by Gina Ranalli
When the time came, Mr. English was a good enough sport about it. Not as good as his wife, of course, but no one else was that good. Mr. English climbed into the bed with his wife, little Jeremy perched between them, both parents ginning into the camera as Ed snapped their picture.
“Congratulations to you both,” Ed told them before he left them alone. And for once, he was pretty sure he meant it.
11
He found out he had plenty of time to go home for a while and hurried out to his truck, got in and sped along with the windows open so he wouldn’t stink up the cab. On the radio was that familiar feminine voice backed by the familiar soothing jingle as she said, “Envision: It’s a lifestyle.”
Ed smiled to himself. “Damn right it is.”
He pulled into his driveway ten minutes later, cursing that damn Firebird yet again, got out and began fishing around on his key ring for the one that would open the door. He found it and was about to slide it home when the door swung open of its own accord.
Ash stood before him, still wearing her robe, a burning cigarette in one skeletal hand. “Where have you been?”
Frowning, he said, “Work. Where the fuck do you think I’ve been?”
“You have company.”
“Who?” he asked, his frown deepening.
“Come see for yourself.”
Ed followed her into the house, closing the door behind him, knowing that it would be Drizzle. Damn, he had to remember to tell security that the property was approachable through the northern woods.
He walked into the dining room behind his wife and there sitting at his table, in his house, was Bowie.
Fucking Bowie.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ed barked, rushing over to the table.
“Ed,” Bowie grinned beneath a fat mustache. Ed suspected the guy fancied himself a Burt Reynolds look-alike, but if he looked like any celebrity it would have to be that weird singer Yanni. “Good to see you again, my friend. How’s the war treating you?”
“What are you doing here?” Ed repeated with more fierceness. But he had a feeling he knew. Drizzle.
Bowie laughed and Ed saw with some distress that he was smoking. “Put out that fucking cigarette!”
Bowie looked genuinely confused. “Your wife is smoking.”
Ed tossed Ash a burning glance before returning his attention to the man seated at his table. “I said, put it out.”
Shrugging, Bowie obliged, mashing out the butt in the huge glass ashtray that sat in the middle of the dining room table, much to Ed’s chagrin.
“Your little sidekick paid me a visit,” Bowie said. “Drizzle.”
“I figured. But he’s not my sidekick. He’s nothing but an obsessed fan.”
“That so?” Bowie arched his eyebrows. “I was under the impression that you were business partners.”
“Get to the point, Bowie. I’m tired of you stinking up my house.”
“I wish you wouldn’t take that attitude with me, Ed. I’m here as a professional courtesy. Making sure I’m not stepping on your toes before I strike up a deal with your boy.”
Ed tried to play dumb. “What deal?”
Again, that surprised look. “The moonlighting gig. I was sure he told you about it. He was very convincing.”
Lips pressed tightly together, Ed said nothing.
“Anyway,” Bowie continued, “If you’re not interested in the Dimes Drizzle has lined up…well, hell, I sure could use the money, if you know what I mean. These are tough times for those who can’t gain…shall we say, respectable jobs?” He chuckled a little, implying that Ed had anything but a respectable job.
Ed was tired. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now. He doubted he would ever want to be having this conversation, but he definitely didn’t want it now. “Just get out, Bowie. Before I throw your ass out.”
“Fine, fine.” Bowie stood, his hands raised in supplication. “No problem, Champ. I just need a yes or no answer from you. Are you working for the kid or not?”
“Working for the kid? Are you fucking nuts? I work for the government. That’s who signs my fucking checks! Who signs yours, Bowie, huh? Who the fuck signs yours?” Ed realized he’d gotten in the other man’s face and was shouting at him. He backed up half a step but refused to give him any more room than that.
Bowie gave him a faux-concerned look. “Champ, I think you’re over-reacting. They got you running around in circles up at that hospital, don’t they? Ash here was telling me all about it. And I have to say, I’m very sorry to hear it. But, really, it’s a simple question.” He paused and when he spoke again, his voice had grown hard. “You in business with the kid or not? I’m trying to be respectful here, Means. Yes or no?”
“Yes!” Ash shouted from behind Ed. “Yes, he is!”
Ed whirled around. “Stay out of this, Ash!”
“We need the money,” she cried.
“We don’t need it! You just want it! But you’re not the one who has to run all over hell and back punching mothers in the fucking face, are you? Did I tell you last week, they made me punch a 13 year old girl? Huh? Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you that. That’s right. Because it made me fucking sick and I wanted to forget about it!” He stopped, breathing hard and took a second to regain some sense of control. He turned back to Bowie and saw that the man was struggling not to smile. “Something funny, Bowie?” he asked.
“No. Not at all. But it’s obvious that your wife is right. The job is getting to you. And I doubt the people you work for would be happy to hear that. Nope, I doubt they’d be happy at all.”
That did it. Ed outweighed Bowie by a good 60 pounds and stood several inches taller. He grabbed the other man by his long, hippie fucking pony-tail and began to drag him towards the front door. “You motherfucker,” he roared. “Don’t you ever come to my house again! You hear me? You do and I’ll fucking kill you!”
