Steady Madness

by Mike McCrary

  That’s what all of us are doing really.

  Me, Sandy, even Gordo.

  We’re trying to buy our way out of whatever we don’t want to be in. People do it all the time. They hate their nine-to-five, so they buy lotto tickets. They take that hot stock tip from their crazy-ass cousin, hoping it’ll make it rain. Late-night infomercials made an industry out of it. Easy real estate deals. Pyramid schemes. They are all selling the same thing. We take chances so things can be better. Sometimes those chances net a happier life. Sometimes they make things worse. Sometimes people take a chance and end up living in their car.

  In our case, taking the chance might get us killed.

  Our driver/goon tried to pat us down. He tried to take our guns, saying that’s what Jonathan wanted. I told him to go fuck himself and spit in his face. He blinked, wiped my spit off, then opened the door for me. I realize I didn’t have to spit in his face. Telling him to go fuck himself was probably enough, but I wanted to make a point. Think I did. Still, I feel bad about it.

  We drive and wind around the Texas highways and small, one-lane roads cutting through the city and the country. This is my home. This is Texas. I love it and hate it all the same.

  Suppose it’s the same for everybody and their home. There are things that are comforting and healing, and things you wish were different. Stuff you embrace and need, other stuff you don’t understand or want around you. But either way, it’s all a part of you. It’s grown into your soul even if you didn’t know it was happening, or ask for it.

  There’s a lot of pain for me here. There’s a lot of joy as well.

  There’s also a lot I don’t remember.

  Now I’m pissed again.

  Jonathan and his box come rushing back to the front of my mind. What will it be like, going through that box? What will it do to me? Will it bring it all back? Will I black out every damn time I pick up a new item from the box, or will I just pick through it and nothing will happen at all?

  No memories will come back.

  Nothing but black space where loving movie clips from long ago should be playing.

  Looking out the window, I know we’re not far. I recognize the sights. The familiar smell of the country air creeping into the car. I lower the window, just a crack, letting some of the fresh rain spatter on my face. I see a familiar gas station. Won’t be long until we’re there.

  Maybe a few minutes.

  I rub my bat. I think of burying it into Jonathan’s skull. I smile.

  “What?” Sandy asks, noticing my grin.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Daydreaming.”

  Chapter 39

  Pulling into the long, snakelike driveway of my home, I can’t help but notice the number of goons has grown since I was here last.

  I knew there would be more, but this is more than I thought.

  They’re lined along the sides of the drive and scattered around the land that surrounds my house. They’re watching, protecting as if the pope were here.

  Jonathan’s not a stupid person.

  An asshole, but not stupid.

  He knows the kind of person I am by now. Knows what I can do. He knows Gordo too. He probably knows all about what went down in Vegas and Tahoe. That asshole has eyes and ears everywhere. But we’re here and that’s what Jonathan wants more than anything, so let’s call it even for now.

  My heart hits the pause button.

  A chilling thought occurs to me.

  “Ah, can’t believe I didn’t address this earlier,” I say, clearing my throat, “but what’s to keep them from cutting us down the second we step out of this thing?”

  Sandy gives a slow turn back toward me with eyes wide.

  I can tell this idea scares the hell out of Gordo too.

  I’m mad at myself for not thinking it through until now. I got so deep into the weeds about everything that the simplest of solutions for Jonathan didn’t even occur to me.

  “Well.” Gordo pauses, thinks, makes some mental calculations. “They’ll want me alive to try and get his money back. You and her they can probably shoot. So, stay close to me?”

  Sandy throws her hands up in the air. Really?

  “Great,” I say, watching the packs of goons watch us.

  Some of them scan the road and the open land that wraps around my house, but most of them have their dead-ass eyes dead on us. Best I can tell the house is the way I left it. Of course, I won’t know for sure until I get inside.

  Still bet they destroyed my bathrooms.

  Filthy animals.

  I see Jonathan standing at the end of the drive. He’s up on his feet. I don’t even see his wheelchair anywhere around him. He looks a lot better than when I last saw him. Appears some of the color has returned to his face. Seems to be more stable than a few days ago, but far from a strong, healthy-looking dude. More like a frail man I’d feel sorry for if I didn’t know him better. I do know him better, and I want to bash his frail head in.

  “Guess that shit you fed him is wearing off,” I say to Gordo.

  “Yes,” Gordo says as flat as can be. “Appears so. Should have known if there was anyone who could cheat death, it was him.”

  “Do you really hate him?” I blurt out. Don’t know why I asked, but I did.

  “Yes, yes I really do.”

  I don’t bother asking for details. Pretty easy to understand. I can only imagine what it was like growing up with that man as a father. Top-five asshole dad in the history of asshole dads. Suppose I was spared all that at least. I may not remember a damn thing, but I know my father, my real father, the one who raised me. Daddy, I still call him, as if I were six. He was a good, loving man. Don’t need a damn thing in that damn box to tell me that. I am painfully aware, however, that the man standing at the end of the driveway surrounded by beef and bullets is not a good, loving man. He is indeed a real-life monster.

  One I need to find a way to put down, or die trying.

