– Where’s your money, bitch?
– I don’t.
He takes a step closer.
– This the same knife I used on him? This the same…word? Goddamn it! A thing. A tool. The word for a tool.
– I.
– Don’t fuck with me. The fucking word?
– Cleaver?
– No, not a specific fucking tool. The word for tool, a thing you can use, a fancier way of saying it.
– I.
He stomps, walks in a circle, face reddening.
– Goddamn spics! Goddamn kids! Goddamn word!
– Kids.
He stops.
– Got it! Implement. Is this the same implement I used to cut that guy’s nipples off with?
– Kids?
He comes closer, waving the knife.
– No! Don’t pull that shit. That fucking, kids, what kids? crap. Fucker, that fucker your nephew tried that shit. I know, I know. I don’t need to be told, I know. You, you shit where I eat, that’s what you did. You and your fucking brother. I’m all fucked up, and if I’m all fucked up, everybody’s fucked up. Money. Money now. Money now and I won’t cut off as much. And where’s the AC? Is everybody in this town a…word? Damn! Damn. Lizards and snakes? Fucking things that are cold blooded and like the heat? What are they!? What the fuck are they!?
– Reptiles, Geezer.
Geezer licks his lips and turns his head and looks at Bob.
– I keep getting snuck up on today.
Bob nods.
– I know how you feel.
Geezer sees what Bob’s holding, he drops the knife.
– You know what makes me laugh the most, Bob?
– What’s that?
– They kept telling me, Loller and your kids, they kept saying you had nothing to do with it. Loller telling me I’m paranoid. There’s no conspiracy, Geezer. They’re just fucking kids. Like I’m an idiot. But, and I’ll give it to you, Bob, I never saw it coming. I mean, when it was in front of my face, I got it. But I never saw it coming.
– That right?
– Never. But now, now, I see everything, and what I’m thinking is, you’re gonna need help. Dealing with Oakland. Making it right. And I know how to deal with those guys. And you’ll need an extra hand, with Loller not around. ’Cause it’s a mess right now, but I see where you were going with it, what you were aiming for, and I can help you to put it together so it can still work.
– Geezer.
– Bob.
– You got no clue what you’re talking about.
Geezer wipes some sweat from his upper lip.
– Oh.
– My boy, my oldest, the one that isn’t in a coma right now, when he mentioned a stupid fat sonofabitch, I didn’t bother to ask for a name. Know why?
– Not really.
– Because you’re so stupid and greedy and predictable and low. If I’d thought about it for half a second, I’d even have figured you for coming over here. As it is, I just feel lucky I needed to talk to my sister. You cool, Ames?
– Uh huh.
Geezer blinks as some sweat rolls into the corner of his eye.
– You know, Bob, things may not be what you think they are. You know your son there was running for your sister here? You know that?
Bob shakes his head.
– I did not know that.
– All I’m saying is, so you’re not looking to get back in the business, no second thoughts, but this one here? She’s got something cooking. And your kids, and I don’t mean to say anything bad about them, but maybe you don’t know everything they got going on for themselves.
Bob hefts the sawed off bat with the galvanized nails pounded through its head.
– Remember?
– Uh huh.
– I keep it in the toolbox on the truck. Sometimes a job site gets robbed, copper piping and PVC and whatever, the contractor might ask a couple of the guys to sleep over at the site and keep an eye on things. So I got this in the toolbox. Not that I’ve ever done more than show it to a couple kids tried to jack some insulation.
He tosses the bat lightly, spinning the handle.
– All that stuff, my sister and my kids, I don’t care right now. All I care about, the only thing on my mind, is if you’ve talked to anyone. Does Oakland have any idea my kids were mixed up in this shit? My sister? Have they heard my name, Geezer?
Geezer raises both his hands.
– Bob, they have not. I am deep in shit, last thing I wanted to do was bring up your name. See them go on a rampage. I didn’t tell them anything except I was taking care of the problem.
Bob looks at the bat, lowers it, looks at the fat man, the man who was a friend.
– What a Goddamn mess, Geez. My kids are in a mess. And I don’t want any more. I want my kids safe. That’s all I ever wanted. I never lied about that. I just wanted my kids safe and a normal life.
– Sure, Bob. I mean.
– Shut up.
– OK.
– So I want this to end. Now. But if I kill you here in my sister’s house, it’s gonna cause more problems and, Jesus, I have no idea how the hell we’d move your body, you fat son of a bitch.
– Yeah, that’s true.
– So get out.
Bob moves to the side, clearing the way to the door.
– Go on, Geez, get out, leave town, go away, and never, never say my name to anyone. Go on.
Geezer nods, claps his hands twice and nods his head again and makes for the door and as soon as he’s taken a single step past him Bob raises the bat and swings it and embeds the nails in the back of his neck and hits him over and over while his little sister curls in her chair and hides her face.
