by Mike Monson
She climbed and climbed and climbed. Fucking Matt better have a good explanation. Shit could not be more fucked. She needed that tummy tuck. And, new tits. Thank god her ass was already huge.
She took off the earphones for a moment. She could hear screams and iron slamming from downstairs.
Hunter.
She lifted up her hood and brought it down over her face as far as possible. From her spot on the second floor, she could glimpse people downstairs walking across from the weight room to the stretching and abdominal work-out areas. After about ten minutes, she saw Hunter go by followed by another man. Hunter had the other man do crunches on one of the new machines.
Oh, shit. Hunter’s workout partner was her son, Tanner.
God.
She really wasn’t surprised.
She watched as Hunter talked at Tanner. He smiled and patted him on the back. Whispered in the boy’s ear. Had him do all kinds of abdominal exercises. Tanner looked at Hunter like he was a god.
She noticed for the first time that Tanner was looking larger, more muscular. He was wearing the same kind of small, revealing tank top Hunter always wore. She could see that Tanner had dozens of new little pimples across his back and shoulders.
Steroids.
Tanner’s father, Chester Savage, was her first husband. A used car salesman, he moved to Henderson, Nevada, as soon as Lydia got pregnant. Said he would send for her as soon as he got settled in his new job. Five years passed with no word. Her attorney suggested she hire a private investigator to find Chester, but she couldn’t afford the fee.
Finally, she heard from a lawyer in Florida that Chester had died in a car wreck. There was an insurance settlement. Unfortunately, Chester had another wife and two stepchildren and two new children of his own in Tallahassee. That family had a legitimate claim on the money as well. By the time it was all settled, when Hunter was 12, Lydia netted just under $20,000, which she used to help buy the nice house they lived in now.
She knew that her son and her new lover had met at least once before. She and Hunter ran into Tanner at the Texas Roadhouse, back when she still thought dating the psycho was a fun adventure. Hunter insisted that Tanner join them, and he bought him a large steak. Tanner was fascinated by Hunter’s muscles and prison experiences. Hunter had no problem answering any and all questions about both. He talked about his stays in both San Quentin and Corcoran. He was the hero of every story. He gave Tanner advice about working out, about steroids, about life in general.
“Young man,” Hunter said to the transfixed Tanner, “you can get anything you want in this world if you are willing to just up and fucking take it, and then be totally willing to pay the price. Desire and strength is all a man needs. I guaran-fucking-tee it.”
“But you never wanted to go to prison,” Tanner said. “Did you Mr. Manning?”
“Call me Uncle,” Hunter said.
“Okay, Uncle Hunter.”
“No, not Uncle Hunter, just … Uncle, get it?”
“Uncle.”
“Right, you’ll get used to it. Anyway. Prison. There is no prison, man, not for guys like me. There is just the place that you happen to be based on the consequences of your actions. I don’t care what side of walls and bars I’m on, man. I always walk tall and take what I want and deal with what happens. See what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“You see me here in this nice place, looking just like everyone else, right?”
He watched Tanner and Lydia exchange a smile.
“Or, okay,” he continued. “Maybe not exactly like everyone else, but close enough, right?”
“Right.”
“But, I’m not like everyone else. I’m nothing like all these other lame-ass people.”
He looked softly at Tanner for several seconds.
“What do you think is different about me?”
Tanner started to speak and then stopped. He looked at his mother. He looked back at Hunter.
“You’re a criminal. An outlaw.”
Hunter laughed. So loud people at other tables got quiet and stared.
“You got that right,” Hunter said. “Sure as fuck.”
Hunter reached across the table and grabbed Tanner by the back of the head and pulled him closer until their faces almost touched.
“You may not know it yet, but that’s what you are too, you sonofabitch. I saw it from a mile away.”
Tanner changed at that moment. Lydia saw it. It was freaky to watch. To Lydia, he seemed to grow bigger, stronger, into less of a … boy. Less … fragmented, she thought that was the right word.
Later that night, while she lay in bed, Lydia heard Tanner tell Matt all about his dinner with Hunter.
“Dude,” Tanner said, “better start packing your bags.”
Tanner hated Matt.
Chapter 10
Matt got on the waiting list for a no-limit game. He considered starting at one of the smaller limit tables such as a $1/$2 or a $2/$4. But he’d read on the Internet that it took forever to make big money at those games. He wanted to increase his stake as fast as possible.
Can’t win big if you don’t bet big.
He went to the bar to wait for his name to be called. The only other patrons were two women. One blonde, one redhead. They sat close together and talked intently.
They looked like cowgirls. Each wore tight Wrangler jeans, fancy Ropers, and ripped-up t-shirts. Nice. He sat to the left of the blonde and ordered a double tequila neat and a Dos Equis. Drank the tequila right away. Ordered another.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Matt.”
The blonde woman glanced at him briefly and then turned away, twisting in her seat so more of her back was to Matt.
Bitch. Jesus.
She whispered to her friend and the redhead leaned out and looked at Matt. Then she leaned back and both women laughed.
Matt drank his second double and half his beer. Ordered another double and drank that too.
