by Matt Moss
Gibbs pushes it back to him. “It’s yours.”
Donald’s jaw drops. And not just Donald’s… all of our jaws drop. All except for the people who have been living here. They all start to clap at Donald, including Mr. Red in the back, congratulating him on the prize.
“Don’t worry, though. The bullets are locked up and only Mr. Whyte has the key,” Gibbs says.
“Why would we need to worry?” Benji asks.
Gibbs rolls his shoulders and replies. “Because most people find guns unnerving. Even if they’re empty, they put people on edge.”
“But we’re all friends here,” Benji states.
“Can I have one?” Abram asks.
Gibbs looks at the case, then at Mr. Red. “Sure. Don’t see why not. The way I see it, every man should own a gun.” Abram springs towards the case and picks the Tommy gun. “Except you can’t have that. That one’s mine,” Gibbs tells him. Abram replaces it and chooses a sawed-off, double barrel, twelve gauge shotgun.
“The boomstick! You sure that’s the one you want?” Gibbs asks. “Kinda hard to keep on you at all times.”
Abram breaks the gun open and looks down both barrels. “I’m sure. This thing is badass.”
“Indeed.” Gibbs looks to me, then to Benji. “Your turn now. Come grab one while they’re on sale.”
“I don’t want one,” Benji replies.
Gibbs cocks his head, curious. “You don’t want one? Why not?”
“I don’t like guns and, honestly, I don’t think they should be allowed here.”
Gibbs throws his hands up. “To each his own. What about you, Cole? Let me guess, you don’t like guns either?”
“I like guns just fine.” I walk to the display and give it a good look over. Any other time, I would have chosen something bigger like an assault or sniper rifle, but now it’s different. I want something reliable; something I know will work when I want it to…if I need it to. Something that’s easy to carry. I reach in and pull the ugliest composite pistol there is.
“Glock. Forty caliber at that. A perfect combination of reliability and lethality. Nice choice, Cole,” Gibbs says. The ladies begin to clap again once we’re all through, celebrating our gifts. Gibbs closes the glass door and locks it shut.
“Now, don’t go telling Mr. Whyte about this. He may or may not notice them missing, so just to be safe, this is our little secret.”
Donald tucks the gun behind his back, underneath his white shirt. “What guns?”
Gibbs pats him on the back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ha! Let’s take the party back into the living room, shall we?” Gibbs makes ready to leave, but stops mid-step, his foot held high in exaggeration. “I almost forgot.” He turns to the cabinet beside him and pulls another bottle of whiskey. “Can’t party without ole' Louis here.” For good measure, he takes a handful of cigars from an open box as well.
He leads the way back down the hall and we all follow behind him.
Abram turns to me as we’re leaving the room. “How cool is this! Now we can set our own rules,” he says, keeping his voice down so only I can hear.
“Kind of pointless without ammo,” I reply.
He turns to look where we’re going. “We’ll find some ammuni… Shit. Mr. Whyte’s up ahead. Quick, let me get behind you.” Abram nervously brushes beside me to find refuge as he draws the shotgun behind him. I tuck the pistol in the back of my pants and feel a rush of anxiety wash over me, too.
“Just be cool, Abe. Keep it held behind your back the best you can and stay behind me.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.”
In the foyer ahead, Mr. Whyte raises his voice. “What do you mean it’s not a big deal?” Mr. Whyte scolds, his temper flaring at Gibbs.
Gibbs plays it off and keeps his jovial demeanor. “We just wanted to throw a party. These guys have never had one before and we thought it would be a nice thing to do.”
“You should have told me about this. And what are Jane and Eve doing here?”
“Last I checked, they didn’t need permission to join us,” Gibbs replies and shifts his weight. The tension sits thick in the room and nobody speaks.
Mr. Red breaks the silence. “We’ll shut it down, sir. Come on, everyone. Let’s call it a night.” He looks to the group and begins ushering us towards the staircase.
“No!” Mr. Whyte says. “You all want to party? Then let’s party. What are you drinking there?” He points to the bottle that Gibbs is holding. Gibbs shows it to him and keeps his mouth shut, a bit surprised at Whyte’s reaction so it seems. “My personal favorite,” Whyte says, somewhat seething.
