“That’s all I did as a kid.”
Heavy footsteps descend the stairs. Chubby ankles and thick calves appear, followed by a bear of a man who looks like a white-trash version of Santa Claus, the day after Christmas, one who wouldn’t get pelted with snowballs by Eagles fans.
“George, my boy,” Jimbo says.
“Hey, Jimbo. How’s it hangin’?” George says.
“Low and to the left.” Jimbo smacks George on the back. George stumbles forward. “You know how I feel about new people.” Jimbo motions with his chin toward Matt.
“It’s just my little brother, Matt.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Nice to meet ya, li’l brother.” Jimbo holds out his thick, sun-spotted hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Matt says, shaking the man’s hand.
“Good manners, I like that,” Jimbo says. “Nobody has any fucking manners anymore.”
“Don’t you think they look alike?” the woman says.
Jimbo strokes his long white-and-gray beard. “I can see a little family resemblance. Of course all white people look alike, right?”
She makes a ticking noise with her tongue directed toward Jimbo. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” She struts to the couch.
“Whaddaya got for me?” Jimbo asks George.
George takes off his backpack and unzips the pocket. He grabs a thick white envelope and hands it over. Jimbo holds it up, bouncing it in his hand.
“Feels about right to me,” he says.
“You can count it. It’s all there,” George says.
“Have you ever fucked me?”
“No.”
“That’s why I trust you, and I don’t trust easy, been burned too many times, but I like to do business with people I can trust. You can’t have any type of relationship without trust. Give me a minute. I’ll grab your order.”
Jimbo walks toward the kitchen in oversize gray cutoff sweats and a XXXL green Eagles T-shirt that barely covers his gut. Matt sees an eagle tattoo flying on his left calf. He’s overcome with a sense of déjà vu. His head sags; his eyes flutter and shut. He sees the tattoo walking past him at eye level. He hears a woman sobbing. His eyes jolt open with the slamming of a cabinet door. Jimbo appears with a brown paper bag. He hands the bag to George.
“Thanks,” George says, placing the paper bag into his backpack. “I might need more in a week or so. I can barely keep inventory these days.”
“Be careful, young buck. It’s a marathon, not a sprint,” Jimbo says.
“I gotta save up for my own place. I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”
“Another reason to be careful. You’re runnin’ with the big dogs now. Speakin’ of bein’ careful, you get rid of that cop magnet, like I told ya?”
“Aw, come on, Jimbo. You worry too much.”
“No, I’ve just seen a lotta shit in my life. You don’t see me livin’ it up like Scarface. You oughta get a minivan or one of those new ugly-ass Azztecs? That could be the ugliest plastic piece of shit I’ve ever seen. That’s what I’d be drivin’.”
“I’ll think about it.” George rolls his eyes.
“Don’t think about it. Do it. And drive slow on the way home but not too slow. Stay in the right-hand lane and go with the flow of traffic.”
George straps on his backpack. Matt and George stride to the car. George’s eyes dart back and forth. He occasionally looks over his shoulder. He pounds on the car door. Abby hits the automatic unlock.
“Get in back, Abby,” George says.
“What, why?” she says.
“Matt’s sittin’ up front.”
Abby crosses her arms. “This is bullshit.”
“Fine, you wanna hold on to the stash?”
Abby climbs in back. Matt opens the passenger door and settles into the front seat. George places the backpack in Matt’s lap.
“Hang on to this,” George says.
George hops on I-76, flying down the left lane at a blistering pace.
“What’s the rush?” Matt asks.
“I gotta couple parties to get to. I can probably sell half my product tonight. If I’m late, they might go elsewhere. You know, customer satisfaction and all. It’s always harder to get a new customer than to keep a good one.”
“Remember what Jimbo said about driving in the right lane, with the flow of traffic.”
“Shit, I got eagle eyes, plus I know where all the cop spots are. I’ve made this drive a hundred times.”
