by Amy Lane
He didn’t mention it again, and Bobby relaxed—mostly. They were both waiting for the other shoe to drop, but neither of them knew who was holding the shoe.
THE NEXT weekend, Ethan and Jonah and Dex and Kane drove up to Dogpatch to help his mom move in the snow.
Dex was honest—the snow was most of the reason they were there. Kane had gone all-out and bought his niece, Frances, a little snow-bunny outfit with tiny mittens and little shiny snow boots. Bobby was actually glad it had snowed a little between visits, because he didn’t want to disappoint the little girl.
Bobby had met Ethan’s boyfriend already—and liked him—the day they’d kicked Frances’s mother off Kane’s property. Jonah was about Reg’s height and thin, like Reg would be if he hadn’t been working out for over ten years, except with curly sand-colored hair and enormous gray eyes. He was also funny, smart, and humble, and Bobby could listen to him and Ethan talk about anime and geeky movies forever. He couldn’t participate—he didn’t know those things—but listening to their banter wash over him was a treat.
He’d never been happier that his clumsy, stupid overture with Ethan had failed. Boy, how many people would that have fucked up?
The two trucks and the SUV caravanned up the hill together, stopping in Truckee to put on chains and following Bobby carefully when he turned off Highway 80 to take the winding path toward Dogpatch.
They passed the town sign, and Reg answered his buzzing phone.
It was Kane. “Oh my God! Bobby, you said that was the name of your hometown, but I swear to God, I thought you were making it up!”
Reg and Bobby laughed all the way out to Bobby’s mom’s house, which sat in the middle of a big meadow of snow now.
“Frances’ll get to see it,” Reg said wistfully. “I bet V would like to see snow.”
Bobby bet V would like to see anything but the inside of the institution she was in now—but by all accounts she was starting to take her meds again, so maybe, in another month or so, he could go back to sleeping with one eye open.
He’d been making up for the uncertainty—and the loss of his apartment—by having as much sex with Reg as possible in as many rooms of the house as they could manage.
The results had been highly satisfactory—if a little destructive. For example, they didn’t need to put his mom’s kitchen table into storage, because Reg and Bobby had been eating on the couch for the past three days. Apparently Reg’s old table hadn’t been up to the “Bend over, I want you right here!” fantasy that occurred in the books they’d been reading, which was too bad.
It was a good fantasy. The next time, they’d used the counters and been out nothing but a little bit of 409.
Bobby’s contemplation of bending Reg over the kitchen countertops again was called to an abrupt halt as he pulled up in his mom’s driveway and saw the brand-new Ford F-250 dwarfing his mom’s little Toyota.
“Shit,” Bobby muttered in disgust.
“Who in the hell is that?” Reg asked, antennae perking up.
“That would be Frank Gilmore.”
“Is Keith with him?” There was a little bit of apprehension in Reg’s voice, and Bobby didn’t blame him.
“He’s in the truck, see?” Bobby said, nodding to Keith lying with his head on the headrest, so immersed in his iPod that he didn’t even see them pull up. “Keith isn’t gonna act up,” Bobby said. “The important thing is not to out him.”
“The important thing is not to get pounded,” Reg said glumly.
Bobby growled low in his throat. It was terrifying how much he’d enjoy pounding Frank Gilmore, but he always swore he wouldn’t be that guy.
Frank’s truck was parked about three car lengths back from his mom’s Toyota, in prime get in the way space. Bobby solved that by pulling around it and driving on the meadow on one side of the gravel drive, pulling the truck until it was right in front of his mother’s front porch. There was enough room on either side for the other two vehicles coming up the drive.
Bobby hopped out of the truck and told Reg to stay where he was.
“I’m not a kid,” Reg snapped, sliding out on his side. Bobby sighed.
“I never said you were. I just don’t want—” Frank Gilmore walked around his truck then, spitting mad.
Frank was an older, shorter version of Keith, his thinning gray hair slicked back from his head, although his almond-shaped eyes and dimpled cheeks were still handsome. But Bobby had never warmed to Frank, no matter how much work he’d given. For one thing, he paid shit—baling hay for eight bucks an hour was no way to support yourself or your family. But for another, he was rattlesnake mean, even to Keith. Jessica had always been his princess—sweet and a little bit oblivious to how hard he worked to screw people over. But Keith had just been a strong back to him, a way to flaunt his prowess over the town. Keith had been his minion, the farthest reach of his already long arm.
