by Linda Ladd
Blood Brothers
After that wonderful day in the apple orchard, Punk went to the deer stand every single day at the exact same time and waited for the pretty girl to show up again. She never did, but he didn’t give up. He would see her again. She would come back. He knew she would. In the meantime, he and Bones were getting really good with guns, now almost as good at shooting as they were with their fists. So one day when they were stalking rabbits out by the blacktop road at the edge of their pa’s woods, they lay perfectly still on their stomachs in the bushes and waited for the dead leaves to rustle when a rabbit or squirrel moved through them. They had gotten very patient when stalking, could lie silently for hours, and all that, but at the moment, they were pretty bored.
Both of them froze in place when a jogger suddenly rounded the curve below them, running toward them at a slow and steady pace. It was unusual to see anybody running out this far from town, and they watched him for a minute without moving or saying anything. He had on Nike blue nylon running shorts and a sweat-drenched, sleeveless white T-shirt, and gray New Balance running shoes with a yellow stripe, and a red terrycloth band around his forehead. He had a bottle of water in a little holder attached to his waist.
“I can’t believe that guy’s running in this kinda heat,” Punk whispered to his brother. “He’s gotta be crazy.”
Bones didn’t breathe a word until the jogger got all the way past them, and then he muttered softly, “I’m gonna kill that guy. I need me some bones to break. It’s been too long.”
“What’d you mean? No way.”
“Yep, that’s what I wanna do. I’m gonna go out there and snap every bone in that man’s body and then I’m gonna shoot him dead, right through his head.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bones. Pa’s gonna get mad, and they’ll put you in prison and you can’t win no more fights if you’re locked up inside there.”
Bones turned his head and looked straight into Punk’s eyes. He was grinning real big. “You think so? Well, who’s gonna know but us? And who gives a shit what Pa thinks? He’s so scared to damn death of us that he starts shakin’ when he sees us comin’. Especially me. He thinks I’m nuts.”
Before Punk could think that through, Bones jumped up and was out on the road, sprinting after the jogger. When he got close enough to his prey, he called out, “Hey, wait up a minute, mister.”
The jogger jerked around, stopped, and leaned over, hands braced on both knees, panting hard. “Yeah? What?”
“Thought I’d kill you dead today, or somethin’. You know, just to pass the time. I’m downright bored. Rabbits ain’t movin’. Too hot.”
The jogger stood up and wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked around, didn’t see anybody. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? That’s not funny.”
That’s when Bones took his rifle by the barrel with both hands and swung the butt as hard as he could. The brutal blow struck the man in his left thigh. Punk could hear the bone snap from where he was still hidden in weeds, and then the man screamed so shrill and awful and loud that Punk cringed and looked away as Bones’s victim collapsed on the pavement.
“Shut up, shut up!” Bones was screaming at the wailing, writhing jogger.
Punk looked around, but nobody was coming. The whole stretch of road was deserted, just like usual. Afraid to move, he stayed right where he was and watched Bones stuff his camo neck scarf in the man’s mouth and then drag him down into the thick undergrowth in the shade of some big oak trees. Punk wasn’t sure what he should do. He looked around some more, and then he slowly made his way through the weeds and bushes to where Bones had deposited his moaning victim. The man was holding his broken leg and trying to get up, but then suddenly, Bones raised up his weapon very high and brought the butt down hard right on the bridge of the man’s nose. After that, the jogger didn’t move a muscle. Blood pumped out of his nose and the gash above his eyes and ran down over his ears and made a red pool under his head.
“Bones, c’mon, stop this right now, you actin’ like some kinda crazy person. Let’s just get outta here before somebody shows up and sees us.”
“No way, bro, too late. He’s done seen me now. Want him to identify us? Huh? That what you got in mind, smart guy?”
“I’m gettin’ outta here. You do whatever you want with him.”
