The Shotgun Rule

by Charlie Huston

  Paul puts a hand under his shirt, touches the cigarette burns, thinks about why he puts those burns there, remembers what every single one stands for.

  And finds that he isn’t afraid at all.

  He points at the derringer.

  – That your dick in your hands there, fatass?

  George slaps Paul’s calf with the back of his hand.

  – Cool it, man.

  – You cool it, man, I got this.

  – No you don’t, no you don’t, just tell him.

  – I’m not telling him shit.

  He points at George’s head, points at Hector.

  – He fucked you guys up, I’m not telling him shit.

  George stands.

  – Yeah we’re fucked up, so stop being a dick and tell him where it is!

  Paul sticks his face in George’s.

  – I’m not being a dick. These guys are the dicks!

  – You’re being a dick!

  – Fuck you!

  – Fuck you, dick.

  – Paul! Paul!

  Paul looks at Hector.

  – What?

  – George itsh righsh, you’re being a dick.

  – No, I’m fucking not!

  George shoves him.

  – Andy’s fucked up! My brother is all fucked up and he needs help and he, he, and you fucked up! I told you to leave that shit alone! Now stop being a dick! Give them the meth! Tell them where it is! Tell them, you dick! Tell them!

  Something jumps in Paul’s face. Something under the skin.

  He looks at the fat guy.

  – You hurt Andy?

  Geezer looks at Fernando.

  – Andy?

  – The little kid.

  Geezer looks at Paul.

  – Yeah, we hurt him.

  – You.

  Paul looks at the floor. The thing under his skin jumps a couple times, stops. The pressure builds behind his eyes. He holds it in, waits for the spike, but it doesn’t come.

  He looks up.

  – Man, I am so pissed at you.

  Geezer nods.

  – Then I guess we can start talking now.

  Her connection in the pharmacy leaves the door unlocked when he takes his break, and Amy goes in like she belongs there. She walks among the shelves with a clipboard, fills a doctor’s order for erythromycin, then heads out of the antibiotics and around the steel shelves to the opiates.

  She takes the huge family size bulk shopping bottle of Vicodin from the shelf, shakes ten into her palm, and replaces the bottle. She drops the pills into a Ziploc bag she pulls from her bra. Seals the bag, lifts her skirt and tucks it inside her panties. She does the same with the codeine, taking twenty instead of just ten. She looks at the Percocet and Percodan.

  Percs are getting way popular. Used to be all Valium and Quaaludes and Dexedrine. Nobody wanted anything else because nobody knew about anything else. Now pretty much anyone who’s had their wisdom teeth out or gone on a diet or had a few stitches just whines and the doctor writes them a script for some new pharm. It’s all good for business, but damn it’s a pain keeping everything in stock.

  She gets down the bottle of Percocet and shakes thirty into her last baggie. The pills nest in the crotch of the big white granny undies, and she walks straight out of the pharmacy and into the nearest ladies’ room. In a stall, she fiddles with a seat cover dispenser, tugging down the tops of the tissue doughnuts. Then she pulls the baggies one by one from her underwear and shoves them behind the covers and smoothes them back into place. The top one is all wrinkled and bunched. She pulls it out along with three or four more and flushes them away. Now the dispenser looks perfect. The pills will be safe until she comes back for them at the end of her shift. Fuck of a lot better than walking around with panties full of contraband. And with all the times the lockers in the nurses’ changing room get broken into, there’s no way she’s leaving them in there. Ladies’ can is the best place by far.

  She washes her hands and exits.

  She drops the erythromycin at the nurses’ station on her floor, tells them she’s taking her break, and rides the elevator to the basement cafeteria. She gets a cup of coffee, looks at a doughnut, remembers having to cover her tummy in front of Jeff and grabs a banana instead.

  The cafeteria’s almost empty. Just a few graveyarders like her, and a handful of family members doing all night death watches on their loved ones.

  Whole hospital is depressing as hell.

  At least she got out of pediatrics.