He’s furious and acting a fool to make a point.
Right back to character, Gibbs smiles in response. “Well alright, then. Let’s raise the roof on this sum’bitch.” He walks into the living room first and Whyte follows close behind. He didn’t even look at any of us the entire time.
“Shit. What do I do with this?” Abram says after Whyte’s out of sight, holding the gun in front.
“Hell, I don’t know. Take it to the barn and hide it somewhere.”
“Good idea. I don’t want him snooping around my room and finding it there. Be right back.” He jets out the door and I walk into the living room. My heart’s racing like never before and I’m trying not to let it show, but I can feel my skin flush and perspire.
“Ladies, if you would,” Gibbs tells them and hands over the bottle.
“Make it a double for me,” Whyte instructs and makes his way to the jukebox. “I see you brought this out of storage. I haven’t seen this in quite some time.”
“Still works like a charm,” Gibbs calls back. “Go ahead and put something on.”
Whyte looks over the list of songs but doesn’t play anything. He walks to the table where the ladies are pouring everyone a glass, picks one up and shoots it down. “Another,” he tells Jane, holding his glass out for another round. She pauses, briefly looking him in the eye, then does as she’s told. “Cheers, Mr. Whyte,” she says and hands him the glass. He raises a toast to her then shoots it down. She turns away to tend to the other empty glasses. Mr. Whyte taps her on the shoulder. “Another.”
“Hey, take it easy, Mr. Whyte. This is a social party not a competition to see who can drink the most,” Gibbs says, coming to Jane’s defense.
Whyte glares at him. “Shut up.” He turns his icy gaze back to Jane. “I said, pour me another.”
“Yes, sir.” She pours and keeps her head down. Gibbs’s nostrils flare in anger at the disrespect but he doesn’t let it get the best of him. The man is consistent, and has patience to spare—a dangerous combination.
Another whiskey down and Mr. Whyte claps his hands and rubs them together. “Now, let’s get this party started.” His tone and body language is sarcastic to say the least.
Abram creeps up beside me. “It’s stowed away in a safe spot. What’s up with Mr. Whyte?”
“He’s getting shit-face drunk because he’s pissed off and is trying to make a point. Did Larry see you?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. I didn’t see him.”
“Play me a song, girls!” Mr. Whyte hollers. “Gibbs. Let me grab one of those smokes you like so much.”
Gibbs pulls one out of his pocket. “I didn’t know you got down like that. You know, Mr. Whyte, I’m starting to like you the more I get to know you. Hell, we should have done this a long time ago.” He hands the smoke to the landowner and offers him a light.
Whyte takes a deep drag and coughs a few times, his eyes squint. “You know what? You’re right. We should have been doing this all along. I feel great! And this tobacco of yours…” he holds a thumb up while taking another draw. “Mmm.”
Gibbs eyes him, pleased. “Careful now. You don’t want to pass out too early. The night is young. You gotta pace yourself.”
Whyte puffs smoke in his face. “Bah,” he barks and waves him off.
Synthesizers and chimes come over the jukebox. “Domo Arigoto,
Mr. Roboto,” Jane says, singing along with the tune, as she turns around in excitement and starts dancing like a robot.
“No!” Mr. Whyte abruptly yells. “I hate that song.” His arm shakes as he points to her and tells her to turn it off. Gibbs narrows his eyes at Whyte, all the while keeping a satisfied grin on his face. “Play something else,” Whyte tells her.
She plays something that sounds like Michael Jackson, and Mr. Whyte begins to shuck and jive across the open floor, his feet gliding and stomping to the beat. He claps his hands in time. “Come on everyone. Dance. Have fun. Live it up. That’s what we’re here to do, right?.”
We all look to one another, pensive. Nobody’s sure of what’s going on and Whyte has made everyone a bit nervous.
“Hell with it,” Donald says and joins him on the dance floor. He spins and grabs Eve’s hand who’s nearby, dragging her out with him. It catches her off guard for a moment, until she begins laughing and dancing along with him. He pulls her body close to his and they move as one.
