Charlie Huston - The Shotgun Rule

Prick.

Just one good punch right on the button. Might straighten him out.

No. Can’t do that kind of thing. That pecker brings assault charges, a whole can of worms gets reopened. Rules broken, rules he made for himself. Promises he made his wife. That’s not the way to handle it. That’s not the way he handles things. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

Ain’t none of his business, anyway. How a man raises his kids, that’s just nobody else’s business. And Paul’s gonna come out of it OK. Tough little fucker. They’re gonna love him in the Army. And he spends half his time down here anyway. No need to make a big scene out of helping the kid, just give him a place to go every now and then, that’s help enough.

He walks over to the 4×4 and boosts himself up on the fender. He leans forward and a roll of his stomach pushes over the waist of his jeans. He looks at it. Still don’t know where the hell that came from. Woke up one morning and there it was. Crap. Nobody stays young. But crap.

He freezes.

That the phone ringing inside? Nope.

If it was just him, he’d be asleep right now. But Cindy would worry. Got to put on a show for her. Make her think they’re home safe and sound. Damn them. Worrying their mother, messing with his wife’s sleep. And then she’ll be bitchy in the morning and he’ll be grouchy and they’ll end up bickering tomorrow. Damn them. George should be old enough by now to get himself out of trouble. And Andy is smart enough he shouldn’t be in it in the first place. Or he should be smart enough. Some days the kid seems like he’s not so much smart as he’s just from Mars. At least he hasn’t gotten as weird as Hector. Yet.

He slides off the fender and walks back up to the porch.

Not doing any good standing here. Go back inside. If Cindy wakes up tell her the boys are in bed. Doesn’t do anyone any good standing here getting worked up and worn out. The boys are fine. Probably in the police station right now. Getting the shit scared out of them. Do all four of them a load of good.

He sits on the edge of the porch.

Anyway, it’s warm and it’s quiet. Might as well wait a little longer.

– Where’s the other one?

– Other one?

– There’s four of them, right?

– Yeah.

– So, you got the Nobel Prize winning science project in the livingroom, you got that one comatose, and you got his brother here. Unless Ramon learned a different way of counting in the joint, that’s three.

Fernando pulls the front of his hairnet, shifts it slightly lower on his forehead.

– He ran away, man.

– He got out of the house?

– No, man, he was never in it.

Geezer takes off his hat, runs his hand over his head, and wipes the sweat on his thigh.

– And how, why was the kid outside when he ran? How did he know you were in here?

– He saw us.

– How? No. The point. This was a trap, right? I set up a trap. I saw some jewelry that should be in your possession and I did some pretty fucking clever reasoning and plotting. Impressed the fuck out of myself, to be honest. The point of it being to let them all get in the house before you did anything. Grab their asses in the house. It’s quiet, there’s no witnesses, it’s easy.

– Yeah, man, but they couldn’t break in.

– What do you?

– They were taking forever to break in. We.

– Why would they?

– They don’t know how to pick a lock or anything.

– What the? Why was it locked? We wanted them in the house. Why the fuck would you lock the doors?

– I thought you wanted. Well, you know, man, to make it, real. So they wouldn’t know it was a trap.

Geezer slaps his hat on the side of the bed.

– They’re kids, ’Nando, how the fuck would they? OK. Just. Never mind.

He puts on his hat and holds out his hand, slick with sweat from the top of his head. Fernando takes it and hauls him to his feet.

Geezer makes for the livingroom.

– Just bring the one that’s awake.

Fernando goes to the bathroom.

– Get up.

George looks at him.

– Hey. Hey, man. Fernando.

– Get the fuck up.

George puts his hands under Andy’s head and lowers it to the floor and stands up.

– Hey, whatever, whatever we fucked up, my brother is really hurt. No more fucking around here, man. This is no joke. We got to call, we got to get him some help.

– Get out here.

– Seriously, man. This shit between us, we can’t mess around, you know, whatever, take it out on me, but Andy’s. Look at him, man.

Fernando reaches out and swats the side of his head.

– Whelan, fuck you. Fuck Hector. Fuck fucking Cheney. And fuck your fucking brother. Get in the fucking livingroom and shut the fuck up.

George holds the side of his head, covering the bloody lump where Fernando hit him with the minibat while he was stuck in the window screaming. He looks down at his brother.

– I’ll be back, Andy.

But Andy doesn’t say anything and George steps out of the bathroom, following Fernando.

Still on the floor, Timo flips him off.

– Dode fudking loob ad me, bidch. Youd gob fudking enoudgh trubdle.

– You’re a shucking cockshucker, Ramon.

– Me? No, man, never. Had mine sucked a few times in the joint. Know what, Hector? Man’s mouth feels just like a woman’s. Yours, with those teeth knocked out, it might feel pretty good.

– Shuck you and you mosher and you grandmosher, puta Shucking cockshucker.

– That’s a long to do list you’re making for yourself, joven.

– Shee ish I’m a lishle boy when I shuv that chain down your shucking shroash.

Ramon leans forward on the couch and prods Hector with the end of his crutch.

– Hey, hey, what do you think this would feel like in your ass?

Geezer comes in and points at the floor next to Hector.

– Put him over there.

Fernando shoves George and George joins his friend, his back against the wall.

– Fuck, Hector, your face is all fucked up.

– Doesh ish look punk?

– It looks fucked up.

Geezer stands in front of Ramon.

– Want to scoot over and make some room?

Ramon scoots, shifting his hacksaw.

Geezer works his way down on the couch, the thin and threadbare cushions flattening beneath him. He swipes the back of his hand under his chins.

– Why’s this place got no AC?

Ramon picks at the edge of the bandage on his thigh.

– You know us wetbacks, jefe, we like it hot.

Geezer looks at the tiny spot of red that’s oozed through the bandage.

– Uh huh. How’s the leg feeling?

– Hurts when it’s cold.

– Uh huh.

Geezer looks at him, looks away.

– You, you kids, faces front over here.

Hector and George look at him.

He shrugs.

– This is pretty messed up, huh?

Nothing.

– I said, this is pretty messed up, huh?

George nods.

– Yeah, yeah, it’s messed up. Hey, look, man, we, you know, we, whatever we fucked up, you know, that was, it was wrong, but, I told Fernando, you know, my little brother, he’s, man, he, you saw him.

– He’s comatose is what he is, kid.

– He needs a doctor, man, sir. Just, whatever we can, like, whatever, I’ll do it, but he’s really hurt.

– Uh huh, uh huh. OK, good, you…What’s your name?

– George.

– George. You got a good head on your shoulders over there. You’re getting the situation exactly. Your brother is really hurt bad. He needs a doctor. And you guys, you need to do whatever you need to do to help him. That’s a great…the word? For when there’s a lot to say and someone puts it all together in one piece. Wraps it up?