The Shotgun Rule

by Charlie Huston

  Inside, Crawford picks up Bob’s abandoned beer and finishes it, looking at the triple initials carved in the oak: BW/JL/G.

  He thinks about calling Geezer to tell him that Bob Whelan’s poking around for Jeff Loller, but decides he’s better off minding his own fucking business than getting messed up with those three madmen again.

  Geezer looks at Fernando.

  – Bob Whelan’s kids? You got your shit, you got my shit mixed up with Bob Whelan’s kids?

  Fernando shrugs.

  – Their dad’s a construction worker or something, so what?

  Geezer spits.

  – You fucking retard. You retarded spic.

  He looks at George.

  – Spic thinks your dad is a construction worker.

  George wipes his nose.

  – He is.

  Geezer points at him with the grabber.

  – Yeah, that’s right, loser Goddamn construction worker. Could have been a winner. Could have, Jesus, gives me…word? When your heart beats too fast? Palpitations. Gives me palpitations thinking about it, what we could have had.

  A thick throbbing vein splits his forehead in two.

  – Could have had it all. ’Stead I got spic retards doing business for me and most of the money flying away over the hill into Oakland.

  He jabs the grabber in George’s direction.

  – Your dad had kept his shit together, we could have had the whole fucking town.

  – Geezer!

  Geezer stops. Looks at Fernando. Points at Jeff, standing by the open front door.

  – Thought you said the door was locked.

  Jeff takes a step into the room, leaving the door open.

  – What the hell are you doing, man?

  – The hell are you doing, Jeff?

  – I was cruising past. I saw your car.

  Geezer lowers the grabber.

  – And you just ask yourself in?

  Jeff points at George and Hector.

  – Jesus, Geezer.

  – Close the door. Lock the door.

  Jeff shakes his head.

  – No. I. No way, man.

  Geezer squints.

  – What?

  – No way, man. I’m.

  He points.

  – Those are kids, man. Kids. I mean, to hell with them being Bob’s kids. They’re kids period. You can’t.

  Geezer nods.

  – Jeff, close the door, man. Yeah, they’re kids. You think I did this shit to them? You’ve seen my place. Who loves kids? Who loves kids? I love kids. This shit? Who else is in the room, Jeff?

  He points at Fernando.

  – You see who else is in the room and, seeing him in here, you assume, you make the assumption that I would do this?

  – Man, don’t.

  – Wait. You wait. I’ve been accused, of hurting kids I’ve been accused. What other…the word? Shit. The word when you have no other choice, it’s the only path you have?

  – Recourse?

  Geezer scratches his calf with the grabber.

  – That’s it. Recourse. Being accused, I have no recourse but to defend myself. Fernando, close the door, will you.

  Fernando takes a step toward the door, toward Jeff.

  Jeff shows him the ten inch crescent wrench he took from the Harley’s tool kit.

  – Stay over there, Fernando.

  Fernando stays put.

  – Don’t want to be waving a wrench at me, Loller, not unless you got a gun in your other hand.

  – I ain’t a kid, man. I was skinning knuckles on motherfuckers’ teeth when you were flunking kindergarten.

  – Hey, makes two of us.

  – Just stay over there.

  – Whatever you say, pendejo.

  – Yeah, fuck your mother.

  Geezer grunts.

  – Jeff.

  – Don’t talk, Geezer. Seriously, man. I mean, all the respect in the world, but just, you know, shut up.

  – Jeff.

  – No, I mean it. Telling these kids ’bout that shit. Beating on kids. That’s fucked up. So just can it. I don’t want to hear.

  – Kids! Kids! Kids! We were barely older than they are. Being a kid matters what kind of shit you get up to? And these kids are just the tip of the iceberg.

  – They’re thieves, Geezer! They’re punkass thieves. They. You know, I’m not a, whatever, a scientist or something, but I figured out what you’re thinking. And there’s no one moving in on you, you paranoid son of a bitch. Man, Amy Whelan isn’t running some game on you. She’s not into your business. She’s doesn’t want anything to do with Oakland. So, look. I’m taking the kids out of here. I got to. I’m like a friend of the family, sort of. I’ve. That kid, that’s Bob’s oldest, man, I remember when that kid was a baby, man.