George pulls off I-76 and stops at the toll booth on their exit. After the toll, he drives his Mustang into Kingstown. He speeds by rows of townhomes. He gives his brakes a quick pump, then blows through a stop sign. George guns the engine, as he scoots down the road. Matt’s stomach drops when he catches a glimpse of blue and red lights out of the corner of his eye.
“Motherfucker!” George says, as he hits the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. He turns to Matt. “Shove that shit under your seat.”
Matt pushes the backpack under his seat. George pulls over and cuts the engine. He grabs his registration and insurance card from the center console, and removes his license from his wallet.
“Ohmigod, we are so busted,” Abby says.
“Be cool, everybody. Act natural. It’s just a ticket,” George says.
George motors the window down. The police officer approaches. He’s medium height, with a muscular build, mirrored sunglasses, and a dark mustache.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance,” the cop says. Georges hands him his documentation. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“No, sir,” George replies.
“You ran a stop sign, and you were going forty-five in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone. That’s reckless driving, son. Do you know what the penalty is for reckless driving?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s a two-hundred-dollar fine and a six-month license suspension. Is there anyone with you who has a license?”
“No, sir.”
“If there isn’t, we have to tow the car.” The officer peers into the backseat of the Mustang. “Colton, is that you?”
“Uncle James,” Colton says.
“What are you doin’ with this clown? Your dad would be pretty pissed, if he knew about this.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell him.”
The cop clenches his jaw. “This is your one pass. You don’t get another from me, got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer turns to George. “If I ever catch you drivin’ like that, I’ll make sure you never drive again. You got me? You better thank your lucky stars that you got Colton in the backseat, because you woulda been in a world a hurt. Now get outta here.”
[ 14 ]
The Nuclear Option
George pulls up to the stately McMansion at the end of the cul-de-sac. The driveway’s empty, but Tyler’s lifted Jeep, a pickup, and a sedan are parked along the curb.
“Gimme that bag,” George says.
George, Colton, and Abby walk toward the house. Matt stands by the car. George stops.
“What are you doin’?” George says.
“I’m gonna stay here,” Matt says.
“What’s the problem?”
“I don’t think I’m welcome here.”
“Bitch is outta town. Let’s go.”
Matt shuts the car door. The brothers stride across the lawn to the front stoop. Matt eyes the bloodstain on the concrete. George opens the door and waltzes in. The foyer is bare and churchlike, with black and white marble under their feet. A hand-painted mural of a vineyard resides on the wall to the right, a spiral staircase with a wrought iron railing to the left. Stainless steel appliances and hanging pots and pans glisten in the distance. George marches past the mural and opens a door. Gangster rap and raucous voices spill out. They descend the white carpeted staircase. The rap lyrics and animated voices get louder. A black leather sectional couch surrounds a wooden entertainment center, featuring
a fifty-inch television and Kenwood speakers.
A movie plays to the empty couches, with no sound. Matt and George stop and watch. A young man with a goatee holds a white mouse by the tail, with little mouse feet touching his lips. He slowly lowers the mouse into his mouth, while an attractive young blonde looks on in horror, and the tail still sticks out of his mouth. The young man rests his hand on the nearby aquarium. The boa constrictor strikes, swallowing his hand whole. Chaos ensues, with the man swinging his arms, the snake still clamped on his wrist, destroying furniture in the dorm room. Matt watches mesmerized, with a painted grin.
“I love this movie,” George says. “Have you seen it?”
Matt shakes his head; his neck cranes to catch a few more seconds as they walk through the open double doors. Inside, a pool table dominates the room. A dark wooden bar and six bar stools with black cushions sit along the far wall, with a television hung behind the barkeep. Three-hundred-pound Tony stands, grinning, with a towel over his shoulder, pouring shots for his patrons. Colton, Abby, Tyler, Sophia, and Megan sit on the bar stools. They clink their shot glasses together and swallow the light brown liquid in single gulps. The girls scrunch up their faces and press lime wedges between their glossed lips. Tyler calls for another.
“What up, playas?” Tony says to George and Matt.
“Anybody wanna get high?” George says.