When he’s done he goes out to the truck and gets some tools. Grateful for the things his father taught him how to do on the ranch. Like how to dress and butcher a steer, when the occasion rises.
Blisters
They tell George he can go home on Sunday.
He tells his mom he’ll stay and keep her company with Andy, but she says that as soon as his dad gets back she wants him to go home and get some rest.
And the truth is, sitting in the ICU with Andy is fucked up. Not just because they don’t know if he’s ever gonna wake up or what he might be like if he does, but because looking at him makes him think about the house and what happened inside. And thinking about his little brother doing those things makes him have to get up and go to the drinking fountain again and sip some water.
He could go see Hector, but Hector’s mostly too doped to talk because they have his face all sewn back together. Say he’s gonna have scars no matter what. Say he’s gonna need crutches because of the way his leg was cut. Say he may need a cane for his whole life.
Paul’s gone.
Came to George’s ward late last night and stuck his head inside the sheet wrapped around his bed. Said not to jerk off in there because everyone else on the ward would hear it. Told him that when Andy and Hector wake up to tell them they’re fags. Said his dad is dead. They identified his body in his car in a wreck off Collier Canyon Road. Said they found some stuff, some pictures and stuff at his house and some things, and they were gonna take him somewhere to talk to the cops or something but that it’s all bullshit and he’ll see him later. He cried the whole time, but he talked like he wasn’t crying at all. And then a chick cop stuck her head in and took him away.
So on Sunday George waits in the ICU until his dad shows up, comes in and takes his mom in his arms.
George watches as she presses her lips against his dad’s lips and whispers as they kiss and pulls her face from his and takes his hands and touches some scratches on the backs of his hands and pulls them to her eyes and wipes her tears across them. Then she pulls him across the room to Andy’s bedside. His dad looks at Andy and then looks at George and tilts his head at the door.
His mom grabs him on his way out and hugs him and he hugs her, his cast clunking into her back.
Outsid
e they get in the truck.
– You want anything before we go home?
– No.
– Stop at the store and pick something up if you want.
– No.
– Cops want to talk to you some more?
– Yeah.
– When?
– Said at the station tomorrow.
– I’ll take you over.
– OK.
– Know what to say?
– I know.
– Don’t mouth off to them.
– I know.
– If someone saw you guys go in the house, if they bring up the house, ask you about anything but the black guys and what happened with them, don’t say anything at all.
– I know.
– They mention any of that stuff.
– I know, Dad. You’re not the only one ever talked to the cops before.
Bob pulls the truck over, puts it in park and looks at him.
– Something you want to say?
George looks out the windshield at the sunny day. He puts his hand in front of the AC vent and feels the cool air.
– No.
– Now’s the time. You don’t say it now, you never say it. After this, whatever happened in the past is in the past. After this, what happened last night is what we say happened.
George thinks about who Geezer said his dad was, and about who he is.
He turns and looks at him.
– Let’s go home, OK?
Bob puts the truck in first.
– Home it is.
At home George goes straight upstairs to his room and takes off the stupid OP shorts and the crap “First Blood” T his mom got him from the gift shop because his clothes were trashed and she hadn’t brought any for him to wear home. He gets out some cutoffs and his B.O.C. shirt and puts them on and sits on the side of the bed and looks at the floor and starts thinking about the inside of the sketchy house again and gets up and walks around the room until he hears something banging in the backyard.
He stands at the window and watches his dad.
He’s already tilled the yard and tamped the dirt and rolled sheets of heavy plastic over it. Now he’s going around with a mallet and a handful of stakes, pounding them through to the ground, dimpling the plastic with them so it won’t peel up later.
He watches.
When the stakes are all in and he’s walked over the whole yard and looked at the ground to make sure it’s even and flat and nothing bulges from underneath, Bob Whelan goes to the front of the house for a shovel and the wheelbarrow that are in the garage.
He parks the barrow next to the pile of rocks and starts shoveling.
George comes out of the house and gets another shovel from the garage. He tries a couple grips until he finds one that hurts a little less and will let him work with one thumb and half his right hand in a cast.
He starts shoveling rocks.
– When’d you do the rototiller?
Bob dumps a shovel load of rocks in the wheelbarrow.
– First thing, sunrise.
– Neighbors must have loved that.
– Job needed to get done.
– What’s that smell?
– Lye.
– That’s like acid or something, isn’t it?
– Put it down so weeds won’t grow and punch holes in the plastic.
George stops, tries a different grip, goes back to shoveling.
Bob points at his hands.
– You should wear some gloves.
– Won’t fit over the cast.
– On your good hand.
– I’m fine.
– Gonna get blisters.
– I’ll live.
George shovels, awkward by his father’s side, working hard to bury what needs to be hid, even if he doesn’t know it’s there.
Things to Make Them Feel Better
Paul gets there first.
He stands in front of the benches, away from the Mexican family with their twined cardboard boxes, and shoves his hands deep in his pockets, scanning the sidewalk for a butt.
