C. Box - Cold Wind

The door opened, and Bud Jr. came out without looking over his shoulder, where Joe was leaning against the bricks.

Joe said, “Shamazz.”

Bud Jr. froze, then cried out and wheeled around so quickly he lost his footing and fell to the dirty cement. “You fucking scared me,” he said to Joe. “Did you shut off my AC?”

“It’s been a while,” Joe said, extending a hand to help him up.

Bud Jr. didn’t accept it at first. Then he sighed and let Joe pull him to his feet. As always, he looked resentful and petulant. Bud Jr. was four inches taller than Joe, and solidly built. Despite that, Joe now stood between Bud Jr. and the street. The passageway was so narrow it would be difficult for Bud to get around him toward the sidewalk.

“How have you been?” Joe asked.

“Fine. I’m just fine. Hey, it’s great to see you again, Joe, but I’ve got to run.” He took a step toward Joe to see if Joe would stand aside, but he didn’t. Bud Jr. glared and set his mouth.

Joe said, “Where did you get the key to your dad’s place?”

“Where do you think? I didn’t break in, if that’s what you’re accusing me of,” he said, defensive. “And what gives you the right to shut off the utilities? That’s just cruel, man.”

Joe said, “So Bud gave you a key, did he?”

Bud Jr. brushed dirt off his pants and shirt from the fall. He said, “Why wouldn’t he? I’m his son, after all.”

“I thought you hated him,” Joe said. “You told me that, oh, a thousand times.”

Bud Jr. had no response.

“Was that you at the funeral in the yellow van?” Joe asked.

“Maybe,” Shamazz said, not meeting Joe’s eyes.

“I can’t believe you went there to show your respects.”

“I’d rather spit on his grave.”

“Where’s Bud?”

“Who?”

“I’m looking for him,” Joe said. “Just to talk. You probably know about the case against Missy and the fact that your dad is the star witness. Can you tell me where he is? Where you got the key?”

Bud Jr. looked past Joe toward Main Street. “I’ve really got to go,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t stay around and, you know, relive old times with you.”

Joe didn’t like the way Bud Jr. was brushing him off, or the way he wouldn’t meet his eye. As Bud Jr. tried to shoulder past, Joe stepped in front.

“You’re annoying me,” Joe said. “What are you trying to hide?”

“Nothing. You need to get out of the way. I’ve got my rights. Either arrest me or get the hell out of my way.”

“You hated your dad. You hated the ranch. You hate this town. You hate the state. So why are you here?”

“People change,” he said.

“You don’t,” Joe said.

“Really,” Bud Jr. said, a note of whimper in his voice, “I have to go. I know my rights. I know you can’t hold me here or make me answer your damned questions.”

“Why are you in disguise?” Joe asked. “Why do you sort of look like a normal person?”

“That’s fucking cold, man. Just cold.” Then he leveled his eyes at Joe. “I hated you, too, man. Dudley Do-Right cracker and your white-bread cookie-cutter family. Guys like you. ” He paused, his lips trembling.

“Go on,” Joe said flatly. Joe had heard Bud Jr. say so many thoughtless and vile things before that he was shocked that he wasn’t shocked. Bud Longbrake’s son seemed to have no internal brake mechanism installed between his emotions and his mouth. Anything he thought came out in words. Joe had learned to tune him out, not engage, and pay no attention. Bud Jr.’s inability to put a sock in it had caused him much heartache over the years, but he’d never seemed able to connect what he said to the reaction his words elicited from others. He still couldn’t, Joe thought.

“You people living out there on my family’s ranch, taking advantage of him just like that old bitch Missy. Freezing me and my sister out like that, keeping me away. ”

“I tried to help you,” Joe said through clenched teeth. “I did a favor for your dad and tried to teach you how to work for a living.”

“Duh,” Shamazz said, bugging his eyes out. “It didn’t take.”

It was hard for Joe to see through the filter of rage that had descended over him like a red hood when he looked at Shamazz. “Who does that song you were singing up there?” Joe asked.

“What-you mean Death Cab for Cutie?”

“Death Cab for Cutie?”

“Yeah.”

“I knew I didn’t like them,” Joe said, and reached out and grasped Bud Jr.’s ear.

“Tell me why you’re here,” Joe said, twisting hard. In the back of his mind, he listed the charges he could be brought up on. There were a lot of them. But he had the impression Bud Jr. would do all he could to avoid talking to the police for any reason.

“That hurts ,” Bud Jr. cried, and reached up for Joe’s hand. Joe kicked Shamazz hard in the shin with the toe of his boot. Bud Jr. squealed and dropped to his knees.

“I learned this from a friend,” Joe said. “Remember Nate Romanowski? Now tell me what I want to know or I’ll twist your ear off. I’ve seen a couple of ears come off. They make a kind of popping sound, like when you break a chicken wing apart. You know that sound? I’d guess it’s even worse from the inside, you know?”

“Please. Joe, this isn’t like you.” There were tears of pain in his eyes.

Joe nodded. It wasn’t. Whatever. He twisted. Bud Jr. opened his mouth to scream.

“No yelling,” Joe said. “If you yell, you lose the ear. And if that happens, you’ve got another ear I can pull off. Then it will be real hard to listen to Death Cab for Cutie.”

Shamazz closed his mouth, but there were guttural sounds coming out from deep in his chest.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“I wanted to come home,” Bud Jr. said, spitting out the words. “I just wanted to come home.”

Joe was taken aback. He said, “But you don’t have a home. Bud Sr. lost the ranch. You knew that.”

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow,” Bud Jr. said.

“We never took advantage of your dad,” Joe said. “Missy did. You did. But I worked for him.”

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow.”

“Now where can I find your dad?” Joe asked, keeping the pressure on.

“You really don’t know? You really don’t? ”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

He yelped, “I’m here to reclaim what’s mine.”

Joe said, “Nothing’s yours anymore.” But when he saw the wild-eyed passion in Bud Jr.’s eyes-passion he’d never seen before-Joe wondered if Shamazz was capable of murder, or at least willing to help out his father. He’d never thought of the kid that way before.

After he said to Bud Jr., “Tell me everything,” Joe noted movement in his peripheral vision and glanced up to see a sheriff’s department SUV cruise through the opening between the drugstore and the bar. Sollis was at the wheel. Had he been seen?

Joe involuntarily eased up on the ear, and Shamazz took full advantage of the sudden release of pressure. From where he sat on the garbage-covered pathway, he was able to reach back and fire a roundhouse punch that caught Joe full force in the temple. The blow made Joe let go, and staggered him. Bud Jr. scrambled to his feet and punched again, clipping Joe across the jaw and dropping him. Joe tried to protect his face against a fury of Hacky Sack-conditioned feet, but Bud Jr. was fueled by anger and desperation, and several hard kicks hit home. Joe rolled away, felt two sharp thumps in his back along his spine and one near his kidneys, and by the time he was able to right himself and struggle to his hands and knees, Shamazz had run away.