Charlie Huston - The Shotgun Rule

– Bob.

– You got no clue what you’re talking about.

Geezer wipes some sweat from his upper lip.

– Oh.

– My boy, my oldest, the one that isn’t in a coma right now, when he mentioned a stupid fat sonofabitch, I didn’t bother to ask for a name. Know why?

– Not really.

– Because you’re so stupid and greedy and predictable and low. If I’d thought about it for half a second, I’d even have figured you for coming over here. As it is, I just feel lucky I needed to talk to my sister. You cool, Ames?

– Uh huh.

Geezer blinks as some sweat rolls into the corner of his eye.

– You know, Bob, things may not be what you think they are. You know your son there was running for your sister here? You know that?

Bob shakes his head.

– I did not know that.

– All I’m saying is, so you’re not looking to get back in the business, no second thoughts, but this one here? She’s got something cooking. And your kids, and I don’t mean to say anything bad about them, but maybe you don’t know everything they got going on for themselves.

Bob hefts the sawed off bat with the galvanized nails pounded through its head.

– Remember?

– Uh huh.

– I keep it in the toolbox on the truck. Sometimes a job site gets robbed, copper piping and PVC and whatever, the contractor might ask a couple of the guys to sleep over at the site and keep an eye on things. So I got this in the toolbox. Not that I’ve ever done more than show it to a couple kids tried to jack some insulation.

He tosses the bat lightly, spinning the handle.

– All that stuff, my sister and my kids, I don’t care right now. All I care about, the only thing on my mind, is if you’ve talked to anyone. Does Oakland have any idea my kids were mixed up in this shit? My sister? Have they heard my name, Geezer?

Geezer raises both his hands.

– Bob, they have not. I am deep in shit, last thing I wanted to do was bring up your name. See them go on a rampage. I didn’t tell them anything except I was taking care of the problem.

Bob looks at the bat, lowers it, looks at the fat man, the man who was a friend.

– What a Goddamn mess, Geez. My kids are in a mess. And I don’t want any more. I want my kids safe. That’s all I ever wanted. I never lied about that. I just wanted my kids safe and a normal life.

– Sure, Bob. I mean.

– Shut up.

– OK.

– So I want this to end. Now. But if I kill you here in my sister’s house, it’s gonna cause more problems and, Jesus, I have no idea how the hell we’d move your body, you fat son of a bitch.

– Yeah, that’s true.

– So get out.

Bob moves to the side, clearing the way to the door.

– Go on, Geez, get out, leave town, go away, and never, never say my name to anyone. Go on.

Geezer nods, claps his hands twice and nods his head again and makes for the door and as soon as he’s taken a single step past him Bob raises the bat and swings it and embeds the nails in the back of his neck and hits him over and over while his little sister curls in her chair and hides her face.

When he’s done he goes out to the truck and gets some tools. Grateful for the things his father taught him how to do on the ranch. Like how to dress and butcher a steer, when the occasion rises.

They tell George he can go home on Sunday.

He tells his mom he’ll stay and keep her company with Andy, but she says that as soon as his dad gets back she wants him to go home and get some rest.

And the truth is, sitting in the ICU with Andy is fucked up. Not just because they don’t know if he’s ever gonna wake up or what he might be like if he does, but because looking at him makes him think about the house and what happened inside. And thinking about his little brother doing those things makes him have to get up and go to the drinking fountain again and sip some water.

He could go see Hector, but Hector’s mostly too doped to talk because they have his face all sewn back together. Say he’s gonna have scars no matter what. Say he’s gonna need crutches because of the way his leg was cut. Say he may need a cane for his whole life.

Paul’s gone.

Came to George’s ward late last night and stuck his head inside the sheet wrapped around his bed. Said not to jerk off in there because everyone else on the ward would hear it. Told him that when Andy and Hector wake up to tell them they’re fags. Said his dad is dead. They identified his body in his car in a wreck off Collier Canyon Road. Said they found some stuff, some pictures and stuff at his house and some things, and they were gonna take him somewhere to talk to the cops or something but that it’s all bullshit and he’ll see him later. He cried the whole time, but he talked like he wasn’t crying at all. And then a chick cop stuck her head in and took him away.

So on Sunday George waits in the ICU until his dad shows up, comes in and takes his mom in his arms.

George watches as she presses her lips against his dad’s lips and whispers as they kiss and pulls her face from his and takes his hands and touches some scratches on the backs of his hands and pulls them to her eyes and wipes her tears across them. Then she pulls him across the room to Andy’s bedside. His dad looks at Andy and then looks at George and tilts his head at the door.

His mom grabs him on his way out and hugs him and he hugs her, his cast clunking into her back.

Outside they get in the truck.

– You want anything before we go home?

– No.

– Stop at the store and pick something up if you want.

– No.

– Cops want to talk to you some more?

– Yeah.

– When?

– Said at the station tomorrow.

– I’ll take you over.

– OK.

– Know what to say?

– I know.

– Don’t mouth off to them.

– I know.

– If someone saw you guys go in the house, if they bring up the house, ask you about anything but the black guys and what happened with them, don’t say anything at all.

– I know.

– They mention any of that stuff.

– I know, Dad. You’re not the only one ever talked to the cops before.

Bob pulls the truck over, puts it in park and looks at him.

– Something you want to say?

George looks out the windshield at the sunny day. He puts his hand in front of the AC vent and feels the cool air.

– No.

– Now’s the time. You don’t say it now, you never say it. After this, whatever happened in the past is in the past. After this, what happened last night is what we say happened.

George thinks about who Geezer said his dad was, and about who he is.

He turns and looks at him.

– Let’s go home, OK?

Bob puts the truck in first.

– Home it is.

At home George goes straight upstairs to his room and takes off the stupid OP shorts and the crap “First Blood” T his mom got him from the gift shop because his clothes were trashed and she hadn’t brought any for him to wear home. He gets out some cutoffs and his B.O.C. shirt and puts them on and sits on the side of the bed and looks at the floor and starts thinking about the inside of the sketchy house again and gets up and walks around the room until he hears something banging in the backyard.

He stands at the window and watches his dad.

He’s already tilled the yard and tamped the dirt and rolled sheets of heavy plastic over it. Now he’s going around with a mallet and a handful of stakes, pounding them through to the ground, dimpling the plastic with them so it won’t peel up later.