Benji struts out there and does his thing. He moves flawlessly and it’s obvious to see that he’s the best dancer out of the group. Jane walks up, grabs Abram’s hand and drags him onto the floor. He barely moves as she works her body all around him, his hands pensively held out, eyes locked onto her. I watch her, too; now feeling the same envy that they probably felt about me when I was with the girls earlier. Maybe more.
Mr. Whyte dances around all of them in exaggeration with a big smile on his face. He’s lit out of his mind already—gazing at the ceiling, loose limbs flailing about like a rag doll in a child’s hands. He runs a hand through the girls’ hair as he passes, and even slaps Donald on the ass. The music plays and they keep dancing.
“You just gonna stand there and watch?” Gibbs asks, standing next to me. I didn’t even notice him walk up.
“Not really in the mood to dance.”
“Horse shit. I see the way you’re looking at Jane. See how she rubs her body all over Abram.” He takes a drag from his smoke. “I bet you’ve already imagined them naked together, moving and swaying like they are now. Would you like to see that?”
“Whatever.” I turn to Gibbs and see his front teeth hiding behind the smoke, a gleam in his eye.
“I bet you wish you were Abram right now,” he says and hands me the joint. I take a hit and turn my gaze back to the dance floor. He leans in closer as we watch. “Not many women can move like that. Believe me, I would know. That’s the kind of woman that takes hold of you once you get a taste, drives you crazy, and then you can’t stop thinking about her afterwards. Imagine the things she could do to you.” He takes the joint from my stone-like hand and takes a drag. “You know, Abram’s not her type. Too arrogant.” He nudges me with his elbow. “But I got a feeling that you might be what she’s looking for. Here, hold this. I’ll be right back with another shot of courage,” he says and makes his way to the whiskey.
When Gibbs comes back, I drain the glass and march out onto the floor. “Excuse me while I steal your girl,” I tell Abram and cut in. Before he can protest, I spin away with her and leave him standing in shock.
She laughs. “You surprise me. I thought you were the shy one.”
“Me. No way. I’m going for the mysterious-hot-guy look. How’s it working?”
She cocks her head to the side to wave the hair from her face. “Pretty well, I think. But you’re wrong.”
I pull her in close beside me, then we both step back, holding hands at arms length while we dance. “Am I? About what?”
She pulls me in close and whispers in my ear. “I’m not his girl.”
She breaks away again, and I can’t help but smile as I throw a little extra in twisting her around, mesmerized by her body and tight red dress.
The liquor flows deep into the night and the dancing doesn’t stop.
Jane breaks away to use the restroom and says she’ll be right back.
I’ve got the munchies and make my way to the food. While eating, the feeling that someone’s watching me returns and I nonchalantly look around to find the source of my discomfort, only to find Gibbs and Abram talking among themselves and staring intently at me. The moment I turn to face them, they avert their gaze and turn it somewhere else.
Benji is nearly passed out on the couch. Mr. Red is cleaning up after escorting Mr. Whyte to his room since he was barely able to stand on his own. Donald and Eve slipped out moments ago, disappearing somewhere into the foyer.
I eat a few more bites and decide to call it a night. Hopefully I see Jane on the way out since the bathroom is off of the foyer. Abram and Gibbs approach before I make my escape. “Say, Cole. Mr. Gibbs says that we should do some target shooting sometime. There’s plenty of ammo that he can get.”
“And Mr. Whyte won’t mind a bit. In fact, he’ll probably join us since he has such a passion for guns. He’ll be modest and say that he’s no good, but in fact, he’s quite the marksman,” Gibbs adds.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Why not.”
“I’ll set it up then,” Gibbs says with a grin. I smile back and see myself out.
“Goodnight, Cole,” Abram says when I’m in the foyer. His tone is insincere and passive-aggressive at best. He’s jealous of Jane and how she chose to spend time with me tonight.