  My broken brain snaps into place. This all ends today.

  One way or another.

  Chapter 40

  “They’re going to take our weapons,” Gordo says into my ear so the driver doesn’t hear him. “Do you see your guy? This Bear Boy? I don’t remember him. They all look the same after a while.”

  Bear Boy is standing right next to Jonathan, looking straight at us like the rest of them. We roll to a stop a few feet in front of the two of them. They both stand and stare, with arms crossed. Faces are fixed in cold expressions carved out of stone.

  “I see him,” I say. “Next to Jonathan.”

  “Can you get a read on him?”

  He’s got on sunglasses. His face is blank as can be. Impossible to tell where his head’s at. Can’t even be sure he got my text. He didn’t respond. This whole thing is fueled on a single drop of hope. How can I know if he’s with us or against us? He’s standing there, tall as a building with face void. Right now he looks like he’d protect Jonathan to the bitter end.

  Of course, he’d look the same if he got the text and wants to help. If he wanted to flip, he’d keep it all cooler than cool. He’d want to play the part. Then again, he’d also have on the same look if he wanted to fill us full of holes and eat our souls.

  I feel my stomach drop.

  A white glob forms in the corner of my eye. I try to envision something happy. It doesn’t work. This glob is strong. I punch my leg once. Pain sometimes works better. I hit it again harder, then harder than that. The white glob drifts, but it’ll be back.

  “I can’t tell,” I say low.

  “What?” Sandy says. I hear the fear in her voice.

  “I can’t tell where his head is.”

  “We need to make a call here, Teddy,” Gordo says.

  I know he’s right. I know what he’s saying, too. He means that if Bear Boy isn’t down with us, then we may need to come out blasting or, at the very least, open up on these people when they try to take our guns. There is no way we can be unarmed and left out in the open with only our
negotiation skills and a smile.

  Not with these people.

  Gordo’s right, unfortunately. They need him. Really only him. They need him and a way to get to the money, but if that goes the wrong way they’ll just kill me and Sandy and torture the shit out of Gordo until he gives up what they want. That might be their plan anyway.

  All I can do is look at Bear Boy. Staring. Hoping for something from him.

  Anything. Give me a sign.

  “Teddy?” Gordo presses.

  The driver gets out, comes around the front bumper and opens Sandy’s door. Sandy looks to me for answers. I don’t have any. I nod, letting her know to go ahead. The driver takes Sandy by the hand, helping her out from the Yukon. She turns back to me again, looking for some form of guidance. I have none to offer, but I tell her it’s going to be okay.

  My eyes are fixed on Bear Boy.

  The driver closes the door on Sandy’s side of the Yukon and walks around the back bumper, toward my side.

  “Come on,” I say under my breath. “Give me something you big, meaty, beautiful man.”

  The door opens. The driver holds out his hand for me. I pause, scrambling for another second. Locking in on Bear Boy. I need more time. I need more time to form my plan. Life has become very binary. Red light. Green light. Firefight and bloodbath, or a lifeline from a large friend.

  “Teddy…” Gordo trails off.

  He might have said more but my hearing is drifting in and out. All my focus is on Bear Boy. The world is fading into the background. Give me an eyebrow raise, Bear Boy. A nod. God forbid a thumbs-up.

  There’s nothing.

  The driver puts a hand on my shoulder as if I’d forgotten he was there. I have an idea. I wiggle loose from the driver’s fingers, slipping over the top of Gordo, taking his spot in the back seat while pushing and shoving him toward the open door.

  “You go first,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Do it.”

  Gordo gives me a confused glance. Not as confused as the driver, but confused or not Gordo slips out the door all the same. I want to break Jonathan’s attention. Get his eyes off of me, and away from Bear Boy. As Gordo clears the open car door, exiting the Yukon, I watch Jonathan closely.

  Jonathan’s eyes follow his son.

  I got what I wanted. His gaze is leaving me for the first time.

  As Jonathan’s attention breaks, Bear Boy looks to me. His head turns straight at me, giving me the goofiest grin I’ve ever seen.

  A huge, wide, toothy grin, with his eyebrows jolting up to the sky.

  It was fast as hell.

  Only for a flash of a second before it slammed back into his steady state of blank, cold, nothingness. But it was there, and it was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.

  The driver sticks his hand back into the Yukon, more demanding, more annoyed this time.

  “You ready now?” I ask with some bitch tone on it.

  I take his paw with a smile.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  As I slide out, I grab my bat.

  Chapter 41

  Stepping out from the Yukon, I close my eyes, feeling the sun warm my face.

  Feels nice.

  Like home.

  My feeling of homespun comfort drains fast as hell, as if a plug were pulled from a warm bath. I open my eyes. As quickly as the sun warmed my face, it has now disappeared behind a new set of dark clouds that rolled in, covering up all that pleasant warmth and comfort. For that split second I allowed my head to take a break from reality.

  Now I’m back, and it sucks like hell.

  Here I am. Never imagined this scene. Me standing near my childhood home with a bat in hand, guns on my person, surrounded by walls of goons, killers and liars. My only friend here in this thing is a prostitute—who I love dearly, but a prostitute nonetheless—who might melt down at any moment. She’s been cool so far, but people have limits.