The teens turn on their bar stools. Tyler hops off, glaring at Matt. Tyler’s face is puffy and acne-riddled. His tank top accentuates his arms that hang out from his body, his barrel chest preventing them from hanging normally. His brown hair’s shaved on the sides, with a gelled flattop. Bass pumps in the background. Tyler marches toward Matt. He stands in front of Matt, looking him up and down, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched, contempt on his face. The teens freeze; the room is quiet, save the music. Matt concentrates on Tyler’s hands. Tyler reaches back and swings. Matt ducks, Tyler’s fist glancing off the top of his head. Tyler rears back again. Tony swallows him up from behind, pinning his arms behind his back.
“Calm down, … damn,” Tony says.
“You bring this fuckin’ little bitch to my house,” Tyler says, struggling to break free. “Let me go!”
Tony lets go. Matt’s hands are up, his fists clenched. Tyler lunges at Matt. He hears clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, in rapid succession. George presses a black box into Tyler’s side.
“Ah, ah,” Tyler says, as he falls to the ground, contorting his body away from the electrical current.
George continues to electrocute Tyler with his black box pressed firmly against his side. The box is still emitting a clack, clack, clack, clack, clack.
George relents but holds the black box with a current of electricity streaming between two electrodes over Tyler’s fetal-positioned body.
“That fuckin’ hurt, George! What the fuck?” Tyler says.
“I can’t have clients attacking my employees,” George says. “You gotta complaint about Matt, you can voice it to me, and I’ll take care of it.”
Tyler staggers to his feet, giving George and his stun gun a wide berth. “This piece of shit used to fuck around with my sister.”
“My boy, Matt, be straight-up pimpin’,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Emily’s fine too. She must like them farmer boys. They be workin’ hard and shit.”
“Shut up, Tony,” Tyler says.
“Okay, I can see why you might be mad, so I’ll let you get one punch in,” George says. “Not to the face though, then it’s over, you leave him alone.”
“Fine,” Tyler says.
“What?” Matt says.
“It’s one and done, Matt. Just get it over with, so we can get down to business,” George says.
Matt walks over to Tyler, his arms held out, and his body unprotected. Tyler winds up and plunges his fist into Matt’s stomach. Matt doubles over, falling to one knee, coughing.
“Damn, home skillet got fucked up,” Colton says.
Tony laughs; the girls giggle. Matt stands up straight.
“Look at this fuckin’ soldier,” Tony says.
“This shit squashed now?” George asks.
Tyler nods.
“All right then. Is there a place where we can conduct our business?”
George, Tyler, and Tony go upstairs. Matt sits on the couch, watching the movie. Megan saunters out to the leather sectional. She taps Matt on the shoulder, bending down, her wavy brown hair tickling his face and her deep V-neck exposing full breasts.
“Why don’t you come to the bar and hang out?” she whispers. Megan kisses Matt’s earlobe, lightly tugging with her teeth. She struts to the bar; Matt’s gaze follows.
Matt steps around the pool table toward the bar. Colton stands behind the bar, playing Tom Cruise in Cocktail. Abby, Sophia, and Megan giggle as Colton flips a bottle of tequila from one hand to the other. As Matt approaches, Colton mishandles the catch in his left hand, the bottle bouncing off his leg and landing on the floor.
“Saved it,” Colton says, picking up the unbroken bottle.
“Come sit next to me,” Megan says, patting the bar stool next to her. “Do you know everyone here?”
Matt shakes his head.
“We haven’t met formally. I’m Sophia,” Sophia says with a wave.
Sophia’s skin is creamy white and flawless. Her hair is dark and her eyes blue. Her facial features are proportional, with bright red lips. Her waist is thin, but her chest and hips are well developed. It wouldn’t be a hyperbole to call her beautiful.
“Nice to meet you, Sophia,” Matt says.
“You best step off,” Colton says, playing the protective brother.
“Shut up, Colton,” Sophia says. “He can talk to me if he wants. Matt can probably kick your ass anyway.”
“Why you trippin’? You shouldn’t even be here anyway.”