  Seemed like a good idea. Thought being around the kids would make the day go quicker. Doesn’t have any of her own, but she really digs kids. And they are fun to be around when it’s just a checkup or something.

  But kids that are sick? Really sick?

  That’s the worst.

  Some mommy getting word that little Brianna has advanced stage lymphoma and is gonna die in about two months if they start chemo right away? Watching a scene like that, having some doctor expect her to pick up the pieces after he’s dropped the news and gone on to his next patient? That is not life affirming at all. That is not what she had in mind.

  Head trauma is a walk in the park after that.

  In head trauma you see what’s coming from a mile away. Pediatrics was like getting a fresh lesson in the fuckedupness of God on an hourly basis.

  The fuckedupness of God. Defined in her own life as Geezer thinking she’s dealing crank. She puts her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

  Jeff may or may not be able to convince Geezer she’s cool. If he can’t, he’ll be worthless. Nice guy, cute, but not tough. Not tough enough for Geezer. Couple of her old men would be up for it. But calling any of them means opening the door to all kinds of shit. Call one of those guys to take care of something like this and they’re gonna be expecting a lot back. End up playing house with one of those Neanderthals, riding bitch on the back of his hog, handing over the cash from her business. No fucking way.

  Should get a gun.

  A gun. Shit.

  If only. If only Bob wasn’t such a dick. She could call him. He’d take care of it. One way or another, he’d make sure she was safe.

  Or maybe not. There was a time he’d have dealt with it in no uncertain terms at all. But that was a while back. And even if he hadn’t put all that away, he still might not help her. Not after the crap with George.

  When he found out George was hanging around her place all the time, he flipped. I know what’s going on here, Amy. I know what your business is. Can’t go into the Rodeo for a beer without someone asking me to get them hooked up with you. I know you’re dealing. I don’t know what it is, I don’t care what it is. But I can’t believe, I cannot believe that you’d let children, your nephews, be around that crap. They’re kids, they don’t know any better unless they’re told. I tell them, I tell them to stay away, that’s just gonna make them come around more. So you tell them. Tell them they are not welcome. Do it. You don’t do it, I hear they’re coming around, and I will drop a dime on you, Amy. Sister or not, my kids are more important to me than you are. Make them go away. Do it tomorrow.

  Nothing to do at that point but run George off. Start a fight with the kid and piss him off.

  Jesus, if Bob had known the kid was running her shit around for her.

  Would have disowned her for sure. Christ, would have pulled one of their dad’s moves and beaten the crap out of her.

  – Amy.

  She looks up.

  – Hey, Bob.

  The car’s still not there.

  Paul tries to remember the last time he saw it.

  This morning? No, it’s almost morning now. Not this morning, yesterday morning, when they went down to Galaxy? Was it there? No. Shit. OK, think. Was it there when they snuck out of George’s bedroom window and got the bikes and rode over to the house?

  He thinks about the house.

  Hector and George all beat to hell. That fat bastard sitting on the couch, too fat to eve
n get up, just sitting there sweating. Fernando staying on the other side of the room, not speaking unless spoken to. Ramon. Fucking badass Ramon. Out cold. All that blood.

  Andy.

  Wouldn’t let him see Andy. George is scared bad. Fuck kind of shape is Andy in if he’s so worried about him? Hurting Andy? Who? What the fuck? What do you get out of hurting a little kid?

  What do you get out of touching a kid?

  – Comb on, Cheney. Whud duh fug?

  He shrugs Timo’s hand off his shoulder.

  – Don’t touch me.

  – I’lb touge youd id I wad.

  Paul looks at Timo’s swollen nose, the bloody clogs of toilet paper sticking out of his nostrils. Don’t even have to hit the thing, just slap it and he’ll go down on his knees.

  He turns back to his house, the mystery of the missing car.

  – Just keep your hands to yourself.

  Timo stuffs one of the TP plugs deeper into his nose.

  – Jud ged uz in duh house.

  – Shut up and I’ll get us in.

  – Id’z righd dere, led’z juz wog in.

  – I’m trying to figure out where my dad is, OK?

