The Shotgun Rule

by Charlie Huston

  Geezer comes in and points at the floor next to Hector.

  – Put him over there.

  Fernando shoves George and George joins his friend, his back against the wall.

  – Fuck, Hector, your face is all fucked up.

  – Doesh ish look punk?

  – It looks fucked up.

  Geezer stands in front of Ramon.

  – Want to scoot over and make some room?

  Ramon scoots, shifting his hacksaw.

  Geezer works his way down on the couch, the thin and threadbare cushions flattening beneath him. He swipes the back of his hand under his chins.

  – Why’s this place got no AC?

  Ramon picks at the edge of the bandage on his thigh.

  – You know us wetbacks, jefe, we like it hot.

  Geezer looks at the tiny spot of red that’s oozed through the bandage.

  – Uh huh. How’s the leg feeling?

  – Hurts when it’s cold.

  – Uh huh.

  Geezer looks at him, looks away.

  – You, you kids, faces front over here.

  Hector and George look at him.

  He shrugs.

  – This is pretty messed up, huh?

  Nothing.

  – I said, this is pretty messed up, huh?

  George nods.

  – Yeah, yeah, it’s messed up. Hey, look, man, we, you know, we, whatever we fucked up, you know, that was, it was wrong, but, I told Fernando, you know, my little brother, he’s, man, he, you saw him.

  – He’s comatose is what he is, kid.

  – He needs a doctor, man, sir. Just, whatever we can, like, whatever, I’ll do it, but he’s really hurt.

  – Uh huh, uh huh. OK, good, you…What’s your name?

  – George.

  – George. You got a good head on your shoulders over there. You’re getting the situation exactly. Your brother is really hurt bad. He needs a doctor. And you guys, you need to do whatever you need to do to help him. That’s a great…the word? For when there’s a lot to say and someone puts it all together in one piece. Wraps it up?

  Fernando looks at his feet.

  – We get it.

  – You get it, but what’s the word? The word, the exact word is what I want to get. I give a fuck if you get it.

  Ramon raises his hand.

  – Call on me, call on me.

  Geezer wipes more sweat from the back of his neck, looks at him.

  – You got something to say, Ramon, say it.

  – Just trying to keep my place, jefe.

  – The word?

  – Summation.

  Geezer waves his hat at Fernando.

  – You got a pen or a pencil, something to write with? Some paper?

  Fernando goes into the kitchen.

  Geezer faces the boys again.

  – Summation. That was a great summation of your situation, George.

  George looks at Hector, looks back at the fat man.

  – Cool, cool. Thanks. So, you’re gonna call 911?

  Fernando comes back in with a yellow pencil and an old envelope.

  – Here you go, Geezer.

  Geezer takes them with the grabber and puts them on the arm of the couch.

  – Your brother opens up his vocabulary again, I want to be able to write shit down so I don’t forget it. OK. OK. George. I’m gonna do whatever I can for your little brother. I’m gonna get him whatever help we can get for him.

  – Cool. OK. OK.

  – I’m gonna do that just as soon as you tell me where my meth is.

  – Sure. I. Your? What? I don’t?

  – George.

  – I don’t.

  – George, cool it for a second. Before you say another thing, shut up and tell me the first word you just said.

  – Word?

  – What was the first word, when I asked you where my meth is, my half kilo of crystal methamphetamine, what was the first word out of your mouth?

  – I. Fuck, man, sir, I have no.

  – Sure. You said, sure. Like telling me where it is would be no problem at all. So don’t go back on that, that was the way to handle this, that was the way to get some help for your brother. Tell me, just tell me where my meth is.

  George looks at a mass of dusty cobwebs clogging one of the high corners of the room.

  – Mister, I have, really, man, sir, I have no idea. I. Sure just came out of my mouth.

  He looks the fat man in the eye, looks back at the spiderwebs.

  – I don’t know. I just want to help my brother, I just want to get out of here and help my brother and go home and.

