Comin' Home to You

by Dustin Mcwilliams

  Owen Tomkins was a no good drunk who sucked at life.

  The dinging sound of a metal bat snapped Owen out of his funk to see his grandson hit a double over the third baseman's head.

  “Attaboy!” hollered an elated Owen.

  Ben clapped in amusement. “Your boy's got some talent, bro.”

  “Well shit, I work with him every damn day.”

  Ben’s eyebrows lowered almost covering his eyes. “You taking a shot at me?”

  “Damn, chill out, Ben. Why would I do that?”

  “Just your tone. You know I work with Adam…or try to.”

  “Didn’t say you didn’t.”

  “My boy has a long way to go. Hell, this Saturday, I convinced him to put his glove on and come outside. Damn kid immediately whines how hot it is outside and how his hand is all sweaty from it being inside the glove. I don’t know how the hell his hand could sweat after ten seconds outside.”

  Owen just politely smiled. “Fatherhood is a blast, ain’t it?”

  Ben puffed out his cheeks, following it with an exhale as a means of response. “Had to promise him a Cherry Dr. Pepper if he did good. So I toss him a ball. Overhand, but soft, you know. He turns his head away and puts his glove in the wrong area. Damn ball hits him square in the belly. He runs into the house, bawling his little eyes out and screaming for his mommy.”

  “That sucks.”

  Frustrated, Ben sighed. ‘That ain’t even the end of it. I’m all outside, feeling like the worst father in the whole damn world. Shit, I was tossing the ball up in the air to myself. When I finally get the nerve to go in there, guess what my boy’s doing?”

  Owen stared at his cold beer before taking a sip. “Something you didn’t like, I imagine.”

  “He was in his room, playing one of his dumbass video games and shoving spoon after spoon of chocolate ice cream in his mouth. I about flipped, but Taylor saw me and got me to chill out. But still, that kid doesn’t want to do shit.”

  “He may not be into baseball, man.”

  “He ain’t into anything sports. I mean, I guess I should be glad he even goes outside to play sometimes. I don’t have to worry about that with Rainey. She’s got her first tee ball game in a couple of weeks and she’s beyond excited. The girl’s constantly outside practicing. Granted, she still gets confused which way to run on the bases, but she’s trying.”

  Owen sheepishly grinned, seeing an opportunity in front of him. “What I am hearing is that it sounds like the Tomkins' athletic genes just completely passed on your side.”

  “Eh, fuck you.”

  Both men simultaneously finished off their beer. Owen dipped into his ice chest at his feet and pulled out two more, handing one to his brother.

  Owen ignored Ben's troubled look toward him. He had to switch subjects quickly. “So, how's work?”

  Ben sighed, drinking about half the beer in one go. “Not good, bro. Not good. This might surprise you, but policing was a lot easier in Tyler. It wasn’t ever complicated. Things stayed routine. But out here, especially as chief, it’s just tough. I have six full-time officers and four part-timers under my command, some of which are rookies I pulled off the street. I got city hall meetings where all the damn citizens are complaining about the drugs. I got farmers scared to work on their own land in fear of finding a meth lab. I’m still dealing with the dead body we found a few weeks back floating in the Anderson’s pond. We know damn well that all kinds of dirty meth gets made out in these woods and that causes a lot of trouble for these citizens. But I can’t just set off on an excursion through private pastures on a witch hunt. The law just seems to hinder us sometimes.”

  “If only you could do things your way.”

  “If I could, the only crime in this town would be DUI’s and illegal parking.”

  Owen was legitimately interested in his brother's job. He sometimes wanted to apply himself for a part-time gig. He was sure he could do a good job, but he didn’t want to stress his brother out with him hiring his possible alcoholic brother. Ben had enough on his plate anyway. “Any ideas on how to get things done then?”