  – Jeff, my man, you think you know what you’re talking about, but you don’t. Alright, you don’t know shit about the deal, I believe that, you’ve never had a clue. But you expect me to think it’s coincidence? My lab gets busted? Just as I’m trying to set up a new lab, increase the profitability of the venture here, have a little something on the side that Oakland doesn’t know about, just as I’m doing that, some kids stumble in and screw things up? Oh, and hey, the kids just happen to be Amy Whelan’s nephews? Just happen to be Bob Whelan’s kids? I’m gonna believe that shit? Let me tell you, I never, I never believed for a second he was out of it for good. I always knew he’d come back around. Pounding nails when he could be pounding skulls? Bob Whelan? That was never gonna last. Scratching out whatever he makes when he could have the fat of the land? No, uh uh, I am an obese, foul mouthed and racist motherfucker, I am white trash to my Tony Lamas, but I am not that stupid. You, look, close the door and let me explain a few things to you about profit and loss and the kind of money we’re talking about. The kind of money we’re talking about, kids don’t just stumble in and screw things up. It’s common sense. It’s counter…the word?

  Jeff hefts the wrench.

  – I don’t know the word, man. Just shut the fuck up before I forget myself and put this through your fat face.

  Geezer shrugs and draws an invisible zipper closed across his lips.

  Jeff sees Ramon.

  – Fucking A.

  He looks at Fernando.

  – Your brother looks like hell, man.

  – No shit.

  – Yeah. Well. Go lay down on the floor on your face or I’ll bust your teeth out.

  Fernando lies down on his face.

  Jeff crosses to the boys.

  – I am sorry about this, Geezer. Seriously, I will make it up to you. But you know, after you cool off, I think you’re gonna thank me. You were getting away from yourself here. Once you get a chance to sit back and think about it, you’ll know this is the way to handle this. These kids, they’re punks, smartasses, but they’re not like a part of a conspiracy kind of thing. They fucked up. They fucked up and they learned their lesson. Thing we got to do now, we got to get them home and safe and put this behind us. Make up some story ’bout how they got in a fight or something. Keep Bob out of this. That’s what we got to do now.

  He squats in front of George and Hector.

  – Hey, George. You OK, man? Hector, you look like, man, you look like the Hunchback, man. No, no, I didn’t mean that, you’re OK. Gonna. Jesus.

  He looks over his shoulder.

  – Fuck, Geezer. Kids.

  Geezer keeps his lips zipped.

  – Jeff.

  He looks at George.

  – What’s up, man, ready to split? Where’s your bro? Where’s Paul? Let’s get you guys out of here. Know who’s gonna patch you up? Your aunt. How good is that, having a nurse for your aunt when shit like this comes down? C’mon, guys, take a hand, let’s get up.

  – Jeff.

  – I ever tell you, me and your dad, I ever tell you the time we went toe to toe with those Angels? The real deal. Angels from the Oakland chapter, out here making trouble. Me and your pop, we came out o
f it looking a hell of a lot worse than you do. Those Angels though, when we were done with them, they made us look pretty.

  Geezer unzips it.

  – Right, tell them another one. Like you had anything to do with what those Angels looked like when that went down. Kids, listen to me, this guy, he threw a couple punches, got knocked down and stayed down.

  – Fuck you, Geez.

  – You, George, your old man, he wrecked those cocksuckers. Had this baseball bat he used to carry with him, the handle sawed off, wrapped in tape, had nails driven through the head of it, galvanized. Know why he used galvanized nails?

  Jeff stuffs the wrench in his boot top and takes each boy by the hand.

  – Shut it, Geezer.

  Geezer laughs.

  – Said he used galvanized nails so the blood wouldn’t rust them.

  He coughs, chokes, laughs again.