  He stops talking and starts crying, burying his face in his arms.

  Geezer looks at Hector.

  – What about you, muchacho, gonna tell me where my meth is?

  Hector pokes his shattered front teeth with his tongue, stops staring at Ramon and flicks his eyes at Geezer.

  – I don’sh know.

  – Uh huh. OK. Think you can maintain for a few more questions, or you a crybaby like your friend?

  Hector shakes his head. It hurts.

  – I ain’sh no crybaby.

  Ramon laughs.

  – Shuck yoush, Ramosh. Gonna shucking kill yoush.

  Ramon laughs harder.

  Geezer looks at him.

  – What?

  – Hey, nothing, jefe, just you should have heard him before. He cried plenty before. Lost his…the word? Lost his composure. Know that one, jefe?

  Geezer wheezes out a laugh and picks up the pencil.

  – OK, you got me, that was funny. Composure. Gonna put that one down.

  He licks the tip of the pencil and grips it like a dagger and slams the sharp lead down on the spot of blood that shows through the bandage on Ramon’s thigh, ripping through the gauze and the stitches below.

  – How about trauma, shitheelfuckface!?! Know that word!?! Know that word, you fuckingspicfucker!?!

  Ramon grabs Geezer’s hand, trying to peel his fat fingers off the pencil, unable to get a grip on the greasy, sweaty skin.

  – Stop moving, spic, fucking be still and take it.

  Fernando is coming across the room.

  Geezer takes his chrome.32 derringer out of the pocket of his sweat suit and presses it against Ramon’s nose.

  – Fernando, get back over there. Fucking brother asked for it, he’s getting it now. You gonna take his medicine for him? Yes? No?

  Fernando shakes his head.

  – Good. Get back over there.

  He cocks the derringer.

  – Ramon, you stop whining and wiggling right now or I’m gonna shoot your nose off. No shit, jailbird. Go back in the joint with no nose, know what’s gonna happen? Someone’s gonna fuck you in your nose hole and cum in your lungs.

  Ramon stops moving.

  Geezer keeps the derringer where it is.

  – OK. Got everybody’s attention? You boys. George, you there?

  – Yes, sir.

  – Little amigo?

  – Yeah.

  – Good, I want your attention here because this is…fuck…the word? When something is important to someone, when it applies to their situation? Ramon? You gonna help me out here?

  Ramon stares at the pencil in his leg, licks his lips.

  – Relevant?

  – Relevant! Got it again. Damn, did you swallow a dictionary in there? OK, boys, got that? This is relevant to your situation.

  Geezer’s eyes circle the room, going from face to face, making sure they’re paying attention. And once he’s certain, he flattens his empty hand and slaps it down on the pencil, driving it into the bullet hole in Ramon’s leg until just the pink eraser is visible, quickly turning red.

  Ramon shakes, opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, shakes, and passes out.

  Fernando turns his face away, closes his eyes.

  George takes Hector’s hand.

  Geezer wipes his hand on Ramon’s plaid shirt.

  – So
, now that we’re all clear, now that the situation has a summation and we know what is relevant here, we can all take half a second to regain our composure. And now you can tell me where the one fucking bag of meth the cops did not get is. Is it at your home?

  George shakes his head.

  – No, sir.

  – Did you sell it already?

  – No, sir.

  – Did you give it to cunt Amy Whelan to sell for you? Cuz that’s what I’m thinking. That is the, here’s another one for you, the essence, of why I’m here. Because I have a feeling that cunt has you shits fucking around in my business.

  – No, sir. No, sir, that’s not true.

  Geezer points the derringer at the nub of bloody pencil.

  – You see this?

  – Yes, sir.

  – What is up with Amy and where’s my meth?

  The doorbell rings.

  Geezer points his tiny gun at the door.

  – The fuck? Who the fuck is that?

  Fernando opens his eyes. Looks at Ramon, sees his chest rising and falling, looks at Geezer.

  – I don’t know.

  – Well go check.