  “Luck. Just a whole bunch of luck. Most of what you would call ‘progress’ in this case is just by pulling over vehicles we find suspicious. Even then, we still only hit the users who are holding a measly quarter gram. What we need is someone to flip to our side of the fence. We know the players here. Besides Scar and Nicky and those guys, there are a few more that we’d call higher tier players in this area. The best case scenario for us is for one of those guys to turn Benedict Arnold. We get that, we get info. We get locations. We get the distributors. Then and only then, will we make actual progress.”

  “So that traffic stop I saw on the news wasn’t a big bust?”

  Ben shrugged. “Wouldn’t call it big. Officer Lanoux pulled over a vehicle going 80 in a 65 on its way to Mineola. You ever play against any Yates back in the day? This one’s name is Jordy. He’s out of Fruitvale.”

  “That name sounds familiar. I'm sure I played baseball against a couple of Yates back in the day.”

  “Well, this Jordy had a pretty big rap sheet. Lanoux claimed he came off as a bit twitchy, so he searched his car. Found a pound of meth hidden under junk in his trunk. Not sure if he’s a dealer or delivering a dealer. Either way, I drove him down to Tyler to jail. Tried my best on the way to get him to talk. He didn’t say a damn word. I told him he was looking at years in the system and I even told him I’d vouch for him to just get put on probation if he cooperated. But, he stayed silent. Well, I say silent. He did have a nice colorful comment on how he was going to fuck my wife in the ass. Real class act, that one.”

  “I bet he’s scared of what might happen to him if he does say something.”

  “Oh, for sure. The Roaring 20’s definitely built up a reputation of a gang you don’t cross. Doesn’t matter if you are already in prison or on vacation out in the Bahamas, they’ll find you. Remember that picture I showed up of that guy’s arm?”

  Owen looked up at the fading sky in his attempts to recall. “Oh yeah. Ew, the guy that got shoved into the wood chipper?”

  “Yep. That’s what the Roaring 20’s do. That guy’s still alive, crazy as it sounds. Just doesn’t have his legs. That’s how they torture, and boy, are they brutal.”

  The idea of being tortured made Owen uneasy and brought back emotions from the past he wanted to forget. “Well, I do hope you get a break in this case. This shit’s gone on long enough.”

  Ben shook his head, exasperated. “As long as Scar is in charge, the shit’s going to keep on going.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He's the glue that holds it all together. He’s extremely cautious. He knows how to not draw attention to himself. No one talks because of him. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was the guy who threw that poor son of a bitch in the wood chipper. There has to be some weakness on him. If he even has one, I ain’t figured it out yet. Hell, the feds have been trying to build something on him for years, and look how much progress they have made. I gotta figure out a way to put him behind bars.”

  Owen snickered. He was tickled that his brother was truly dedicated to his craft.

  “I don't know how I will get him, but I will,” continued Ben. “Once I get him, I’d wager Nicky Suarez takes over. He’s capable, I’m sure. But he won’t be as strong as Scar and won’t have that Grayson aura. Once he’s gone, I think that may be it for the Roaring 20’s presence here.”

  “How so?”

  “They wouldn’t have anybody else they could trust here. They won’t bring a new face to take over. We’d be all over the new guy like white on rice. With no real leader here, well…”

  Owen took a moment to think about it, then deciphered his brother's point. “The Roaring 20's would lose their foothold.”

  “Exactly. The drugs and violence wouldn’t stop cold turkey. The remaining cooks would probably battle it out for territory, but I’m sure they’d be disorganized and sloppy
without Scar and the Roaring 20’s presence. There will probably always be drugs in some quantity here, but if we can stop the manufacturing of meth around here, then at least the violence should go down.”

  “I hope that theory of yours comes true, bro.”

  Owen really did hope his brother succeeded, for other reasons besides the obvious dislike of Scar Grayson. Adrienne was the modern dying small town. Its population continued to dwindle over each census. Besides a couple of gas stations, the catfish joint he frequented and a Sonic Drive-In, there wasn’t much to the town. The businesses on Main Street closed quickly. Another business would move in and try their craft, only to close again. The only things the town really had were the oil fields, the lakes and the ability to score about any drug you could want. Owen wanted a safe haven for his grandson, one that didn’t make a grandfather worry about him getting involved with drugs. Unfortunately, the boy was around it every day thanks to his uncaring father. All that did for Owen was reinforce his support for Ben’s job.