  – No shit, kids, that night, he laid the law down on those Angels. Ever see a guy try to talk when he’s got nail holes in his cheek? Blood just sprays all over. Funny as hell.

  Jeff squeezes George’s arm.

  – Don’t listen to him, he’s full of shit.

  – Hey, hey, I’m just finishing the story you started. If you’d been up to finishing it, I’d have kept my mouth shut. Like Bob, if he’d been up to finishing what he started that day, none of us would be here, yeah? These spics wouldn’t be anywhere near this business if Bob had taken the bull by the horns. His kids never would have crossed paths with the Arroyos, right? And me and you, shit, we’d be working together. Working with Bob. Kids, your dad had done the right thing and stood behind the message he sent that night, if he’d gone over the hill to Oakland and finished the job on their ground, you wouldn’t need to be ripping off my crank, you’d have it running hot and cold from your taps. But he had better things to do. And don’t come on all noble about kids, Loller, you were pissed about it just as much as I was.

  Jeff lets go of the boys’ arms, takes hold of the wrench again and rises.

  – Shut up! It’s past! It’s over! No one else thinks about it anymore but you.

  – You don’t think about it, Jeff? You telling me you don’t think about it every time you put on that Security Eye uniform?

  Jeff bites his lip.

  – The way it is is the way it is and.

  – The way it is is the way it is. You lameass hippie loser.

  – Fucking shut up, man.

  – Jeff!

  He looks down at George.

  – What, George, what?

  – He’s got a gun.

  Jeff is turning his head when Geezer shoots. The bullet takes him in the jaw and blows the bottom of his face onto the wall and he falls on top of George and Hector.

  Hector throws up, the vomit burning the torn flesh inside his mouth.

  George blinks, trying to clear his eyes of Jeff’s blood.

  Fernando gets up on his hands and knees.

  – Shit, Geez.

  – Shut up. Get the other one. Get the comatose kid in here. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this shit right now.

  Fernando heads for the master bedroom, staring at Jeff’s ripped face, bumping into a wall on the way.

  Geezer waits till he’s gone before breaking the barrel of the derringer and popping out the spent shell casing.

  – You kids, you don’t know it, but you just saw a hell of a shot.

  He digs an extra round from his pocket and drops it in the empty chamber and snaps the little two shot gun closed.

  – Hitting someone in the head from across the room with a gun like this? That’s some shooting. That’s marksmanship.

  George is pulling up the tail of his ruined concert T, wiping his face.

  Hector is using his feet to push Jeff’s body away from them.

  Geezer places the gun on his massive thigh and takes off his hat and wipes his head.

  – Ever see a dead body before? Like that, messy and fresh? No, course you haven’t. George. I’m talking to you. You listening?-I?

  George gives his face a final wipe. Opens his eyes, the lids sticking together slightly.

  – I’m listening.

  – Good, get attentive. ’Cause this body, if I don’t get answers to my questions, it’s going to be the first of many. You’re going to see a lifetime’s worth of corpses in no time. ’Nando! Get the fuck back in here with the kid’s brother.

  George starts to get up.

  – Hey, leave Andy.

  – You wanted to see your brother, kid, you’re gonna see him. ’Nando!

  – We don’t. It was just his bike, man. Sir, it was. They stole his bike.

  – Save it. And sit the fuck down. ’Nando! There you are, what the fuck?

  – He ain’t there.

  Geezer picks up his gun.

  – What?

  – Kid’s gone.

  Bob takes the long way home, covering streets he missed before. Coming around the back way, he sees Kyle Cheney’s car parked two blocks from where it should be. Man’s car maybe broke down on his way to work. After five now, could be he’s up. For that matter, could be Paul’s home. Could be Andy and George are the only ones missing

  He passes his own house and parks in front of Cheney’s.

  There’s no answer when he knocks.

  He walks down a couple houses to Hector’s. Mrs. Sanchez will be up for sure. Getting breakfast together. Just ask her if the boys have been around. And watch her get as panicked as Cindy. No, not yet, there’s no need for that yet.

