Chuck Logan - After the Rain

“I suppose I got to talk about taking Kit back home,” Nina said. Resigned. She stood up.

“Damn fool thing bringing her here in the first place.” Broker clipped off the words, spun on his heel, walked the length of the bar.

Nina erupted in a wildcat snit, fast-stepping to catch up.

“Don’t you turn your back on me,” she yelled.

Broker spun just before they got to the door. The words tumbled out fast: “I don’t know why in the hell we ever had a kid, anyway…”

She did this horrible puff-adder pursing with her teeth, lips, and cheeks. Her freckles glowed like grapeshot. She hissed: “I’ve thought about this a lot, you asshole. It was completely out of our hands…” Broker caught a spray of spittle from the force of her words. He smelled last night’s whiskey on her breath, and tobacco. But her voice dropped low, just for him. “It was pure biological imperative. We saw each other and the drum didn’t stop beating till the sperm penetrated the egg.”

“Cunt.”

“Prick.”

As they pushed through the doorway Shuster and Gordy exchanged impressed glances. Gordy raised his hand and blew on his fingers, shook them, like, Wow.

They just had to follow them outside to the porch. An uneasy curiosity devoured their faces as they watched Broker and Nina jockey for good footing on the trap rock.

Shit, man, this could be a fistfight.

Half circling but moving away from the porch, Broker and Nina opened the distance until they were out of easy earshot.

Broker looked at Shuster, then at Nina, and then looked around at the bleak sky. “I been briefed. You guys are grabbing at straws. This is too small a town to pull this off.”

“Agreed. So I could use some help. They explained, right?” Nina spoke flatly.

“Uh-huh. Move onstage and off like a piece of scenery.”

“This is dead serious.”

“I’d say putting Kit out on a limb is pretty serious.”

They had started circling each other as they talked. Setting up a hostile rhythm with their bodies. Broker wanted to grab her and shake her. She sensed this and egged him on with a smirk. He was touched, never having seen this game, feline side of her before.

“You got shot in the hand,” Nina said and jabbed a finger at him accusingly.

“How’d you know?” He glowered and hunched his shoulders.

“Garrison, the ex-FBI guy, told us. He tried tracking you yesterday. Talked to somebody in Washington County.” She paused. “Look, you gotta get Kit out of here.”

“For sure.”

Nina grimaced at him. She was having trouble starting her words.

“Well?” he asked.

She clicked her teeth together. “Something about this scene doesn’t feel right.”

“You bitch !” Broker’s voice rose to a shout, loud enough for Shuster to hear on the porch.

“What can I say? We’re new at this sort of thing. I knew if Kit was here you’d come for her…”

“Nina.” Broker’s voice ended in a sputter.

“Can you get Kit back to stay with your folks? Charter a flight? There’s a landing strip.”

That was almost an echo of his mom’s suggestion about Doc Harris flying in. “You been talking to my mom?” he said hotly.

In a fast change-up, she dramatically placed her fingers on her chest, raised her eyebrows. “Me?” Then she went back to her angry Mars in the House of Estrogen, or whatever the fuck Mom said her problem was, and gritted her teeth. “And maybe you could stick around?” Clearly it pained her to ask. “I gotta pass you something. It’s in my left hand. A name and number off his caller ID. I can’t chance using a phone. Have Holly check it out. Heard him on the phone. Sounds like a pickup.”

“Christ, first I’m used. Now I’m working?” Broker’s right hand shot out and seized her bare arm above the elbow. Hard.

“Ow.”

It felt good to touch her, to feel her move. “Pass it to me when I grab your hand.”

“Hey!” Shuster lurched up alert on the porch and called out. “Talk is okay. Grabbing is not okay.”

“…Turned into a regular little whore. Don’t care who you give it to…” Broker’s voice rose as he pulled her in close and they tussled, twisting her wrist with his good hand, feeling her insert the folded paper into his injured palm. Turning, he winced with pain as he slipped it in his pocket. He released her wrist and raised his hand, palm open, as if to slap her.

Nina’s expression was suitably indignant and furious from a distance but, close in, there was a smirk, possibly even erotic, in her eyes. “God, I love it when you talk dirty,” she said under her breath.

“You’re enjoying this, whoring for George W.,” he said between clenched teeth.

She whispered right back. “Oh really? What about that sleazy little cunt Jolene Sommer you fucked last year?”

“We were separated,” he yelled, suddenly on the defensive, feeling the force drain from his raised hand. Should have never never told her about Jolene.

“Asshole!” she shouted back.

On the porch, Ace turned to Gordy. “I think I just won a hundred bucks, ’cause you can’t fake that. Uh-uh. Those people are definitely married .”

Nina stepped inside the arc of Broker’s swing and slapped his face. Stung, Broker recoiled, recovered, and grabbed a fistful of her short hair and wrenched her head to the side. Then he held her at arm’s length as she swung at him, a haymaker windmilling in midair…

Shuster came off the porch fast, athletic; he stepped between them and announced, “You’re outta line, fella.”

Broker reached around him to get at Nina. Shuster shouldered him, holding his hands up, all defense, not aggressive, trying to be reasonable. “I said, you’re outta line.”

Broker turned his attention to Shuster. He blinked, his face worked. His breath came in a rush. All his anger flashed like chain lightning, and he had to ground it somewhere or he’d just burn up right there. Before he realized it, he had squared off. Shuster’s hands came up. But they were still open and signifying calm.

“Man…”

Broker changed up the speed, his hands a blur. He feinted right with his shoulder and fired a left jab, very crisp and fast, that piled into Shuster’s right cheek-

BIGMISTAKE!!!!!!!

The force went out of the punch and his whole nervous system cringed and scream-balled up like a spider in a flame. His knees buckled, his good hand shot to protect his fiery left hand. Shuster blinked, surprised, raised his hand to his face.

Now Gordy trotted forward and muttered to Shuster. “Step back, Ace. You can’t be mixin’ in this. You got that DUI, remember? They’ll throw you back in jail.”

Gordy came straight ahead and Broker resigned himself to taking a punch for Delta Force, Donald Rumsfeld, and Homeland Security. Goddamn shit!

Gordy let fly, a powerful but sloppy overhand right. Like he was driving an engineer stake into hardpan. Jarred, seeing a starburst, Broker took it high on the left cheek and temple.

Broker staggered back, shook his head. Gingerly he tested his cheekbone. Unbroken. He’d have a black eye. A sore neck. Shuster restrained Gordy’s cocked right fist. “That’s enough, Gordy. Let him go,” he said.

Gordy Riker bounced, doing a huff-and-puff number with his shoulders. Broker did a modified Charlie Chaplin pratfall, tripping as he stepped back. He fell on his butt on the damp trap rock. Gordy hovered-porcupiney, short-fused, mean. Then, when Broker didn’t attempt to get up, Gordy swaggered back to the bar.

Shuster walked Nina protectively back toward the porch, then stopped and came back to where Broker sat unceremoniously on his rear end.

“You don’t gotta listen to me but I’m going to give you a little advice. I just been through a divorce myself, and one thing I learned is people need a little space.”