“Okay, then. I’m gonna take my good sweet time and I’m gonna break every single bone in his body. Even those little bitty ones in his ears, you know that one that looks like an anvil. I forget what the others are called. I never gotta chance to do that before. You do-gooders always wanna drag me off and make me stop. You hear me, Punk? I’m gonna snap ’em and pop ’em and hear them crack and crunch and break him all apart. Just like we do to them chickens and rabbits and that deer we trapped in that mud pit. Maybe some of this guy’s bones’ll even come out of the skin. I like that, when I can see my handiwork. But not to worry, bro, then I’m gonna kill him the rest of the way and bury him out at that mine shaft where nobody ain’t never gonna find him.”
“Are you crazy, Bones? What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Maybe, but know what? I like bein’ crazy. I like the way it feels on me.” He stared at Punk, grinning in a way that Punk had never seen before, his eyes all glassy and dark and focused. “Remember, I’m the Bone Breaker, just like Pa named me. I’m supposed to break bones. I live for it, and know what? I love it. The more broken bones the merrier, that’s my new motto.”
Punk could only stare at him. “This’s murder. You’re gonna murder this guy.”
“That’s okay. Nobody’s ever gonna know, and nobody’s ever gonna find him. You know back there where the end of that shaft goes down forever. Nobody’s ever gonna find him if I drop him down there, no way. I already got some stuff hid in those shafts for us to use.”
“What stuff?”
“Bones and tools and stuff. You think this’s the first man I went out and killed?”
Punk couldn’t believe his ears. “I’m leavin’ right now, you sicko. I’m not puttin’ him anywhere. You’re on your own with this guy. I ain’t goin’ to jail for nobody. Not even you, Bones.”
“Yeah, go ahead, you little sissy punk. Who’s always been there for you when you was gettin’ your ass whupped on good, huh? Me, that’s who. How many times have I showed up when you got yourself in a jam and needed somebody to come in and beat some guy bloody? Tell me that, you ungrateful little shit. You never were nothin’ but a punkass coward.”
Punk felt a hot streak of guilt then, and some anger, too, but he knew that was exactly what Bones wanted him to feel. Bones had tried to shame Punk before when he wanted him to do something that he didn’t want to do by himself, but what Bones said was still true. If Bones wasn’t there to help him from now on, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. They were born together. How could he live without Bones around? So Punk just stood there and watched and said nothing else.
Then a look of triumph lit up his brother’s face. Bones bent down and picked up a heavy rock and brought it down hard on the jogger’s face. It hit him with the most horrible crunch, and Punk looked away. He couldn’t stand this kinda stuff. This wasn’t no kind of fair fight. This was just killing somebody because Bones wanted to. He said so.
“Just shut up, and quit whinin’ like some damn little girl. Wow, did you hear the sound that rock made? Talk about awesome, man. Never heard nothin’ quite like that.”
“You broke all the bones in that guy’s face, man. That’s not right. Something’s gotta be wrong with you.”
Bones stood up and leaned over the unconscious jogger. “Look at him, just layin’ there, all still and quiet and bloody and barely breathin’. He won’t even feel it when I break the rest of his bones. I shouldn’t’ve killed him so quick. There won’t be no groans or moans or beggin’ or nothin’ fun like that.”
“C’mon, let’s just get outta here.”
“I’m gonna break his fingers. All of ’em. O
ne at a time. Just bend them back until they give.”
“Let’s go, Bones. You’ve done enough to him.” Punk didn’t wanna watch him do that, so he looked up at the tree limbs high above his head. But the fingers took awhile, and he heard each and every snap, and all too well. Ten little sharp cracks, and every one sounded downright awful to Punk. But the man didn’t move. Maybe he was already dead and couldn’t feel a thing. That was probably for the better if Bones really was going to break every bone in his body. He stood there, gazing into the distance, feeling slightly queasy, and tasting bile at the back of his throat as Bones whistled as he worked and methodically went about the business of breaking the bones in the guy’s thighs and then in his lower legs and feet. Then he did his arms and then his shoulders and back. It was sickening, and the cracking, popping sounds were just horrible. Punk felt like he was going to puke.
