Charlie Huston - The Shotgun Rule

– Did you call anyone? Did you call the?

– Hey, can I? You want me to tell you what happened or what?

She walks to the open door of the bathroom and stands looking at him.

He splashes some water on his face, turns the faucet off and lets the water drip off his chin.

– OK. I got up, they weren’t home. I knew they weren’t home, but there’s no use both of us being up worrying.

– Did you call Paul’s or Hector’s parents?

He takes a hand towel from the bar on the back of the door and wipes his face.

– What for? So they can worry? The boys aren’t gonna sneak out of here just to sneak into Paul or Hector’s house.

She grabs the hem of her T, Bob’s old Texaco shirt from when he worked at the gas station. She balls the fabric and twists it.

– And the police?

He throws the towel on the floor.

– No, I haven’t called the cops. If they’re there, they’re there.

– Bob.

– It’s not that big a deal you know. Whatever kind of trouble they got themselves into, I’m not my dad. Not like I’m gonna do anything if they got picked up or had a few beers.

– Bob.

– What? What? What am I doing now? What am I doing wrong now?

She brings up her little hands, slaps his chest.

– I don’t care if they’re in fucking jail, you asshole! What if they’re not, Bob? What if they’re not? I want to know where my sons are! Right now! I want to know where my sons are, you son of a bitch. Where are my sons?

He has to take her by the wrists to keep her from slapping his face. By the time she stops he has her wrapped up tight, pressed to his chest, rocking her back and forth.

– It’s OK, babe. They’re OK. They probably just got picked up. Got picked up after curfew and they don’t want to give the cops their name because they don’t want to get in trouble or something. If they’re not, listen, if they’re not at the police station when I call, I’m gonna go out and get them. I’m gonna go find them. It’s cool. Shhh. You’re gonna stay here, OK? Stay here. I’m gonna run around like a chicken with my head cut off and make an ass of myself showing up at all the places they hang at and you’re gonna stay here and be here when they come home with their tails between their legs. OK? They’re just at someone’s house. Some kid threw a house party last night and they all got loaded and passed out on the floor. They’re gonna wake up sick as dogs and when they come home you’re gonna get to nurse them and take care of them and I promise I won’t give them any shit till they’re feeling better. OK? OK, babe?

She pulls herself away from him.

– I’ll call the cops.

He puts a hand on her shoulder.

– I’ll call them, babe.

She slips under his hand.

– No, I’ll call them. You should have called them when you got up, Bob. I’ll call them.

He stays in the bathroom, and is standing with his toothbrush in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other when she makes the call and the police tell her they don’t have her sons in custody.

Geezer’s place is still dark. Just the porch light on, illuminating the spread of patio furniture and the scattered kiddy stuff.

Jeff stands in the middle of the gravel drive, staring at the Big Wheel and Hippity Hop and the big rainbow swirled rubber ball and the miniature croquet set with plastic mallets. His pupils are huge, gathering the bright colors bouncing off the toys.

Damn, those whites are intense. Not your run of the mill speed. This shit is, woof, is gonna make for an all night thing. Bad call taking it for a test run. Got the morning shift tomorrow. Today. In a few hours.

Fuck.

Where’s Geezer?

Need to talk to him. Have a quick word about Amy and that crank thing.

That was a choke. Double choke. Bringing it up with Geezer was a choke. Bringing it up with Amy was a double. She chilled eventually, but it took some talking. I mean, of course he didn’t go over there looking to set her up. Just that Geezer put the idea in his head that she might be moving some crank and a little of that sounded good. Should have kept his mouth shut. First Geezer’s all freaked about Amy, and now Amy’s all freaked about Geezer. And here he is in the middle.

Well.

It’ll be cool. Just need to have a word with Geezer and put it straight. And it won’t hurt to do a solid for Amy. Sure he kind of fucked up a little, but if he can put it right she’s gonna be feeling pretty warm toward him. Felt good just stroking her back when she started crying. Woman has kept herself in damn good shape.

Yeah, it’ll all be cool with Amy.

And the kids.

It’ll be cool with them, too. Just as soon as they get their asses back here it’ll be cool. Should have been here by now, drop off whatever they grabbed from the house so he can take it to Geezer. But they’re not.

Smartasses are somewhere fucking around.

Probably better that the fat man’s not home. If he was home, if he was waiting for the guys to show up with the score from that house, he’d be ready to blow, man. Ready to teach those smartasses a lesson.

Not that he’d really hurt them. Geezer’s a tough nut, but he’s got limits. He’d never go heavy on some kids. Just scare them straight like the kids in that program in the prisons. He wouldn’t fuck them up. Shit, he likes kids. Keeps all these toys and shit around for the little kids in the trailer park to mess with. Parents come over here to score some meth or whatever, they can leave their kids out front to play. Don’t have to take them inside where they’ll see all that shit. That’s good looking out for the kids on Geezer’s part. Yeah, it’ll be fine.

He grinds his teeth.

Just, where are those smartasses?

Getting Bob’s kids mixed up in Geezer’s shit. What was that? Was that the lamest move in history, or what? What was he thinking? That hard up for a couple bucks? That big a loser?

Damn it to fuck.

He kicks the Hippity Hop again, sending it up onto Geezer’s porch, ricocheting off the door.

Loser.

He turns and heads back to his own trailer, where the lights burn bright and “Taking Care of Business” comes out the front door. He takes his seat on the milk crate and gets back to work on the almost completed carburetor rebuild.

Get it done and take a little ride to make sure the bike’s running smooth. Cruise around, check out some of the smartasses’ hangouts. Get this shit sorted out before it gets complicated.

Maybe roll past that house.

– So where is it?

– Let me and my friends go and I’ll bring it here.

– No.

– Yes.

– No.

– Yes.

– No.

– Yes.

Geezer runs his index finger over the derringer in his pocket, tracing the swirls engraved on the stubby barrel.

– What’s your name?

Paul flips him off.

– None of your fucking business.

Geezer closes his eyes, snaps the grabber open and closed a couple times, and opens his eyes.

– Kid, let me tell you, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be going through all this just to get my hands on one measly half kilo of meth. Under normal circumstances, someone steals from me, I’d just have them knocked unconscious and dragged out by the quarry and their legs or an arm laid across the train tracks and to hell with the half kilo.

He sighs.

– But these are not normal circumstances. In these circumstances, you shits got my lab busted. In these circumstances, the new lab these muchachos were supposed to have up and running here is not up and running. In these circumstances, I now have a serious fucking problem as far as what kind of cash I have on hand to pay people over in Oakland who want to be paid when they want to be paid and don’t give fuck all what my circumstances are.