Oh, Bobby hated him so.
“So, decided to grace us with your presence, Vern? I’m surprised you even remembered where your mama lived.”
“I know where my mom lives,” Bobby said evenly. “I just don’t know what you’re doing here. She paid you up for the rest of the month. You don’t need to be here to help her move.”
“Now you just wait a minute. Your mama’s leaving me here without a tenant in the middle of winter—how’m I going to make that money back up?”
Bobby shrugged and waved at Kane, who was heading down the drive, so he’d know where to park. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want my mom the hell out of here, that’s all.”
“Wait a minute,” Frank snapped. “Who’s going to fix all the damage done to that place? You two owe me money to fix the floors and the windows!”
Bobby turned to his mom, who was standing behind Frank, hugging her arms around her ribs and crying.
“Reg, go check the house,” he snarled, right before he grabbed Frank Gilmore by the jacket front and forced him back against the side of the truck. “What did you do?”
Frank smiled ingratiatingly. “Now, not my fault your mama knows how to party, is it?”
Reg came trotting out, looking distraught. “The back windows are smashed in, Bobby. There’s glass all over the boxes. And someone went in there with a crowbar and punched holes next to the toilet—it’s leaking all over the place, and there’s a fucking mess!”
Kane pulled in right next to where they were standing, or Bobby might have lost his temper. But Dex was in that car, and Kane’s niece, and he was damned if they’d see him turn Frank Gilmore to hamburger.
Dex slid out of the passenger side of the Navigator and came walking toward them, while Kane turned the SUV off and got Frances out the other side.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Dex said calmly. Well, Bobby had seen him, sleep-deprived and half out of his mind, “calmly” deal with a family situation about twice this ugly. Dex was the right guy for this job.
“This guy and his son broke my mom’s windows and punched holes in the floor—”
“I didn’t do it,” Keith said, almost desperately, coming out the driver’s side of the truck. “Vern, it wasn’t me. My dad had his buddies do it—I didn’t know.”
Bobby turned his head toward Keith and saw bruises—fresh ones—swelling his face. He grimaced.
“Oh, Keith.” Then he turned back to Frank. “You useless piece of horse, uh, crap….”
From behind him, he heard his mom go, “Baby?”
Kane walked around Bobby and Frank and said, “Yeah—you Bobby’s mom?”
“Yes—who is this?”
“This is my niece, Frances. Bobby said there were horses?”
Bobby’s mother masked a sob. “Would you… would you like to see the horses, Frances?”
Oh, Kane. He looked like a gorilla—shoulders as wide as a tank, forehead still bruised and eye still red from the drama a couple weeks back—but that boy was smart in ways Bobby couldn’t even name. His mom and Frances both started across th
e meadow, and Bobby felt the warmth of Dex and Kane behind him.
“So, now that we can say the word ‘shit,’” Kane said pleasantly, “what horseshit were you just feeding Bobby here?”
“That woman can’t take care of a house by herself,” Frank hissed. “My boys came in to do an inspection—”
“And terrorized a woman by herself,” Dex snapped. “Where’s the lease?”
“What?” Bobby asked, looking over his shoulder.
“What?” Frank Gilmore asked, sounding stupid.
“Let me see your paperwork, Mr. uh—”
“Gilmore,” Bobby supplied.
“Gilmore. Let me see it. I want to see what rights you have versus what rights Bobby’s mom has. And then I want to see what you violated.”
“Keith!” Frank screamed. “Get out the papers! They’re in the truck! Let these assholes see what kind of laws they’re violating!”
“You entered her premises without permission,” Dex said smoothly. “You’re already in the wrong. Let me see how many other rules you broke.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket as he peeled off from Bobby’s shoulder and Reg took his place.
“You go, Dexter,” Kane said sincerely. “You’re in for it now—he’s getting out his phone. You got no idea.”