  The world would be better off without Scar and Clint and all the other stupid druggy cousins of theirs. There wasn't a single day that went by that he didn't think about putting a bullet in Clint's brain or at least hitting him repeatedly over the head with a baseball bat. He probably wouldn’t mind adding Scar to his imaginary viciousness. But that would draw the forever lingering ire of the Roaring 20’s or the other hillbilly Graysons that suck the proverbial tit of Scar. Ben was right about the Roaring 20's brutalizing their own members who talk too much, but a couple members of the Graysons were known to have a penchant for torture too. Besides Scar, his uncle Max Grayson was also among the known torturers. Years back, he chained two African-American males to the hitch of his truck and dragged them to their slow and gruesome deaths. His reasons for doing so for unknown, but rumors were that one of the men made a pass on a relative. People who saw the carnage still had mental scars today. The Grayson family was not racist as a whole. There would be a few members flying a Confederate flag on the back of their truck, but if anyone could be called king racist, it was Max. Fortunately for the world, he was executed by the state via lethal injection.

  The thought of being dragged behind a truck made Owen shudder. He thought back to a time when that could have been a real possibility. Knowing that if he continued down this road of thoughts, he would inevitably think of her. Thankfully, another ding of a bat snapped him away from that path of sadness. A kid hit a ball past the third baseman, allowing Austin to hustle and score. Cheers and elation sounded through the darkening evening.

  “Alright! Alright! Alright!”

  That voice was not Owen’s or Ben’s. The two brothers gave each other questioning looks as they slowly looked behind them to find the culprit of the adulation.

  “Speak of the devil...” whispered Ben.

  Clad in blue-jeans and a black t-shirt, a clapping Scar made his way to the siblings. At his side was Nicky, who wore a navy blue shirt with a faded Budweiser logo and cargo shorts.

  Scar actually looked pleased to see his enemies. “Well, if it ain't Owen and Ben Tomkins. How the hell are you boys?”

  Ben, keeping it cool, shook Scar's hand. “Just watching my great-nephew kick some ass.”

  Scar brushed his shoulder-length dark blonde hair from his forehead and scratched his beard. “Oh yeah, how's he doing so far?”

  “Already got a double and scored a run,” replied Owen, using his brother's calm demeanor as an example.

  “Hell yeah. That’s that Grayson blood in him.”

  Scar loved to find ways to insult the Tomkins. Owen remained cool. “I think it’s because I work with him damn near every day.”

  “Ha. Maybe so. You always were pretty good. So was my brother Roy. Owen, you remember him, right? Shit, of course you do. You were in the same damn class growing up. Man, the boy could knock the fuckin' cover off of it back in his day.”

  Owen maintained his best poker face. He knew Scar was waiting to see how he would react. This is how Scar operated. He would always drop the name of his older brother to gauge Owen's response. This had gone on for the past 15 years, and so far, his mind and body had stayed steady. Yet, he wondered how much longer he could keep up the facade of his lies.

  He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but he needed to respond to show that he wasn’t intimidated nor had nothing to hide. “Your brother was pretty damn good. Just not as good as me.”

  Scar smiled and calmly put his hands in his pockets. “What did you hit your senior year...what was it...16 home runs?”

  “Yep. 16 of them.” Owen could easily remember it like it was yesterday.

  “Ol' Roy would always say he had a better batting average than you though.”

  Owen couldn't recall his exact batting average, but he knew it was better than Roy's. “He may have. Hell, I can't remember. It's been 20 years.”

  “Twenty god damn years. Can you believe that shit, Ben? What about you, Nicky? What were we back then, just 13 years old?”

  Nicky smiled. “That's about the time I started growing hair on my balls.”

  Ben made a shallow attempt at a smirk. “If I recall correctly, Scar, you looked like you were already old enough to drink. How tall were you back then?”