  – Your dab? Fug hib. Led’z go.

  Paul closes his eyes, tries not to think about hurting Timo. When did he see the car?

  This is Saturday morning. No car. Last night when they snuck out? No car. Yesterday afternoon when they went to Galaxy, came back, went to the bowling alley, back for dinner? No. No. No. No. Thursday night when they snuck out to case the sketchy house? No. When they snuck back in? No. That afternoon, after they went to Jeff’s with the jewelry? No. Before they went to Jeff’s? Before?

  Yes.

  He looked down the street when they came out of Marinovic’s house. The car was there.

  So where’s the car now? Where’s his dad?

  – Enub uv dis shid, led’z go.

  Paul thinks about the car in a ditch, his dad’s chest crushed by the steering column. The car flipping down the middle of an empty highway, his dad being tossed around the interior.

  Like mom. Mom. Just like mom.

  Leaving him alone. To live however he wants.

  No.

  The world doesn’t work like that. You don’t get the things you most want. The car’s in a garage with a dead battery his dad’s too lame to replace by himself. His dad’s in the house asleep.

  Life just like it’s always been.

  – Cub on, adshole.

  Cuz that’s what life is like. Life’s not ever gonna suck any less than it does. Shit like this never stops happening.

  – OK, come on, but keep your fucking mouth shut so we don’t wake him up.

  – He wades ub dads hids problub.

  He rides the elevator with her, back up to the trauma ward.

  She leans into the corner farthest from him, her arms crossed.

  – How long? Since when?

  – They took off after dinner. Haven’t come home. Cindy’s worried. Told her I’d look around. Probably nothing.

  – The cops?

  – No. She called, but no.

  – What about?

  – Amy, look, I know I told you I’d. I know I told you what I’d do if I found out they were at your place. But. If that’s it. Cindy’s really worried. So. Look, if they’re at your place, I’m not gonna do anything. I just need to know. For my wife.

  The elevator stops, the doors slide open and Amy walks out, shaking her head.

  – Bob. Jesus.

  She goes past the nurses’ station, holding up five fingers when Trudy stands and starts to collect her things. Trudy rolls her eyes, but sits back down.

  Amy stops at the end of the hall and looks out the window down at the cars in the lot. Bob’s reflection appears in the glass. She doesn’t bother turning to face him.

  – You are. Man. Bob, you are a piece, man, a real piece of work.

  – Are they at your place or not?

  She turns.

  – No, Bob, they are not at my place. I told you I’d keep them away. And I have. Christ, man. And even if I hadn’t, even if they were there right now shooting smack and fucking hookers, you think, you really think you could have said two words about them missing and I wouldn’t have told you where they were? You think I would do that, put you through that? You are a piece of work.

  – OK.

  – And, OK, fuck you, but Cindy? You think I’d let Cindy worry like that? I like Cindy. We were friends. If you weren’t such a tightass we’d still be friends.

  – OK, Amy.

  – You think I’d scare the mother of my nephews like that?

  – Cool it, Amy. OK? I got it. They’re not at your place. Sorry I asked.

  She bites her lip, kicks the toe of her white shoe against the wall a couple times.

  – It’s cool. Sorry I lost it. I’m uptight about some other shit.

  – No problem.

  He looks out the window. At four stories the hospital is the tallest building in town. To the north, streetlights show him the sprawl of housing tracts and apartment complexes broken by undeveloped lots peppered with For Sale signs. Headlights on the freeway in the distance. False dawn on the horizon.

  She taps the glass with a nail.

  – You know they’re just at someone’s house. Some party.

  – I know.

  – Right now they’re getting their stories straight.

  – Sure.

  – Gonna come home and say just enough of the truth so it sounds good. You remember.

  – Yep. I do.

  – George will do the talking. Just like you used to.

  – Uh huh.

  – He’s gonna tell you just enough. Sorry, Dad, we had some drinks. I know that’s not cool. Andy got sick and couldn’t ride his bike and me and the guys didn’t want to leave him there and everyone else was too drunk to drive us home. Right?