Bobby’s arms were starting to ache from holding on to Frank Gilmore’s jacket. He let one arm down and shook it out, and was going to grab the coat again when Kane growled, low in his throat, and Frank visibly recoiled against the truck.
Bobby lowered both his hands, and he, Reg, and Kane just stood there, staring Frank Gilmore down. Ethan pulled in, driving Dex’s truck, and he and Jonah slid out and took in the situation.
“Where’s Frances?” Ethan asked, his voice, loud and deep, resonating.
“Across the field with the horses,” Kane supplied. “Jonah, you want to go join her and Mrs. Bobby’s Mom?”
“Do you idiots know how mafia this looks?” Jonah asked, and Bobby had to choke back a grin.
“He broke all the windows in the house and is trying to make her pay for them,” Reg said, visibly upset. “It was a real nice house, Jonah—she’s a real nice lady.”
“Oh.” Jonah’s voice softened, and he sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go on mom detail.”
“Moms like you,” Ethan said, all earnestness. “You have a good one. It matters.”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll go make nice with the parent. You guys be good.” From the corner of his eye, Bobby could see Jonah, slight form bundled in an old down coat, curly hair under a stocking cap, and hands safe in fleece gloves as he trundled through the foot or so of snow toward the other end of the field.
And then Ethan was looming behind Reg, all of them staring down poor Frank Gilmore, who was starting to acknowledge he was in trouble.
“Jesus, Vern—who are all these fuckin’ guys?”
Kane snickered, and Bobby rolled his eyes. “These are people I work with. They came to help my mom move. They didn’t expect to beat the crap out of a douchebag, but I’m pretty sure they’ll adapt.”
“No,” Keith moaned. “Vern, don’t. Don’t beat him up. You know what he’s like—”
“Keith, man, you gotta move,” Bobby said, glancing at him briefly. “This piece of shit is not worth your loyalty.”
“Yeah, don’t hurt him,” Dex said absently, coming out from the other side of the truck. He had a sheaf of papers in one hand and a phone up to his ear. “Because if you hurt him, he can’t pay her damages.”
“What?” Frank sputtered. “I’m not paying that bitch—” Everybody—all the giant bodybuilders standing at Bobby’s back—moved in about six inches closer. “That woman,” Frank amended quickly. “I’m not about to pay that woman shit.”
“Keith?” Dex asked, like Keith was the guy holding the lights at a shoot. “Did Mrs. Roberts break her own windows?”
Bobby locked eyes with Keith Gilmore, daring him to lie about this.
“No,” Keith whispered.
“Did she poke the holes in her own floor?”
“No.” Keith closed his eyes.
“Now, I’m not even going to ask you who did,” Dex said reassuringly, patting his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. See, this is a classic rental agreement—every apartment complex in the world has one. It says that asswipe over there—”
“Frank,” Bobby ground out.
“Yeah, asswipe—he’s liable for pretty much everything. Do you know what that means, asswipe?”
Bobby had to grin at Dex—he was good at this shit. Then he went back to scowling at Frank Gilmore.
“It means I have to pay,” he growled.
“Why, yes. Yes, it does. And it also says that Mrs. Roberts here paid first and last month’s rent, doesn’t it?”
“Yessir?”
“So if she’s paid up for next month, that’s one month too long. So I’m just going to rip this up here”—Dex pulled out what was probably Bobby’s mom’s check and ripped it into confetti before putting the confetti in his pocket, but he kept talking while he was doing it—“and mostly, you guys can leave. I mean, we’ll have her stuff in an hour, hour and a half, most, and all we have to do is leave the key under the mat.”
“You can’t do this!” Frank howled, and Dex grunted.
“Oh yeah. Totally legal. In fact, hold on right there.” He held up his camera and took a picture of all of them, huddled around Frank, and Frank, looking pathetic and small, once-honed body rounded and stocky. Then Dex strode into the house, long legs confident, wide shoulders swinging like he did this shit all the time. Well, Bobby had seen him in action—he sort of did.