“Know what, Punk. I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time,” Bones said conversationally, now on his knees and panting a little from the exertion. He brought the rock down on the guy’s kneecap. “It’s my best fantasy, and lookee here, it’s all come true. And I love it.”
“You really are sick in the head, Bones. This ain’t normal. I don’t do stuff like this. Our brothers don’t neither. You probably oughta go somewhere and see one of those head doctors.”
“Yeah, I think I am crazy. Crazy as a loon, because I do really love this kinda work. I could do it all day every day!” Then he laughed out loud, a long, satisfied kind of gleeful happiness that echoed way up into the sky and that Punk had never heard before. “Wanna come see my secret burial grounds down on the riverbank? It’s in that little quarry with the high rock cliffs all around it. Nobody’s ever gonna find it. Wow, man, this’s the start of something grand, ain’t it? It can be our own little secret, our hobby when we’re not fightin’ in the cage. I feel like one of them gods of old, like I decide who lives and who dies. You can have that, too. Just come with me, Punk.”
At that, Punk had heard all he could take. He just turned around and took off running through the woods, rifle clutched in his right fist, leaping over stumps and bushes, scared of his twin brother and sickened by what he saw and afraid that Bones would do it to him someday. He didn’t look back, didn’t want to see anything else, didn’t want to see that crazy look on his crazy brother’s face again, neither. He just wanted to get away from Bones forever and forget the fear in that poor jogger’s eyes when he realized that Bones was going to smash in his face with that big rock. He wanted to forget this day and everything that had happened.
Punk didn’t tell Pa or any of his other brothers anything about what Bones had done. But they all saw the TV news reports that search parties were out looking for that jogger who had simply disappeared into thin air. His name had been Tony Gabriel and he’d had a wife and three little kids, one boy and two girls. His wife was real pretty and blond and was crying really hard when she was on camera and talking about him not coming home that day. Man, it was a really hard thing to watch, and all that.
After that day, though, Punk kept his distance from Bones, too, and told him to stay away from him, and that he didn’t want to hang around with him for a while, not until Bones got his head on straight. Instead, he spent his time alone, hunting squirrels and rabbits and waiting for the pretty girl in the pink-and-white dress to come back. She finally did, and he couldn’t wait to climb over that fence and hightail it down there to talk to her again.
“Hello,” she said, looking all soft and sweet, and this time wearing a pale blue dress that matched her very, very pale blue eyes.
“Hello. I’ve been waitin’ for you every day for a month. Where you been at?”
“I was afraid I’d get in trouble. We aren’t supposed to be alone with strange boys much. Especially the boys in your family.”
“I ain’t strange.” But Bones is, he thought, Bones is very, very strange. He glanced up the hill at their property fence, just to make sure Bones wasn’t creeping around and watching where Punk went and what he did. Bones liked to do that kinda thing, too. Both of them used to do it with their other brothers. Spy on them, and stuff.
“No, you are not. I like you. That’s why I’m here again. And I brought you that pie I made.”
“That’s real nice of you. How about us takin’ a walk over thataway?”
“Okay,” she said.
Punk guided her along through some low-hanging branches of the apple trees where nobody could see them, even if they had binoculars, especially Bones. Hell, he was probably off killing somebody else, knowing him. Finally, they sat down together on a fallen log and smiled at each other.
“You ever kissed a girl?” she asked him suddenly, and then got all shy and blushing and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.
“Uh-uh. You?”
“Me? Kissed a girl? I don’t think so.” She laughed and he did, too.
“Think I could kiss you a little bit? You know, let us see what it’s like and if we like it and stuff?” Punk said, encouraged that she’d brought it up.
“I guess so. What do you do, just put your lips on mine and press down?”
Punk said, “Yeah, that’s what they do on The Bold and the Beautiful.”
“What’s The Bold and the Beautiful?”
“It’s a soap opera where there’s lots of kissin’ and sex and dumb people actin’ silly. We watch it sometimes when we’re eatin’ lunch. They got a lot of money and free time to talk and not have to work, and stuff like that.”