They were almost at the door and Ed didn’t even realize that the smaller man was not struggling or protesting in any way. Had he not been so blinded by rage he would have noticed this little fact and immediately been suspicious. But as it was, he was too consumed and didn’t feel the tip of the knife until it poked through the skin over his highest rib.
“Ed, look out!” Ash screamed, too late.
Yelping in surprised pain, Ed shoved Bowie away from himself and sent him flying back towards the dining room table. He stared in stunned disbelief as the other man leapt to his feet with the grace of an attacking panther and charged him.
Ed immediately went into boxing mode, saw the knife hand as a fast approaching missile and dodged it, nailing Bowie with an uppercut to the jaw and quickly stepping forward as the other man stumbled back and nailed him again with three rapid-fire left hooks. Bowie doubled over and any nervousness Ed felt immediately evaporated as he continued to pummel the asshole into submission, the knife clattering to the floor.
In the end, Bowie was just a crumpled heap, covering his head with hands and bleeding from half a dozen wounds on his face. Ed stood over him, panting. “You wanna fuck around some more, you gutless little prick?” he growled. “You’re fucking with the wrong guy. I warned you. Come here again and I swear to fucking God I will lay you flat and the next thing you’ll see will be demons singing. You got that, fuckface?”
Bowie groaned and whimpered.
Stepping over him, Ed went into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed 9 for Envision Security. Ash stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, hands to her mouth, eyes wide, hangover forgotten.
A couple guys from security showed up less than two minutes later and hauled Bowie away, spouting apologies to both Ed and Ash. When they were gone, Ash approached Ed and touched his side. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked down, saw a spot of blood roughly the side of a drink coaster. “Eh. I’ve been hurt worse.” He flexed his right hand, which really did hurt worse. “I need a shower.” He wandered away, heading towards the bathroom
and Ash called after him. “You want something to eat? I can make eggs. Maybe fry some potatoes?”
Surprised, Ed couldn’t remember the last time she’d offered to cook for him, but he didn’t turn around. “Sounds good,” he said mildly. “Put on some coffee, too, ok?”
“Sure thing, baby.”
Her reply almost made him stop, turn and look at her. almost. But the call of a hot soothing shower was too strong and far outweighed the odd behavior of his wife at the moment.
In the bathroom, he stripped, examined the knife wound and decided it probably didn’t need stitches. He’d tape it up himself once he cleaned it out. Inspection complete, he turned on the shower as hot as it would go and stepped inside. The world melted away and he knew peace for a little while.
12
He ate the meal she’d prepared for him without saying much. Ash sat across from him, not eating, just watching him intently. He thought he remembered that look from a long time ago. Trying not to think too much about it, he concentrated on shoveling the food into his mouth and occasionally grunting his appreciation.
When he was finished, she wordlessly cleared away the dishes and refilled his coffee cup. He worked at a piece of potato stuck between two molars and tried not to look directly at her.
Eventually, she circled around behind him and ran her fingers through the hair on top of his head. “What you did today…” She trailed off and he felt her nails on the back of his neck. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “It was so sexy. Just like the old days when I would watch you fight.”
He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, his eyes widening slightly.
“Remember those days, Champ?”
Champ? She hadn’t called him that in…hell, he didn’t know how long.
The next thing he knew, her tongue trailing along the back of his neck, tracing the path her nails had taken. He shivered, his hand tightening around the coffee mug.
She leaned over him, her long hair falling across his chest, and planted a long deep kiss on his mouth. Part of him was disgusted and he felt ashamed of himself for feeling that way about his own wife. But another part—a much stronger part—kissed her back and barely noticed the taste of cigarettes on her tongue. He felt himself rising in his pants and thought, oh the hell with it.
Plunging a fist into her hair, he pulled her into him as he stood, both of them moaning against each other’s mouths. And because he knew it would turn her on, just as it had in the beginning, he swung her up and over his shoulder, like Tarzan carrying Jane, and brought her down the hall and into the dim, cool bedroom.
13
When it was over he felt dirty, the way he had after masturbating as a kid.
He wanted to sleep, concentrating hard on listening to Ash’s snores and nothing else. This was a method he often used to lull himself to sleep but today it wasn’t working. He supposed due to the recent events in his life, he was just too wired. He couldn’t shake the thought of Drizzle and Bowie working together. All those poor mothers, and probably some poor fathers as well.
Wondering what choice he really had in the matter, he considered his options. He knew he could call M.P. Headquarters and report Bowie for operating without a license, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d made that call and a fat lot of good it had done anyone in the past. He secretly suspected the suits liked what Bowie—and other men like him—did. The breeders got punished and they didn’t have to put it on the books. Not to mention the fact that the breeders were, in most cases, being overly punished, thereby really making them think twice before breeding again.
Ed knew he couldn’t stand idly by while those two goons ran around beating the shit out of people. He remembered again how Bowie had been known to punch women before they’d even given birth, often directly in the stomach.
He just couldn’t allow that—not when there was something he could do about it. With a loud sigh, he resolved to call Drizzle and take him up on his offer. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.
