Charlie Huston - The Shotgun Rule

Shower.

Nothing before a shower. And once she has a shower she won’t be going anywhere but her chair and she won’t be doing anything but drinking a couple 77’s and dropping a lude and crashing.

She takes another look at the Seville, almost rakes her key across the door to teach the asshole a lesson, but doesn’t have the energy to get that angry.

She’s been angry all day. Angry and scared.

Poor Andy.

He had the look. When they called her down to Emergency and she saw him on the gurney, thought that was it. But that was just the start. Bob grabbing her and telling her to keep an eye on George and Hector and Paul, not to let them talk to anyone. Bob, up to something, sure as shit. And that can’t be anything but bad news.

Having to sit with Cindy while he dealt with the cop. The doctor explaining to her what a burr hole is and how they were going to have to drill a few in Andy’s skull if they were going to have any chance of taking the pressure off his brain. Got to give it to the girl, she took it. Signed the form just like that and cried her tears and went to see how they were doing with George’s stitches and his thumb.

She unlocks the front door, blocking it with her foot so the cat can’t get out, dumps her purse and the AM/PM bag on the couch and goes down the hall dropping her clothes and the baggies of pills on the floor behind her. In the shower, she finds some dry specks of blood on her forearm and scrubs them away. She toys with the loofah but doesn’t have the energy to use it. Shampooing takes it all out of her.

Out of the shower, she grabs an ankle length red cotton nightgown from the back of the door and drops it over her body and folds her hair inside a towel turban. She looks at the AC, but the heat is finally breaking so she leaves it off and goes around opening windows and the sliding glass door, pulling the screen door closed so the cat stays in. A couple oscillating fans get the air moving around.

She passes through the kitchen long enough to open a can of cat food and fill a glass with ice. The cat runs in and starts eating. She scratches it behind the ears with her bare toes, then goes and grabs her grocery bag off the floor, hits the play button on her turntable, and settles into the basket chair.

She closes her eyes and listens to the music.

Joni Mitchell always works. Hardly ever take Blue off the turntable unless there’s company.

Her eyes still closed, she reaches inside the bag and takes out one of the 77’s, opens it and pours it in the cold glass. She takes a sip. The cat lands in her lap and nuzzles till it finds its spot. She keeps her eyes closed, too tired to lift her lids.

Those kids.

What the hell did those kids get into? What kind of shit did they fall into for Bob to be lying to a cop? Jesus, he gets caught in a lie to a cop, he’ll never get right again.

Those kids.

Doctors won’t know what the deal with Andy is for at least a couple days. If the sweetheart makes it he may never be a super genius again. George should be OK, but he was as freaked as she’s ever seen anyone, until they stuck a needle in his arm and settled him down. ER doctors took one look at Hector’s face and started calling around to USF and Stanford, looking for a plastic surgeon who could do the stitching without turning him into a freak. And Paul. Just sitting there, staring at the wall, not talking to anyone except when they asked him where his dad was and he said he didn’t want to see his dad. No problem there, the man still hadn’t showed up by the time she left.

Whole town coming apart at the seams today. Boys beat, mutilated. Bob up to some shit. Fire on the edge of town, some drug thing gone wrong. Reporters from the Tribune and the Times and even the Oakland papers coming around when the bodies came in. Asking questions about the local dealers. Shit. It’s like signs and portents. Everything telling her it’s time to cut her losses and get the hell out of the game. Sell off the shit she brought out tonight and just wash her hands. No reason she can’t make do on her salary. The Mustang is paid for. The time share she can unload.

The cat jumps down from her lap.

She realizes she can’t feel the breeze from the fans. She opens her eyes.

Geezer points the kitchen knife at her.

– Fans all you got, you got no AC?

Her drink spills in her lap.

– I’m not dealing crank, Geezer. I told Jeff. I don’t know who you’ve been talking with.

Geezer laughs.

– Jeff. Yeah, Jeff. Forgot about him. Funny.

– I told him.

– Amy, you remember when I came over? Made the special trip over here to talk to you. Remember?

She doesn’t say anything.

– That guy you had hanging around, your boyfriend or whatever, the one with the lip on him, had so much to say. What was his name?

Amy wonders if her cat ran away when Geezer came in through the screen door.

– Eddie.

Geezer shifts the knife in his hand.

– Yeah, Eddie. His nipples ever grow back?

– I. I never sold any meth. Ever. I do my thing.

– What’s that look like when it heals, a man with no nipples? Hey, could you have sewed them back on if I hadn’t dropped ’em down the garbage disposal?

– Never, Geezer. Not a single gram. I swear. I don’t even do the stuff myself. I don’t even like selling my pills to your customers.

– Where’s your money, bitch?

– I don’t.

He takes a step closer.

– This the same knife I used on him? This the same…word? Goddamn it! A thing. A tool. The word for a tool.

– I.

– Don’t fuck with me. The fucking word?

– Cleaver?

– No, not a specific fucking tool. The word for tool, a thing you can use, a fancier way of saying it.

– I.

He stomps, walks in a circle, face reddening.

– Goddamn spics! Goddamn kids! Goddamn word!

– Kids.

He stops.

– Got it! Implement. Is this the same implement I used to cut that guy’s nipples off with?

– Kids?

He comes closer, waving the knife.

– No! Don’t pull that shit. That fucking, kids, what kids? crap. Fucker, that fucker your nephew tried that shit. I know, I know. I don’t need to be told, I know. You, you shit where I eat, that’s what you did. You and your fucking brother. I’m all fucked up, and if I’m all fucked up, everybody’s fucked up. Money. Money now. Money now and I won’t cut off as much. And where’s the AC? Is everybody in this town a…word? Damn! Damn. Lizards and snakes? Fucking things that are cold blooded and like the heat? What are they!? What the fuck are they!?

– Reptiles, Geezer.

Geezer licks his lips and turns his head and looks at Bob.

– I keep getting snuck up on today.

Bob nods.

– I know how you feel.

Geezer sees what Bob’s holding, he drops the knife.

– You know what makes me laugh the most, Bob?

– What’s that?

– They kept telling me, Loller and your kids, they kept saying you had nothing to do with it. Loller telling me I’m paranoid. There’s no conspiracy, Geezer. They’re just fucking kids. Like I’m an idiot. But, and I’ll give it to you, Bob, I never saw it coming. I mean, when it was in front of my face, I got it. But I never saw it coming.

– That right?

– Never. But now, now, I see everything, and what I’m thinking is, you’re gonna need help. Dealing with Oakland. Making it right. And I know how to deal with those guys. And you’ll need an extra hand, with Loller not around. ’Cause it’s a mess right now, but I see where you were going with it, what you were aiming for, and I can help you to put it together so it can still work.

– Geezer.