She laughed at that, but then she put her face up very close to his, and closed her eyes. Punk put his mouth on hers, real slow and easylike. She tasted so sweet and her lips were so damn soft that he felt all giddy inside and wanted to lick her so bad he could hardly stop himself. He moved his lips around on hers the way he’d seen Brooke Logan do it with all the guys on that show, and he felt her slide her arms up around his neck. So he put his arms around her waist and pulled her in closer until she was clamped against his chest. It all felt pretty damned wonderful to him, and now he could see why they did it so much on all those TV shows.
Then she pulled back and kind of pushed him away, but not real hard.
“You like that?” he asked her, his voice downright husky now. It wasn’t that way before he put his mouth on hers, but it sure was now.
“Yeah, I sure did. You taste pretty good.”
He felt thrilled when she said that. “Want to do it some more?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
So they did it lots more until they finally ended up down on the ground with him on top of her and trying to get inside her blouse like all those guys did to Brooke and the other ladies on that show. She stopped him from doing that, though, and right off the bat, too.
“Now you stop that right now, you hear me, or I’m goin’ on home.”
So he stopped that right now, but he sure didn’t want to. He wanted to feel her body all over and see what it tasted like. “I think I know how to make love to you. How about us doing that someday? You know, when you’re ready and want me to.”
“Maybe. But Mama says I’m not supposed to let a boy touch me like that until I get married.”
He thought about that for a little while. “I guess we could go ahead and get married if you want to. I think that sounds good. Then we could just do this all the time.”
She giggled. “Now you’re just bein’ silly. Let’s kiss some more. We’re way too young to get married yet.”
“Glad to oblige,” he told her. “Can I lick you a little, too?”
“Do it, and I’ll see if I like it, okay?”
So he licked her mouth and cheeks and swiped his tongue into her ear, and she shivered all over and said, “Yes, you can do that all you want to. It feels real good to me.”
After that, they met nearly every day unless it was raining. He’d watch for her on rainy days, too, but she never came when it was bad weather outside. But on nice days she always walked up to the orchard, and they talked an
d kissed and licked each other, and then kissed some more, but that’s all she’d let him do until they were old enough to get married. So right then and there, he decided that she was the girl for him, and that he was gonna marry this pretty girl who always smelled so good, and the sooner, the better.
Chapter Eleven
When Sonny Randazzo had asked her to follow him, Claire had glanced over at Black where he was reluctantly hobnobbing with his lowlife criminal acquaintances, and then she had followed the skeezy fight promoter through the crowds to the locker rooms. He had said that four of his fighters were ready to talk to her, and she figured Black wouldn’t just up and take off without her. Not with Petrov and his goons around. She certainly wasn’t going to go over there and get him. Not when he was getting cozy with a Mafioso and his minions in an arena full of screaming people. He had asked her not to, and now that Dazz had shown up, Claire had interviews to conduct.
Eventually they reached a black steel door where a huge guy with a broken-many-many-times nose, a bunch of white scars on his face, and a belligerent attitude stood guard. They stopped there beside him, awaiting admittance to the dressing rooms, and said idiot looked Claire up and down with enough lewdness to insult a skid row harlot. He had on a black plastic security nameplate that identified him as Roderick Lawson. “Got to frisk you if you goin’ in there, sweet lips. How about leanin’ up against that wall right there and spreading your legs real far apart? Don’t you worry none, I’m a gonna make it fun for you.”
Claire ground her teeth rather ruthlessly, but she remained decidedly polite. She lifted up her badge and held it in front of his squinty dark eyes. “Put your hands on the wall, asshole. And don’t you worry none, I’m a not gonna make it fun for you.”
“You a cop? Shit.”
“Yeah, exactly. Now get up against that wall.”
He did, and she patted him down and found a .38 revolver and a rather large bowie knife at the small of his back under his big tripleX T-shirt, the one with Mike Tyson’s picture on the front, replete with the fancy facial tats. Actually, the knife was in a pretty cool tan suede fringed scabbard. Maybe she ought to confiscate it. “You got a license for this firearm, sir.”