– Hey.
He looks up as George and Hector cross the street.
– Got a smoke?
George pushes his bike, going slowly so Hector, walking with his cane, can keep up. He leans the bike against one of the benches, drops Hector’s backpack next to Paul’s duffel bag and takes a fresh pack of Marlboros from the breast pocket of his Levi’s jacket.
– Here. For the ride.
Paul catches the box, slaps it into his palm a couple times and peels the cellophane.
– A going away present, you shouldn’t have. Fag.
He pulls one out and offers it to Hector.
– You allowed to smoke, Quasimodo?
Hector smacks him in the shin with his cane.
– Fuck you.
Paul gestures with the cigarette.
– Seriously, aren’t you supposed to avoid it? Isn’t there a risk of infection with all that shit?
Hector snaps his new silver teeth.
– Shit’s close enough to healed, just give me the fucking smoke.
Paul hands him the cigarette and lights a match.
– Careful you don’t burn your face, might end up uglier than you are.
Hector leans close to the match and lights his cigarette, the scars on his face livid.
– Least my scars came from a fight and not from picking zits.
Paul tosses the spent match.
– My scars came from your mom’s pussy hairs grinding in my face.
George picks at a loose thread sticking from the Scorpions patch on his shoulder.
– You guys are such a cute couple. You guys should skip LA and go to SF. Go to the Castro. I hear there are some cool bars in the Castro for guys like you.
Paul flips him off.
– I’ll go down there and tell all your boyfriends you’ll be in soon.
They smoke.
Hector looks at the family on the bench, catches the little boy staring at his face. He sticks his tongue out at the boy and the boy laughs and sticks out his tongue. His mother catches him and tugs his hair and whispers in his ear and he starts to cry.
Hector looks down the avenue.
– What time?
Paul pulls the schedule from his back pocket and runs his finger down it.
– Two thirty seven.
George kicks a rock into the street.
– Any trouble getting out of the home?
– Hells no. Fucking place. All the kids are juvies or head cases. Think the staff’d be more careful about who can go where and shit. Just raised my hand in group therapy and said I needed to piss and went and got my bag and jumped out the window.
George blows some smoke.
– Group therapy.
– Group bullshit. The counselors think they know shit. But they don’t. They keep saying about how you need to talk about shit. I keep saying, talk about what? Talk about what a dick my dad was and how happy I am he’s dead? Fuck that. They don’t know shit.
– My folks still want you to stay with us.
– That’s never gonna happen, dude. Counselors say for my own good I need a controlled environment. Just means they want me to say things they want to hear that make them feel better about shit before they let me live where I want to live.
– So say it.
– Fuck no. You say it. I stay, I’ll just be sitting around that place till I’m eighteen and they have to leave me alone. Why do that there? Won’t change what I do in the spring. Still gonna join up on my birthday.
– Not without a diploma.
– Fuck that. Don’t need to be a high school grad to enlist. Just have to pass the GED. They’ll sign me and let me take the test a couple months later.
Hector shakes a finger.
– Don’t forget to study.
– Who studies for the GED? I’m not a retard.
He pitches his butt into the gutter.
– �
�Sides, gotta look after you, cripple.
Hector sees the bus come into view several stoplights down.
– Then get my bag, bitch.
George picks up both bags and brings them to the curb and dumps them at Paul’s feet.
Hector raps the tip of his cane against the pavement.
– What’s up with Andy?
– Home. Doing school stuff.
– Still not going to classes?
– No. Says he can finish quicker if he does the work on his own. Little fucker’s gonna be done with the whole year by January the way he’s going.
Hector checks the bus’s progress.
– Cool.
Paul picks up his bag and hefts it onto his shoulder.
– He know where he’s gonna go?
– No. Wants to work with me and my dad once he’s done. Until the fall. Then he’ll go to college wherever.
– He fuck up my bike yet?
– Not yet.
– He will.
– Probably.
– You tell him we’re going?
– No. I’ll tell him later. He just would have wanted to come down here. Probably try and sneak into your bag.
– Yeah, my nut bag.
The bus pulls up and squeals and hisses and stops and the door opens.
George reaches in his pocket and pulls out some cash and holds it out.
– Here.
Paul looks at it.
– What the fuck is that?
– Some money.
– Don’t want your money.
– It’s cool. I’m making plenty on weekends. This is what’s left from, you know, what Jeff gave us.
Paul picks up Hector’s backpack.
– Don’t want it.
Hector grabs the money.
– Thanks, man. Guitar money.
They move back as an old couple is helped out of the bus by the driver.
Paul watches the money go into Hector’s pocket.
– He remember anything yet?
George shakes his head.
Hector touches a scar that cuts across his upper and lower lips.
Paul spits.
– Good.
The Mexican family stands by as the driver stows their boxes in the luggage bay and then they file onto the bus.
The driver looks at the three of them.
The Shotgun Rule Page 22