  Fernando goes to the door, peels back the corner of the filthy curtain that covers the window, drops it, and opens the door and stands back to let Paul in.

  – I got your meth, dick.

  – Bob? What’re you?

  He pulls on his other sneaker.

  – Just putting my shoes on, babe.

  Cindy rubs her eyes and sits up.

  – What? Where are you? What’s the?

  – The boys aren’t back yet.

  – Not. What time?

  She picks up the clock from the nightstand.

  – It’s after four. Bob, it’s after four. How long?

  – It’s cool. They’re fine. I’m just gonna take a little drive around.

  Her fingers whiten around the clock.

  – But. What about? You said you heard them come in.

  He gets an old sleeveless sweatshirt from the laundry basket on the floor.

  – I was wrong.

  She pulls the covers off.

  – That was hours ago. Where are?

  He walks into the bathroom and turns on the faucet.

  – They weren’t home, Cin. OK? I got up in the middle of the Goddamn night and they weren’t home, OK?

  – Did you call anyone? Did you call the?

  – Hey, can I? You want me to tell you what happened or what?

  She walks to the open door of the bathroom and stands looking at him.

  He splashes some water on his face, turns the faucet off and lets the water drip off his chin.

  – OK. I got up, they weren’t home. I knew they weren’t home, but there’s no use both of us being up worrying.

  – Did you call Paul’s or Hector’s parents?

  He takes a hand towel from the bar on the back of the door and wipes his face.

  – What for? So they can worry? The boys aren’t gonna sneak out of here just to sneak into Paul or Hector’s house.

  She grabs the hem of her T, Bob’s old Texaco shirt from when he worked at the gas station. She balls the fabric and twists it.

  – And the police?

  He throws the towel on the floor.

  – No, I haven’t called the cops. If they’re there, they’re there.

  – Bob.

  – It’s not that big a deal you know. Whatever kind of trouble they got themselves into, I’m not my dad. Not like I’m gonna do anything if they got picked up or had a few beers.

  – Bob.

  – What? What? What am I doing now? What am I doing wrong now?

  She brings up her little hands, slaps his chest.

  – I don’t care if they’re in fucking jail, you asshole! What if they’re not, Bob? What if they’re not? I want to know where my sons are! Right now! I want to know where my sons are, you son of a bitch. Where are my sons?

  He has to take her by the wrists to keep her from slapping his face. By the time she stops he has her wrapped up tight, pressed to his chest, rocking her back and forth.

  – It’s OK, babe. They’re OK. They probably just got picked up. Got picked up after curfew and they don’t want to give the cops their name because they don’t want to get in trouble or something. If they’re not, listen, if they’re not at the police station when I call, I’m gonna go out and get them. I’m gonna go find them. It’s cool. Shhh. You’re gonna stay here, OK? Stay here. I’m gonna run around like a chicken with my head cut off and make an ass of myself showing up at all the places they hang at and you’re gonna stay here and be here when they come home with their tails between their legs. OK? They’re just at someone’s house. Some kid threw a house party last night and they all got loaded and passed out on the floor. They’re gonna wake up sick as dogs and when they come home you’re gonna get to nurse them and take care of them and I promise I won’t give them any shit till they’re feeling better. OK? OK, babe?

  She pulls herself away from him.

  – I’ll call the cops.

  He puts a hand on her shoulder.

  – I’ll call them, babe.

  She slips under his hand.

  – No, I’ll call them. You should have called them when you got up, Bob. I’ll call them.

  He stays in the bathroom, and is standing with his toothbrush in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other when she makes the call and the police tell her they don’t have her sons in custody.

  Geezer’s place is still dark. Just the porch light on, illuminating the spread of patio furniture and the scattered kiddy stuff.

  Jeff stands in the middle of the gravel drive, staring at the Big Wheel and Hippity Hop and the big rainbow swirled rubber ball and the miniature croquet set with plastic mallets. His pupils are huge, gathering the bright colors bouncing off the toys.