“Why you trippin’?” Megan says, mocking.
“Why y’all have to be such bitches?” Colton says, shaking his head.
“Why do you have to be such a cunt-blocker?” Abby says. “Let your sister have some fun. She ain’t crushin’ on Matt anyway.”
The girls giggle.
“Whatever,” Colton says.
“So, Matt, you wanna go someplace private?” Megan says loud enough for the others to hear. The girls giggle.
“You go, girl.” Abby high-fives Megan.
“You betta watch yaself,” Colton says. “Tyler’s hittin’ that tonight.”
“Says who?” Megan says.
Megan reaches over and puts her hand on Matt’s crotch. She leans over and presses her lips against his, opening her mouth and shoving her tongue inside. Tyler, George, and Tony walk into the room.
“Megan, what are you doin’?” Tyler says.
“Relax, I’m just warmin’ up for you,” she says.
“Get the fuck outta here, farmer faggot!”
Matt hops off the bar stool. He strides over to George and Tony.
“Catcha layta, playa,” Tony says to George. “Appreciate the free bud with my package. Reminds me of my mom’s Mary Kay lady.”
George frowns.
“No disrespect. She be givin’ my moms free lipstick and shit. That shit work though. She got that pink Mary Kay Cadillac, makin’ mad paper.”
George chuckles. “Later, Tony. Hit me up when you need a resupply. Hey, Abby, we’re leavin’.”
“Can you pick me up later?” Abby asks.
“No.”
“I can take you home,” Megan says.
“Suit yourself,” George says.
Matt and George exit the room; Colton bounds after them.
“George, I gotta axe you somethin’,” Colton says.
“We gotta get going,” George says.
“I helped you today.”
George frowns.
“You know, with the cop and all. I was thinkin’ that I could move some product for you. I could be one of your soldiers.”
“I’ll think about it.”
/> “Ah-ite.”
George and Matt exit the basement, returning to the first floor. Matt gazes up at the spiral staircase. He starts up the stairs.
“Matt, let’s go. I got business to attend to,” George says.
“Then go,” Matt says. “I can walk from here.”
George exhales and follows Matt up the stairs. At the top of the stairs is a hallway, with a cluster of doors to the left and one door at the end of the hall to the right. They go to the left, opening the first door, revealing a bathroom. They open the next door, the room smelling like BO and bleach. Dirty clothes are strewn about, pictures of half-naked women line the walls, and one fully nude on the ceiling over the bed.
They open the final door, the room light and airy. The walls are painted yellow, the bedspread white. Light wooden furniture lines the walls. Matt and George walk in. Matt breathes in, smelling Emily’s perfume. He moves to the window, peering out at the driveway below, then to the vanity. A few pictures stick to the corners of the mirror, another propped up in a frame. He picks up the framed picture of Dr. Hansen, Mr. Hansen, Tyler, and Emily, smiling in front of their fireplace. Tyler looks smaller and Emily looks happy. Another picture of a young man on one knee, holding a football, is wedged into the corner of the mirror. Matt recognizes him as Emily’s boyfriend.
“Don’t be a stalker.” George grins. “Let’s check out the master bedroom.”
George and Matt walk down the hallway to the master bedroom. Matt opens the door; they step inside. George lets out a low whistle. A king-size four-poster bed sits in the middle. Dark cherry dressers, bedside tables, an armoire housing a television, and a full-length mirror fill the room. Paintings of country houses overlooking colorful meadows, babbling brooks, or sprawling lakes decorate the light green walls. They hear a splash from outside, followed by laughter.
Beyond the bedroom is a wide corridor, with a couch, vanity, bookshelves, walk-in closets, and a gas fireplace. Toward the end of the corridor, open double doors lead to a large bathroom. The floor is tiled in white, with a Jacuzzi tub, his and her sinks, a water closet, and a marble shower with four showerheads.
“Damn, can you believe this shit?” George says.
“This bathroom is bigger than my whole house at the farm,” Matt says.
Against the Grain Page 16