  “Six feet and an inch, and 180 pounds of pure muscle. Started growing a beard too.”

  Owen took a drink of his beer and listened to the men, chatting like they were old friends. It surprised him, especially right after his brother displayed his desire to put Scar behind bars. But here they were, reminiscing about times past. It was the complete opposite of him and Roy growing up. The two were constantly getting into fights. One of them culminated with a scar on Owen’s arm from Roy’s pocket knife. His mother had always believed that even though the two clans hate each other, something drew them together, as if fate wanted them to be friends.

  An example was his father's history with Scar's father. Growing up, they were the best of friends, much to the chagrin of older members of the families who only knew how to hate the other side. But after a while, they started to accept it, believing that these two may be the ones to squash this long and tiresome feud.

  At 18 years old, just a few days after graduating high school, they hatched the bright idea to rob a convenience store in Athens. Andy, the Tomkins’ father, said their reasoning was nonexistent, just boys being boys. They weren't overly secretive about it, either. Their plans eventually leaked out to a classmate whose uncle owned the convenience store that the boys were targeting. Before the thievery was to take place, Andy learned that police had already been tipped off and were expecting a robbery attempt. He did his best to convince his friend to do this another night, but Buddy, the elder Grayson, would not listen, firmly believing that Owen's father was chickening out. Inevitably, Buddy was arrested in the act, Andy fled back to Adrienne, and with Buddy being arrested and charged with a felony because of his last name, the feud was rekindled, as many Graysons believed it was actually Andy who called the police and set up Buddy. It went all downhill from there. Arguments and brawls were becoming the norm, and law enforcement suddenly had their hands full. It quickly took a turn for the worse when a Grayson cousin, trying to make a name for himself within the family, found an opportunity to do so. Tracking the youngest Tomkins brother through a field, the cousin took a shot with his rifle, sending a bullet straight through his heart, murdering the boy. Whenever the subject got brought up, Owen’s father always paused and looked to be on the verge of tears. He constantly stated that his younger brother was a little slow, but was sweet and didn’t even know such a thing as a feud existed. The Grayson cousin was still serving a life sentence.

  It was the first time since the 1950’s that a murder occurred due to the animosity of the Tomkins and Graysons. Amidst threats of more kills, the entire Tomkins family moved away, except Andy. He was not about to run away with his tail tucked between his legs. If he was the only one left to fight, then that was fine with him. Fortunately, the
conflict died down somewhat. All that transpired since then was a fight and mostly shouting matches. Andy and Buddy never spoke again.

  Words from Scar snapped Owen from his daze. “Clint ain’t here, right?”

  Owen shook his head. “Neither is Ali.”

  Though it was dark, Scar’s eyes rolling back in his head was visible. “Of course they aren’t. Too busy fucking up their lives.”

  “That’s to be expected with them. Did Clint come to a game at all last year?”

  A rare, despondent look came over Scar's face. “Nope.”

  Owen could hardly believe what he was seeing. Was the proud, strong and ruthless Scar actually showing a face riddled with sadness? Was his brother’s addictions and uncaring sentiment to his own son that depressing? Owen could empathize. He still loved his daughter, even if she resented him for the past and also didn’t seem to take an interest in Austin’s affairs. But she was still his child. No sane person could ever truly hate their offspring.

  “I can relate. It bothers me too that Ali does what she does.” It felt weird to say such a thing to someone he didn’t like, but it just came over Owen.

  Scar just nodded, his face returning back to his usual pissed-off look. An awkward silence lingered between the four men, until the crowd erupted for another run scored by Austin’s team. Taking a quick glance over to Nicky and nodding his head, Scar acknowledged the two brothers. “Well boys, it was a damn pleasure seeing the two of you. But I’m off to watch my nephew kick some more ass. You boys enjoy your beers.” Nicky also gave a slight nod as he followed Scar through the chain link fence gate. Before they had completely mingled into the crowd, Scar turned around and stared at Owen. “Roy really would have loved to see his nephew play. He’d be damn proud.”