  Damn, those whites are intense. Not your run of the mill speed. This shit is, woof, is gonna make for an all night thing. Bad call taking it for a test run. Got the morning shift tomorrow. Today. In a few hours.

  Fuck.

  Where’s Geezer?

  Need to talk to him. Have a quick word about Amy and that crank thing.

  That was a choke. Double choke. Bringing it up with Geezer was a choke. Bringing it up with Amy was a double. She chilled eventually, but it took some talking. I mean, of course he didn’t go over there looking to set her up. Just that Geezer put the idea in his head that she might be moving some crank and a little of that sounded good. Should have kept his mouth shut. First Geezer’s all freaked about Amy, and now Amy’s all freaked about Geezer. And here he is in the middle.

  Well.

  It’ll be cool. Just need to have a word with Geezer and put it straight. And it won’t hurt to do a solid for Amy. Sure he kind of fucked up a little, but if he can put it right she’s gonna be feeling pretty warm toward him. Felt good just stroking her back when she started crying. Woman has kept herself in damn good shape.

  Yeah, it’ll all be cool with Amy.

  And the kids.

  It’ll be cool with them, too. Just as soon as they get their asses back here it’ll be cool. Should have been here by now, drop off whatever they grabbed from the house so he can take it to Geezer. But they’re not.

  Smartasses are somewhere fucking around.

  Probably better that the fat man’s not home. If he was home, if he was waiting for the guys to show up with the score from that house, he’d be ready to blow, man. Ready to teach those smartasses a lesson.

  Not that he’d really hurt them. Geezer’s a tough nut, but he’s got limits. He’d never go heavy on some kids. Just scare them straight like the kids in that program in the prisons. He wouldn’t fuck them up. Shit, he likes kids. Keeps all these toys and shit around for the little kids in the trailer park to mess with. Parents come over here to score some meth or whatever, they can leave their kids out front to play. Don’t have to take them inside where they’ll see all that shit. That�
�s good looking out for the kids on Geezer’s part. Yeah, it’ll be fine.

  He grinds his teeth.

  Just, where are those smartasses?

  Getting Bob’s kids mixed up in Geezer’s shit. What was that? Was that the lamest move in history, or what? What was he thinking? That hard up for a couple bucks? That big a loser?

  Damn it to fuck.

  He kicks the Hippity Hop again, sending it up onto Geezer’s porch, ricocheting off the door.

  Loser.

  He turns and heads back to his own trailer, where the lights burn bright and “Taking Care of Business” comes out the front door. He takes his seat on the milk crate and gets back to work on the almost completed carburetor rebuild.

  Get it done and take a little ride to make sure the bike’s running smooth. Cruise around, check out some of the smartasses’ hangouts. Get this shit sorted out before it gets complicated.

  Maybe roll past that house.

  – So where is it?

  – Let me and my friends go and I’ll bring it here.

  – No.

  – Yes.

  – No.

  – Yes.

  – No.

  – Yes.

  Geezer runs his index finger over the derringer in his pocket, tracing the swirls engraved on the stubby barrel.

  – What’s your name?

  Paul flips him off.

  – None of your fucking business.

  Geezer closes his eyes, snaps the grabber open and closed a couple times, and opens his eyes.

  – Kid, let me tell you, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be going through all this just to get my hands on one measly half kilo of meth. Under normal circumstances, someone steals from me, I’d just have them knocked unconscious and dragged out by the quarry and their legs or an arm laid across the train tracks and to hell with the half kilo.

  He sighs.

  – But these are not normal circumstances. In these circumstances, you shits got my lab busted. In these circumstances, the new lab these muchachos were supposed to have up and running here is not up and running. In these circumstances, I now have a serious fucking problem as far as what kind of cash I have on hand to pay people over in Oakland who want to be paid when they want to be paid and don’t give fuck all what my circumstances are.

  He takes out the derringer.

  – All of which is a long way of saying if you want to keep your arms and legs attached to your body you better tell me where my meth is.