He came back in a few moments, still fiddling on his phone. “Okay now, so I’ve got a lawyer, sort of a catch-all type of guy, and I’m sending him the pictures. We’ve got two eyewitnesses that say the damage wasn’t caused by Mrs. Roberts, and we’ve got pictures of what damage there was—and we’ve got pictures of the guys and you, and nobody’s hurt, and nobody has so much as a hangnail. So there you go. Can’t hurt anybody, can’t wreck anything in the house, and can’t give Bobby’s mom one more goddamned bit of trouble. In fact, the most you can do is get the fuck off the property and let us do our thing.”
“Fine!” Frank hawked and looked for a place to spit, but nobody was moving. Watching him swallow was both really gross and really gratifying.
Kane stepped aside just far enough to let him pass, and he sidled by, his back scraping the side of Bobby’s truck.
“You’d better be out of here by the end of the day,” he snarled. “Or I’m gonna make—”
“What?” Dex said, nose still buried in the papers. “She has until next week. What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna tell everybody in town her boy’s a faggot, and he’s got a whole passel of faggot friends—urk!”
Kane had decided not to let him through. “I. Don’t. Like. That. Word.” He punctuated each enunciation with a little shake; then he looked at Bobby. “Could it hurt your mom? You know, if he goes to town and uses that word?”
“She put in her notice,” Bobby said, eyes on Frank. “She’s commuting up to Truckee for a week, which is gonna suck, but then she’s looking for another job.” Bobby gave a small, mean smile. “My mom doesn’t have to ever visit this pissant town again, Frank. But you do. You’re stuck here. And that’s fine. You just keep throwing your money around and being the king of Dogpatch. I don’t give a shit. I’m living somewhere else now, where when I walk down the street, nobody knows me or gives a shit who me or my family are.” Bobby looked up at Keith again. “It’s liberating. Free as a goddamned bird.”
Keith nodded. “Dad, let’s go.”
“Shut the fu—”
“There’s a little kid out there with Bobby’s mom,” Keith said, his voice uncharacteristically strong. “What are you going to do? Mow down all these people in front of a little kid? They got a lawyer. Not a Dogpatch lawyer—someone outside. And they’re right. Why are we here anyway?
It’s a rental property—why does it matter?”
“I let that woman stay here when she couldn’t keep her man—and she had nothing!” Frank snapped. “This? This is how she repays me?”
“She paid you in rent!” Bobby protested. “Jesus—what else did you want?”
Frank gave him a narrow-eyed glance that told Bobby a whole lot about how strong his mom was, and where Keith Gilmore had learned to be a blackmailing motherfucker.
“I hope your dick falls off,” Bobby said, feeling his entire body go cold.
“Cold bitch never put out—oolf!”
“Kane! I told you—don’t hurt him!”
“Just his ribs,” Kane said mildly. His jaw was clenched, though, and his eyes narrowed. “Maybe his kidneys. I don’t like men who bully women.”
“None of us do,” Ethan said, his usually warm, happy voice locked up and hard. “I think it’s really important that he knows that. Do you know that, Mr. Gilmore?”
Frank was still doubled over, clutching his ribs or his kidneys or whatever. “Yeah,” he managed. “I think I got it.”
“So yeah,” Dex said, folding the rental agreement up and putting it in his pocket. “You’ll get back the papers with her signature on them when she’s done working. You can’t rent the place out before then. So, you know. Maybe don’t go down to Truckee and tell stories, ’kay?”
“Keith, start the truck!” Frank wheezed, and this time Kane let him go.
They all watched as Keith executed a wide, destructive three-point turn. If Bobby’s mom had planted flowers this year, he would have decimated the beds, but she’d given up on that a couple of years past.
“That was exciting,” Kane said, not even rubbing his hand for show. “Can we move shit now? My blood’s all up. I need to work out.”
“Yeah, sure,” Bobby said numbly. He looked up to where Jonah and Frances and his mom were still petting horses. “Let’s get as much done as we can before they come back. If I know my mom, it’s all labeled and shit.”
HE KNEW his mom.
Most of the books and needlepoint supplies were going to Bobby’s apartment. Most of the furniture was going to the storage cube he’d rented nearby. Everything else had been boxed and labeled, including dishes and clothes, and Bobby thought woefully of the stuff he’d put in boxes to take to Reg’s.