  I know I do.

  Not sure when I’ll collide with those limits, but I know they exist. I can feel the edges of them, but I can’t be sure when I’ll simply fold my hand and give up. I do know, however, in this situation here I have a hole card. An ace, I hope. An ace I affectionately call Bear Boy.

  The driver escorts Gordo, Sandy and me around the Yukon’s front bumper so that we are standing a foot or two in front of Jonathan and Bear Boy. Stares fire back and forth between us like we’re all lobbing data-gathering bots at one another. Letting them crawl over our faces and eyes, each searching for a data point that will enlighten us as to what in the hell the others are thinking. More importantly, what they are thinking of doing next.

  I give them nothing.

  They give me less in return.

  We are a big mass of hard eyes and breathing nothingness.

  This is a psychological jam session that’s hammering out notes in the key of violence, family and doom. We’re playing jazz together. I hate jazz.

  We hate each other. That much is certain. That much we can agree on. We’re bonding, I suppose.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do, not a clue what Jonathan and his folks are going to do, and I have no idea what Bear Boy is going to do. He and I? We haven’t worked out a plan, obviously. No elaborate hand signals. No nothing. If he makes a move ahead of me, or doesn’t move when I need him to, or worse, if he loses his balls and doesn’t move at all, we are screwed beyond reason.

  Fucked.

  Completely.

  “I understand you refused to give up your weapons at the airport,” Jonathan says.

  “Yup,” I say.

  “That’s fine. Doesn’t matter.” He smirks. “If that makes you feel more comfortable. You do understand that you are surrounded by people who will gun you down in the blink of an eye, right?”

  I nod.

  “A blink of my eye, to be specific.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” I grip my bat tighter. “Is that what you want to chat about? Take a deep dive into your amazing power? Or is there a point to all this shit? Like, perhaps, I don’t know, me getting my house back.”

  He gives me a half-smile.

  A smug half-smile.

  Oooooh I fucking hate him.

  I’m finding that if I imagine me bashing in his head, it soothes me. Power of positive thinking, I guess. A white glob formed while he was talking. I can’t really beat on my leg, so I ran a vision of my bat crashing into his temple and that glob ran like it was being chased for shoplifting. It was kinda like magic. After all these years, I’ve found my happy place.

  It’s me beating the life out of Jonathan.

  Who knew?

  “How did we get here?” Jonathan asks, turning to Gordo. “What did I do? Tell me. I’d like to know.”

  “What?” Gordo coughs hard, laughs harder, then says, “I don’t even know how to answer that. Not sure it’s even a serious question.”

  “You tried to poison me.”

  “True.”

  “Tried to kill me.”

  “That was the goal.”

  “I don’t understand. I really don’t.” Jonathan’s face slips to stone as he shakes his head side to side. “You ungrateful—”

  “Stop.” Gordo waves his hand. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

  Gordo and Jonathan fire off dagger-eyes at each other. Father and son. Flamethrowers of pent-up family anger ripping dragon fire between the two of them. They could each spit out a thousand angry words, but they don’t. They stand still, wrapped up in a quiet, rising rage.

  There’s a hard silence. The wind kicks up as if on cue, providing some white noise made up of leaves moving, branches swaying, and Jonathan’s hard breathing. The temperature has dropped a few degrees. Under normal circumstances this would be damn peaceful.

  Currently, it is not.

  Anything but.

  Jonathan’s jaw clinches. I can see his teeth grind beneath his skin. His fists crack, forming tight balls of hostility. Gordo does the same. There’s a ton of baggage here
. The air is so thick with family dysfunction I cannot even begin to unwind it all.

  Gordo, dying to kill his father.

  The very idea of Jonathan being our father.

  Me killing Gordo’s mom/Jonathan’s wife.

  That wife, along with Jonathan, killing my parents.

  Wait.

  The most important question hits me like a runaway train. Panic streaks across my brain. I’m pissed off at myself for not asking this until now.

  “Where’s my brother?” I bark, busting up the silence.

  “What?” Jonathan squints at me, looks to a shrugging Bear Boy, then back to me. “I don’t know. He was with you.”

  “Cut the shit,” I say, pointing my bat. “You sent a goon squad into the hotel. You fucking took him from me, and you’re giving him back.”

  “I don’t have him,” Jonathan says, shaking his head. “Wait, who came to what hotel?”

  His face contorts into a question mark before melting into what seems like an honest look of concern. Concern? Jonathan? Now? Now he’s a concerned father? The hell with that. Now I’m pissed because he’s not even trying to lie to me.

  I spin to Gordo, jamming my bat under his chin. “Where is he?”

  “I told you I don’t know, Teddy. I really don’t.”

  Holding his eyes, I try to get a read on them. They seem truthful, but those eyes have lied so many damn times I can’t even count that high. I feel myself peeling away. Falling. Drifting. The idea of losing Skinny Drake is crushing down on me, flooding my head. The lightning-fast realization of living a life without a hint of family is too much. I’ve lived most of my life like that, with no one. Rather not go back to it. Nope.