelby could be.
“No, he didn’t, but you know, we just met,” she said, fumbling over her words. This time it was Emma who flashed me the apologetic look.
“Shelby, good lord,” Gigi derided. “You have to ease people into that type of sensitive information. Do you see me blurting out about my gastrointestinal issues with just anyone?”
“You don’t have issues, Grandma,” Shelby fired back. “You were diagnosed with phenomenal gas. That’s not a disease.”
While they argued over verbiage, I grinned sheepishly to Emma and then formed a gun with my fingers and finished myself off. She laughed, touching my arm and sending a jolt of electricity through me. Damn. Our eyes met, and hers were filled with warmth and entertainment. She was not horrified by the display my relatives were putting on, and somehow, that made her all the more perfect.
“Anyway, Emma,” – Shelby turned off the disagreement with Gigi and switched on the BS for my lady friend and me – “Rocky was framed. It wasn’t his fault. He was only borrowing the car.”
I rolled my eyes. Anything that reflected negatively on my mother was sugar-coated with as many lies as possible. The truth was, fifteen months my junior, Rocky had been involved with shady people all his adult life and had been in and out of jail for years. The prison sentence resulted from a bust on a chop shop operation my brother ‘worked’ for. Rocky was the idiot who stole and stripped the cars.
“Don’t roll your eyes, Indiana-Jones.”
And there it was, bomb number two. Emma’s eyebrows rose to new heights as she attempted to quell the snickers. “Your name is Indiana Jones?”
I glared at my mother. “Obviously not by choice… and just so you know, it’s not Indiana Jones but Indiana-Jones. She made sure to hyphenate the words, so teachers would be forced to use my full first name in class.”
“Indiana-Jones,” Emma whispered to herself, amazed.
“It could have been worse. Her second choice was Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“I’m a huge movie fan,” Shelby said, as if that explained saddling her son with a moniker that would get his ass kicked multiple times a day.
“So, would your other son be Rocky-Balboa then?”
“Ah ha, you’re catching on,” I said, impressed. “You see the pattern forming here? And I have a younger sister named Princess-Buttercup and another named Princess-Leia.”
“They just don’t appreciate my creativity,” Shelby said, waving off my ridicule. “But without my flair for the dramatic, Indiana-Jones wouldn’t be where he is today. You know he’s a famous actor, right?”
“No, Shelby, not famous…”
“You’ve been in eleven movies.”
“Slasher flicks!”
“Still, that’s famous in my book,” she challenged.
But not in Emma’s. She, of all people, could call bullshit on Shelby’s misguided proclamations of celebrity. I passed a repentant glance in Emma’s direction, but she seemed to be thriving in the stifling environment I was choking in.
“Everyone in town knows who he is,” Shelby said, addressing Emma, pride swelling her already enflamed ego. “They ask for autographs and everything.”
Oh, how I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Telling Emma, whose brother was actually famous, that I was a freaking celebrity was just mortifying. The remorseful expression I’d adopted fro
m the earlier humiliation was still on my face, so I just allowed it to remain for this new wave of mortification.
“How did you come up with Finn?”
“My middle name: Finnegan.”
“So let me get this straight. Your full name is Indiana-Jones Finnegan Perry?”
“Yep. That’s right. It’s a mouthful, isn’t it?”
“Now I see why the ticket lady was questioning you.”
“When I decided to become an actor, I changed my name. I obviously couldn’t have Indiana-Jones on my SAG card.”
“No. That probably wouldn’t work.”
“Anyway,” I said, hoping to move this torture along, “can I have my keys? Emma needs to get home, and I’ve got to show her how to get back on the freeway.”
“In those clothes? You’ll get your car seats all jacked up. Go change. I’ll keep your pretty savior busy.”
My eyes swiveled in every direction, unsure what to do. How many more zingers did Shelby have in her arsenal? Of course, I knew the answer to that. When it came to embarrassing tidbits, she was a bottomless pit. And my mother wondered why I never introduced her to the women I dated.
“Go, Indiana-Jones,” Emma said, waving me off. “Shelby and I will be fine.”
Against my better judgment, I jogged down to the room Rocky and I had shared for years. It was now home to his kids, but our stuff was still there, lingering amongst all the newer clutter. It took me a minute or two to locate my brother’s things and another minute to change out of my soiled clothes. I knew giving too much time to Shelby would result in unimaginable humiliation, so I hurried my ass back down the hall.
“…and then I gently laid him…”
No! My face flushed as heat coursed through my body. She wouldn’t! I dashed back into the kitchen, but the damage had already been done. Shelby was midway through her child abandonment saga. Emma had that smile on her face…you know the one, somewhere between polite amusement and Holy shit, is this woman for real?
“Wait, so Finn was the baby?” she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Oh, yeah. That’s why he has that weirdly shaped head. It molded to the toilet,” Shelby said.