He poked the blonde in the side with his finger. She quickly turned. Man, she looked pissed.
“I said: Hi, I’m Matt.”
“Well, far fucking out for you Matt,” she said. “What the hell do you want me to do about it?”
“You could let me buy you a drink. You sure look nice. I like your boots.”
“I have a drink.”
Her eyes narrowed and seemed to get darker. Her nostrils flared slightly.
“I’ll get the next one?”
“That’s okay. We were just about to move on.”
Both women finished their drinks and stood.
“Okay, bye,” Matt said. “See you around.”
He was pretty sure there was little chance of that, but he said it anyway. Fucking bitches.
“Yeah, right, loser,” the blonde woman said as they walked away. Man, their jeans were tight.
Matt finished his beer and ordered another round. He drank a little slower and took in the sights and sounds of the casino. So many colors, so many lights, so much noise. He knew he was totally drunk but felt certain things were about to go very well.
Chapter 11
Hunter Manning liked to take Lydia to the gym. Before, out in his truck, he’d have her inject a needle full of steroids into one of his butt cheeks. Then, in the free weight room, he’d curl and bench and squat and row and press while screaming and banging the iron down on the floor. He also directed Lydia’s workouts, which she appreciated.
After their third gym date, they drove up McHenry Avenue in his 2010 Ford F-150. It was Saturday at about 4:50. Hunter pulled into a tire store. He’d been snorting meth as he drove. She’d never seen him do this before. He talked loudly and aggressively nonstop. The veins in his neck, his arms, and the side of his head popped and pulsated. Lydia felt very nervous. She wished she could just go home.
The parking lot was empty except for a brand new black Chevy Silverado. As they walked in, Lydia could see there were no other customers. There were no employees inside, except for one
man counting the money in a register.
“I need two new rear tires for my truck,” Hunter said.
The man was tall and overweight. He was about 40 years old. He had short blond hair, neatly cut. He didn’t look up.
“We’re closed for the day,” he said, sighing. “Please come back on Monday morning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hunter said, sounding calm and friendly. “What time do you close on Saturdays?”
The man looked up. He didn’t smile or make eye contact.
“Five o’clock. We’re closed tomorrow. If you come back Monday morning, we can help you then.”
He turned away and started to examine a printout from the register.
“It’s not five o’clock yet,” Hunter said, a little less friendly.
“Well,” said the man, looking at his watch, “it is 4:55. We usually like to finish up a little early on Saturday if we can, let our employees get a start on their one day off.”
“So. What you’re saying is, you aren’t going to sell and install the tires I need even though it isn’t five o’clock yet?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
Hunter stepped up very close to the man.
“You realize of course that I am a customer, and you are fucking me?”
The man sighed again and stepped back. He seemed to look at Hunter and Lydia for the first time. Lydia didn’t like this.
“Hunter. Let’s go. There’s probably another tire store somewhere open until six. I’ll check on my phone.”
“Shut the fuck up. Put the goddamn phone away. I just need to understand, fully, what is happening here.”
“Sir?” the man said, and then shut his mouth.
“So you realize that I am a paying customer, right?”
Nothing.
“Right?” Hunter pushed the man hard in the chest. “Fucking answer me.”
“Right.”
“And now that you have fucked me this way, I will not be back on Monday because you pissed me off, right?”
Hunter pushed the man.
“Right?”
“Right.”
“I will not come back, so you lost a sale. And, I will never come back here for any other reason, so you have lost an unknown amount of future business. Am I right, dickface?”
“I guess that is right.”
“You guess?” Hunter grabbed him by the throat and pushed him very hard.
“No… I … right.”
“Plus, every chance I get I will trash this place verbally to all my friends and associates, so there is another un-fucking-told amount of future revenue lost. Right? I mean, am I making sense to you, you fat fucking fuck?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think that what you’re doing here is a smart way to do business? Oh, sure, you’re all like ’you need to get out of here, come back Monday. I can’t bother to look you in the eye because I’m a sorry piece of shit’ while what you’re actually doing is fucking me, fucking yourself, and fucking your company. You’re just too stupid to realize it. No wonder this country is going to hell and the economy is in the toilet.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen now. I’m going to put some hurt on you to make sure you remember your lesson this day and to insure that you start to take your responsibilities seriously from now on. Then, I’m going to leave you my truck, and you are going to install four new tires. And, in the meantime, rather than waiting around, I’m going to borrow your truck for a while. Is that yours, the Silverado out there?”
“Uh … yes.”
Lydia watched as Hunter reached over, grabbed the man by his shirt, and somehow pulled him over to the other side of the counter like it was nothing.
“Lydia, sweetheart. Go close and lock that front door.”
Lydia went to the door. She locked it with the deadbolt. She could already hear Hunter’s fists striking the man, again and again. It was the worst sound she had ever heard. She’d never seen a man beat another man before. It was sickening and ugly. She tried not to watch.
Hunter just kept hitting. He hit the guy’s chest, his stomach, his throat, and his neck. He seemed to be avoiding the face. She could tell he wasn’t punching as hard as he could. He murmured something the entire time that Lydia could not understand. Occasionally, she could hear the man’s air whoosh out of him. The poor dude began to cry and whimper and that seemed to piss Hunter off ,and the punches came quicker and faster for a minute or two.