  He turns and walks to his truck, stands with his hand on the door, looks down the street to his own home.

  Go down there and tell Cindy.

  Can’t find them. Don’t know where they are. I don’t know where our sons are.

  He lets go of the door and squats, dips his head between his shoulders. God. Don’t know where the boys are. Don’t know where they are. Don’t know if they’re safe.

  A nightmare of fathers.

  Man’s first job, keep his family safe. No reason to be if you can’t do that.

  A car turns the corner and he stands, rising quickly so he won’t be seen like this. The car goes past, a stranger at the wheel.

  He wishes he’d had a real drink at the Rodeo instead of a beer.

  He opens the door and climbs inside the truck and starts the motor and puts it in gear so he can drive down the block and tell his wife.

  Across the street, something gleams behind a bush.

  He gets out of the truck and walks over there and finds two bikes stashed behind one of the huge pampas grass bushes the new couple put in when they bought the corner house.

  One bike is Paul Cheney’s Redline.

  The other is George’s Mongoose.

  He turns and stares at Kyle Cheney’s house.

  It’s exactly like being invisible.

  Being in a room of people, almost in plain sight, and none of them seeing you, that’s exactly like being invisible.

  Andy clenches his teeth.

  No, that’s not right, it’s not exactly like being invisible. Well, it could be, but he’s in no position to say. Never having actually been invisible. It’s more precise and accurate to say that it’s exactly as he imagines being invisible would be.

  There, no one could fault him for that usage.

  The fat guy stops yelling at Fernando.

  Something’s happening.

  He wants to look up, lift his face from where it’s tucked against his chest and take a look at the room. But he knows the movement will expose him. The trick to it, to folding up here on the floor just at the end of the couch, the trick is to be still. That’s why he hides his face, even the movement of his eyes would draw attention.

  It took forever to get here.

  Getting from the bathroom to the kitchen hadn’t been that hard. Using all the stuff going on in the livingroom, moving down the hall and across the edge of the room while the fat guy was arguing with Fernando, that had been pretty easy. But
getting out of the kitchen and in here had been really hard.

  Once Jeff showed up it happened fast. Everyone focused on Jeff. It was like a magic trick. Legerdemain. Everyone is watching one thing, while what’s important is happening somewhere else.

  And once Jeff and the fat guy started talking, it was so easy to stay perfectly still, not to move at all. Just to listen to the story of their father.

  When the fat guy said the thing about his dad hitting people with a baseball bat with galvanized nails in it, he knew right away why the nails were galvanized. It’s exactly the way he would do it, too. He thinks about making a bat like that. You’d also want to make sure the wood was well sealed so the blood didn’t seep in and make it swell. If that happened, it would eventually crack. That’s probably the way their dad did it, he’s good at making things.

  He pictures hitting someone in the head with something like that. You’d have to be pretty strong, it’d be heavy, and the nails would get stuck in the bone and it would be hard to pull free. And, yeah, the fat guy is right, blood would spray out of those holes in your cheek if you tried to talk, the air pressure inside your mouth would make that happen.

  It sure sounds like a real story, like something that really happened. And if it did, that might mean he’s not as weird as he thinks he is. Well, still plenty weird, but maybe not so scary weird. Because he’s thought about doing stuff like that, but it sounds like his dad really has done stuff like that. So maybe it’s not so bad to have those things in your head. Or, at least, maybe there’s a reason for them getting in there.

  When the gun goes off he only moves a tiny bit. Just enough to look and see what’s happened to Jeff. Then he closes his eyes again. Because it’s not his brother or Hector, and he can deal with that. Plus, having his eyes closed keeps the room from spinning. Sure his head still hurts and his left eye still feels loose in its socket, but as long as the room doesn’t spin around like he’s been drinking Thunderbird all day long he can deal with it.

  Now the fat guy is talking again.

  – Get that loser out of here.

  He opens his eyes and the room stays still. Fernando is right in front of him, pointing at Jeff’s dead body.