  – Yeah, that’ll be it.

  – We should have called. Andy was sick and told me not to call because he was scared of how mad you’d be. And we just ended up, you know, passing out. Sorry, Dad. Just like me and you, right? Except we got the belt.

  – That was the price of a good time.

  – If you say so, Bob. I just think it was fucked up.

  He crosses his arms.

  – Can’t change it now.

  She pokes some loose hair behind her ear.

  – No, can’t change anything now.

  – Nope. Sorry to bother you at work.

  – It’s cool.

  They head back to the elevator. She pushes the button for him and puts her hands in her pockets and takes them out and looks at him.

  – So. Look. So you know they hang out at Jeff’s place, right?

  He blinks.

  – Loller’s?

  – Uh huh. Used to anyway. I think Paul’s over there a lot. Maybe Hector. George and Andy were going around to see Paul there. Mess with Jeff’s old wrecks. That kind of thing.

  – Since when?

  – I don’t know. Just heard George talk about it a couple times.

  – Christ.

  – But, you know, he’s cool. He’s just…Jeff. Just the same as he always was.

  – Same as he always was. Great.

  She puts a hand on his shoulder, touching her brother for the first time in a year

  – Bob, it’s Jeff. He wouldn’t let them get into any kind of trouble. He knows better. He knows better.

  The elevator opens; a tired woman inside, large white teddy bear under one arm, looking at the floor.

  Bob shakes his head.

  – OK. OK. I’ll go to see him.

  – He might know where the party was last night.

  – Yeah. I’ll go.

  – Look, Bob. I.

  He puts his hand between the closing doors and they bounce open.

  – Yeah?

  – I. Just I got this thing going on. And.

  – What?

  – Nothing.

>   He glances at the woman, she doesn’t look up.

  – Something you need help with?

  – Just my own problems. You got enough right now.

  The doors try to close again and he blocks them.

  – Ames. You need help, you call me.

  – Yeah?

  – Yeah. Just, just right now I got to deal with the boys. But you call tomorrow.

  – OK, yeah, maybe I will. OK.

  He pulls his arm back.

  – Yeah, call. Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out.

  The doors close.

  Amy walks back to the station, waves at Trudy.

  – Sorry. Take an hour. I’ll be fine.

  Trudy scoops up her purse.

  – That your old man?

  – Brother.

  – No kidding? Married?

  – Yeah.

  – Too bad. I love that hardcase cowboy thing.

  Amy drops into her chair.

  – Help yourself. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.

  Jeff rolls the Harley to the QuickStop lot. The teenage son of the owner is out front. He nods at Jeff then goes back to wiping down the gas pumps with a soapy rag.

  Jeff straddles the bike, pulls in the clutch, twists the throttle a couple times, then jumps off the seat and brings his weight down on the kickstart. The bike pops once.

  The kid looks up from the pumps and watches as Jeff adjusts a screw on the side of the carburetor, brings the clutch in again, and comes back down on the kick. He has to hammer the bitch about a half dozen times before it catches. The kid gives him a double thumbs up as Jeff twists the throttle and the Sportster roars.

  He brings it back down to an idle, leans the bike on its kickstand, and walks inside the store with the kid following him. He waits at the counter while the kid circles around and grabs a pack of Camels from the rack and hands it to him. Jeff passes him a couple bucks, peels off the cellophane, lights a smoke and walks out. The kid dumps the change in the loan a cent.

  Outside, Jeff swings his leg over the seat and tucks his ponytail down the back of his T. He left his goggles in the trailer, but there’s a pair of geeky safety glasses in the little tool kit on the bike. He slips them on. Finds the packet of whites in his pocket and crunches one between his teeth.

  He guns the throttle out of the lot, taking the Harley around the long curve of the entrance ramp that dumps him on the 580 West. The bike runs smooth and he opens it up, the cherry getting blown off the cigarette between his lips. Within a quarter mile the sweat that’s been caking him all day and all night is drying. The early morning air is almost cool.