Eventually, Hunter propped the man up on the counter. He took off the man’s belt.
“Lydia. Come over here and take this belt.”
Lydia walked over and took the belt.
“Now, go around to the other side of this here counter and hook it around this asshole’s neck and kind of pull on it so he stays put.”
Lydia did as she was told. The man looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. He looked blank. Lydia turned away.
“I need to give this guy a couple more lessons before we go,” Hunter said.
He pulled down the man’s pants and then his underwear. For what seemed like forever, he pounded the man’s stomach, penis, and testicles with both hands. When he was done, he stopped and caught his breath. He pulled his vial of meth out of his pocket and took a snort. The veins in his neck were huge and ones that Lydia had never seen before emerged all over his upper body, especially his delts.
Hunter embraced the man. Ran his fingers all over his face and petted the back of his head. Smiled in an almost tender way. Reached down and cupped the man’s testicles in his right hand while caressing his neck and arms.
“Pull tighter on the belt sweetie.”
Lydia just stared, she was unable to move.
“Do it.”
Lydia pulled.
“Harder. Pull very hard, so that he can barely breathe.”
Lydia pulled. Hard.
“Lydia, honey. I really need your help here, this is important shit. Now, really tighten that belt and give it a good tug.”
Lydia twisted the belt with both hands and pulled as hard as she could. The man’s face turned red.
Hunter stroked the man’s penis and whispered into his ear.
“This was a rough experience for you. I understand that, really I do. I know you think I seem harsh. But good customer service is an important part of running a successful business and you needed to be taught a lesson, man.”
Hunter jerked the man harder and faster.
“There, there,” he said gently, his lips touching the man’s ear. “I could see you were a queer from the moment I walked in, and I can tell by how hard your little dick is getting that I was right. You actually loved your little beat down, didn’t you? It’s okay, a lot of faggots like getting beat up.”
Hunter continued to stroke and caress the man, who’d now begun to moan.
“There, there, there, little man.”
The man convulsed and then got quiet. Hunter wiped his hand on the guy’s shirt. He ran his fingers through the blonde hair.
“Okay, Lydia, loosen the belt.” Hunter reached out his hand.
Lydia handed Hunter the belt. The man slumped to the floor. Hunter squatted down so his face was next to the man’s face.
“Okay. This is what’s going to happen now. I’m going to leave you the keys to my truck, and you’re going to install the new tires. You’ll give me the keys to your Silverado, which I’m going to now drive as if it were my own. You can use my Ford as long as I have your truck. You won’t call the police or cause me any trouble, will you, sweet meat?”
Lydia listened. She was certain she was going to faint or vomit.
“Will you?”
“No sir.”
“That’s right,”
Hunter ran his fingers through the man’s hair again. Stood up and dropped the man’s belt and his truck keys in his lap. He held out his hands, and the man gave him his keys.
Afterwards, in the Silverado, Hunter tried to calm Lydia down.
She was certain they were going to be arrested.
“No one is getting arrested, dear. You notice how there was no blood? I punched him just right and only in places he wouldn’t bleed or cause any internal injuries. Shit, I know what I’m doing. I’m like a professional at this shit. He won’t even have to go to the hospital. It’ll never be reported. Can you imagine how scared that guy is of me is right now? He’s never seen anything like Hunter Manning. And the genius thing is,, he actually fucking loved it. He is a citizen of my world now.”
He reached out and put his hand on Lydia’s knee. He smiled.
“Just like you.”
Chapter 12
Matt stood when they called his name for the game. Walked as straight as he could to the table. Managed to find his seat without running into any cocktail waitress or other players. He could tell he generated a buzz when he asked for five grand in chips.
The man to his right bet twenty dollars.
Matt looked around at the other players. He had a hard time focusing. Nearly everyone was a white man about Matt’s age. He couldn’t tell them apart. Some were skinny and some were fat. They all looked ugly and pale. They stared at him. He looked closely at the man to his left. He had a big gut and wore sweatpants and a green polo shirt. He looked like an idiot.
And, directly across from him, was a gray-haired man, about 70 years old. He wore elegant clothes: cream-colored slacks, an open-collar white silk shirt, and a crisp blue blazer. His eyes were intelligent and amused. His face: blank. He gave Matt the creeps.
“Hey, man,” Matt said to the man in the green polo shirt. “What is up?”
“It’s forty bucks to you. You’re the big blind.”
“Huh?” Matt said. He looked at the dealer. Name tag: Rhonda. She was all serious looking. Reminded Matt of Ms. Jackson, his English teacher during his senior year at Davis High School. Shoulder-length brown hair, big plastic glasses, and always a blank, mean expression. Matt hated Ms. Jackson. She nearly flunked him. He had jerked off thinking about her nearly every night that year. Always the same fantasy. Ms. Jackson, wearing tight blue jeans, naked from the waist up, blew cigarette smoke into Matt’s eyes and then laughed. In the fantasy Ms. Jackson’s nails were long with shiny white polish.