I hear them talk as I walk away. “You know what? This was so fun, I say we do it again tomorrow. And the next day, and the next day, and the next day. Oh, and if you could make it to where we don’t work anymore, that would be great,” Abram tells Gibbs.
Nice try, Abe.
Gibbs laughs. “You know what, Abe? I agree. Fuck work. It’s gonna be a party every day and every night.”
I shake my head and ignore their drunken words. Not to be rude, I go to the bathroom door and knock. “Jane. I think I’m going to call it a night. I just… I wanted to say I had a great time with you tonight.” I wait for a reply that doesn’t come. “Jane? Are you in there?” I knock again to no avail. It’s unlocked so I crack the door open to look inside only to find it empty. “Maybe she used another bathroom.”
I’m quiet walking up the steps, because I’m quiet anywhere I go. I’ve always treaded softly for some reason. My head’s buzzing, but not so bad that I can’t control myself; more like I’m in that sweet spot where you feel just right. To be honest, Jane’s got me buzzing more than anything else.
At the top of the steps, I pause and look to the three doors, my interest piquing as to what’s behind them. Probably more bedrooms, but I’ve never seen anyone else upstairs before; not even Mr. Whyte. What could they be used for? Curiosity gets the best of me. I lean in towards each one in attempt to hear or smell, even feel anything. There’s nothing. No light from inside, no draft. I make my way to my room before someone catches me.
Donald’s door is cracked. In passing, movement inside makes me stop. At first, my instinct is to call out his name, making sure that it is him and he’s alright. But then I hear a repeated slapping sound mixed with moans and grunts. I edge towards the door and peak inside. Donald’s pants are around his ankles and he’s pounding Eve from behind. Her dress is hiked up around her waist, and he’s cupping one of her breasts as she’s bent over the bed. She turns her head and looks at me, but isn’t alarmed or disturbed. Feeling out of place and not wanting to disturb them, I slip to the side and step into my room.
My heart’s pounding as I close the door and turn off the light. The bed next door beats against the wall like a steady drum and I can hear their passion. I think of Jane. They ravage each other for longer than I thought possible, and eventually I pass out from drunken exhaustion. Before I drift off, Donald’s words ring through my head and I can’t help but laugh.
The wall does indeed pound from inside his room, just like he said it would.
Fourteen
I wake up with a pounding head, daylight streaming through the window. Slowly, I manage to throw some clothes on and get out of bed. Fresh, cool morning air is needed to wake me up and I op
en the window only to get a blast of heat and humidity in my face. I peel my eyes to the sky to find the sun set high, signaling it’s around midday.
I stagger down the hall past closed doors and make my way outside, unseen. At the barn, Larry’s inside taking a nap which is something he normally doesn’t do. I nudge him with the toe of my boot.
“Huh, wha… Cole, what are you doing here?” he asks, snapping awake and immediately jumping to his feet.
I scratch the back of my head. “I overslept. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you working with the others?”
He looks at me funny. “Others? There are no others. No work today, per Mr. Gibbs and Mr. Red.”
“Seriously?”
“They marched out first thing like they always do and I met them out front, expecting to find the rest of you all with them. Obviously, you weren’t and the others weren’t either. Mr. Gibbs said we’re not working anymore.”
“Not working anymore… like, ever?”
Larry leans forward in all seriousness. “Like, ever.”
“But we’re not even close to being done sowing.”
“Meh,” Larry says with a shrug. “What does it matter? What they say goes.” He holds a finger up and his eyes widen. “But, hey, I’ll have more time to spend with my friends on my evening walks! Might even re-read that book of yours.”
“Speaking of that, today is the day that I read it.”
He holds his arms up high and raises his head to the sky. “Praise the heavens, he’s seen the light!” He pulls the book from a hay bail and presses it to my chest. “Let me know when you’re done.”
The rest of the day is spent underneath a pine on the far-end of the farm. I can still see the farmhouse in the distance and will have plenty of time to hide the book if someone approaches.
As I read, a passage stands out.
You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.
What strength? The words are circumstantial. I wonder how he would have handled his mind in society today. Another passage—the words seem to rise from the page. If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment. Easier said than done.