With that huge decision made, he found himself drowsy and dropped off to sleep almost at once.
14
He left for work the next day feeling refreshed and relieved. He’d spoken with Drizzle and after a little bit of cajoling on his part, convinced the kid that he was serious and willing to do the moonlighting gig with him. Fifty-fifty, no strings attached.
There was no doubt in his mind—it was the right thing to do. Perhaps even the only thing to do, noble and patriotic. At least that’s what he told himself.
When he drove up to the hospital, he saw crowds of people on the sidewalk, both directly in front of the hospital and across the street from it. Some of the people were shouting and holding signs.
“Oh, great. Not this again.”
It was the picketers that so often surrounded the hospital. Ed assumed their restraining orders must have expired and now they were back, harassing everyone going in or coming out of the hospital, even those who were sick or in need of emergency care.
He noticed that on the far side of the street were a gang of women who supported the government laws dissuading breeding, though they themselves had had children. They called themselves Mothers Against Mothers and they were known for being quite vigilant in their pursuits.
Some of them recognized Ed as he drove up and cheered him on. He winced, knowing that because of that, those opposed now knew he was an MP and would set upon him like a pack of rabid dogs.
And sure as shit, that’s exactly what happened.
“MOTHER PUNCHER!” They screamed and ran in front of his truck, preventing him from pulling into the hospital lot. “Mother puncher! Bone cruncher! Baby eater! Woman beater!”
They repeated their chant over and over while Ed laid on his horn and yelled at them to get the hell out of his way. Shaking signs at him, some with blown-up photographs of badly beaten women glued to them, they refused to budge.
Ed revved his engine, inching the truck forward little by little, as much as he dared. Where the fuck was security? Or the police for that matter?
Frustrated, he gave them the finger and revved the engine even louder. “Get out of the goddamn way!” he shouted. “Take it up with the fucking White House, you fucking commies!”
Some of the Mothers Against Mothers had dared to cross the street and began screaming and shouting at the others. Then the poking and shoving began. Then, hair-pulling, kicking, scratching, punching and an all-out brawl.
“Jesus,” Ed muttered. Now he couldn’t even back up; he was completely surrounded by the protesters, though at this point he figured it would be fair to call them rioters.
He thumbed open his cell phone and called the maternity desk to tell them what was going on. The desk nurse said they were already aware of it and had called the police but apparently they were tied up at other hospitals all over the city where other riots had broken out. She seemed perplexed that Ed had not heard about it on the news.
Ed hung up, slightly more nervous than he had previously been. Did these people know the police were already busy elsewhere? And if so, what was to stop them from storming the hospital?
“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He sat chewing his lips for a while, uncertain of how to proceed. For the most part, the rioters were ignoring him now, except for the occasional flying saliva that landed on his windows and obscene taunts.
Should I just drive? he asked himself. He figured they’d get out of the way if they thought he really didn’t give a shit if he ran anyone over. But what if he actually did run someone over? He didn’t think he could live with that, not to mention he might end up serving time over it.
“Fuck,” he repeated.
Scratching his head, he fought with himself over what to do, but then decided he really had no choice. He couldn’t just sit here until they decided to pick up rocks and began hucking them at his truck. They’d probably drag him out and kick him to death eventually.
The prospect of death at the hands of an angry mob d
idn’t much appeal to him, so he slowly began nudging those in front of him with the bumper of his truck. He figured, if it came down to it, the truck was a bigger weapon than anything that they had. He just needed to go for it.
He continued believing in this theory, crawling along at a snail’s pace, until the police showed up twenty minutes later. Ed breathed a sigh of relief, though it was still another twenty minutes before the cops had cleared a path for him to get to his parking place.
Getting out of his truck, he assessed the damage to it and felt his face tighten. There were now countless scratches and dings in it that hadn’t been there before. Not to mention it was now in serious need of a washing.
Grumbling, he walked into the hospital, hearing the angry shouting fade as he got further away.
15
“Hey, you made it,” Sandy greeted him inside.
“Yeah, barely. I thought they were gonna skin me alive.”
“They probably would if they could,” she agreed.
He nodded. “Anything doing yet?”
“We have one woman whose water just broke, but other than that, no rush on anything.”
He looked past her down the hall. Someone was standing outside of the birthing room. “That fat guy the father?”
Sandy glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t think so. But he’s been here for a while now. Maybe a friend or relative.”
“Huh.” Ed pondered this a moment, before saying, “Well, guess I’ll go get a cup of sludge from the caf. You want anything?”
“Hmm. Maybe a cinnamon-raisin bagel, if they have any left?”
He smiled. “You got it, sister.”
She surprised him by standing on her tip-toes and kissing his cheeks. “Thanks, Ed. You’re a doll.”
He blushed and walked away fast, eyeing the fat guy as he passed by. He bore a startling resemblance to some old time movie actor, though Ed couldn’t place the actor’s name. Now he knew it would drive him nuts until he remembered it. It was just how his mind worked sometimes, worrying things the way an old nun will worry her rosary beads.