Owen didn’t move or say anything. Turning around to Ben, his mind was chaotic and full of angst. Of course, Scar couldn’t leave without taking one more shot at him. Once again, Owen passed the test. But from way that Scar turned his attention away so quickly, it was likely that he didn’t care about Owen’s reaction. Still, each time it occurred, his insides rattled like the tail of a rattlesnake.
Ben whispered what they were both thinking. “He knows.”
“He’s had an idea for some time. He ain’t got any concrete evidence though.”
“If you ask me, he’s torturing you in his own weird way.”
“All he’s trying to do is crack me like an egg. He’s waited 15 years for me to do it. He’ll have to wait another 15…if I am alive by then.”
A foul ball came fairly close to the two brothers to cause a bit of a distraction. Ben adjusted himself through his pocket before speaking. “With his reputation, you’d think he would have done something to you by now, or at least tried.”
“Oh, he did. Not long after you know what happened, he found me outside of what used to be Jay’s One Stop. He hit first and asked questions later. God, he hit like a freight train. Had to pull a gun on him. Threatened to shoot him right in the face if he didn’t back off.”
“I ain’t ever heard this. What happened after that?”
“He did back off. Never really attacked me again. Not sure why. Thinking about it made for many sleepless nights back then. Usually passed out with a drink in one hand and my gun in the other.”
“He tried to pick up where his brother left off,” stated Ben. “Probably why he is so successful. Roy laid the groundwork for him.”
Biting a jagged part of his thumbnail, Owen watched Scar as he peered into the upper opening of the dugout, smiling and chatting with an equally elated Austin. Owen took a large swig of his beer in hopes of drowning his jealousy, but at the same time, he felt somewhat relieved that Scar was there for him. While he was a poor role model, Owen took an odd sense of relief knowing that someone else besides his brother would be there for Austin for the boy, in case this disease did end him. He always asked himself what was Scar’s reasons for it. Was he thinking too hard about it? Scar was Austin’s uncle, so why in the world would he not care about the kid? With a family that was as tight as the Graysons, it made sense. But Scar was extremely into his nephew’s life, to the point where you would think he was his actual father. If there was a fund raiser, Scar would donate. At any school function, Scar would be there, ready to cheer Austin on.
Owen sometimes pondered whether Scar actually saw himself as his father. His exuberance of playing that paternal role added fuel to the fire of long lasting rumors about Scar. Everyone in Wood, Van Zandt and Smith counties knew about Scar and his reputation of getting damn near any woman he wanted. He was the type to walk into a bar, point at a random female, and it was almost guaranteed that they would be fornicating before the night was through. So at his age and his desire to continue on strong descendants to the Grayson bloodline, how had he not sired his own children? One of Owen’s former women had a friend who was with Scar for a fair period of time. According to her, she stated that Scar went inside her almost every time. The girl thought there was something wrong with her. Yet, a few weeks into relations with a new guy caused her to get pregnant. It was unknown of Scar’s condition, but no one dared ask him about it.
With a cheerless look pasted on his face, Owen leaned over the chain link fence and turned his attention back to the game. Austin was now out in the field, primed and ready at second base to field anything hit to him. Seeing Austin’s genuine happiness out there depressed Owen. Will I ever be that happy again? He had been maudlin ever since he was diagnosed with his affliction, and even more so after Grace rejected him. He hazily recalled not minding if he accidentally drove his truck into a tree on the drunken drive home. But a good night’s sleep help cleared up those ideas. All he needed was a bit of time to get over Grace. He didn’t really love her. He just liked the idea of her. Silently, he wished her the best. She could do better than him.
What would the fallout be if death indeed came for him? It was a likely outcome, and one he needed to think hard about. Ben was a good brother and uncle, but with his job, he could not look after Austin on a full-time basis. Taylor wouldn’t be a bad choice as a stay at home mother, but Owen respected Ben and his family that he couldn't bear to add another burden upon them. Ben couldn’t just take Austin away from Clint and Ali without substantial evidence. Austin generally kept his mouth shut about what happens inside the home. Owen never knew if the boy didn’t say anything because of threats from Clint or not. They had been investigated before from Child Protective Services and they couldn’t find any motives to begin a case. If alone, perhaps Ali might be adequate enough to raise Austin decently, but she wouldn’t leave Clint, because he supplies her drugs, and that is all she really cares for. He couldn't fathom what went through his daughter's head most of the time. Scar might help, but Owen could never trust him. Without Owen, there would likely be no Tomkins influence in Austin’s life.
Owen sighed loudly. If he were to die, the future would be uncertain for his one love left in his life. On cue, a player from the opposing team hit a sharp ground ball to Austin. Making it look easy, the boy scooped up the ground ball and threw it to first base for the out. The sounds of applause could be heard after the play. Scar’s cheers could be heard over the others.
Quietly, he let the rest of his beer spill to the ground.
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“Get the fuck in the house!”
“Go fuck yourself! This is all your fucking fault!”
“My fucking fault!? My fucking fault!? If you weren't such a drug-addicted whore, we would have never ever been in this god damn situation!”
The girl furiously grabbed and pulled her own hair from the scalp. “Well excuse me for trying to make money for my family!”
The man was almost speechless. “Seriously? You think you did all this for your family!? Oh my god, I can't even count the number of dicks you sucked on my fingers and toes! It ain't about the family at all! It's all about another man's cock inside of you and a needle in your arm. So shut your fucking mouth, Patricia!”
“You ain’t any different!”
“I’m working on it, alright!? More than I can say about you!”
“Urgh! Fuck you!”
Patricia just shook her head fiercely, with eyes more piercing than a tiger hunting its prey. She said nothing more as she entered the house, pushing open the door fiercely into the wall behind it. If she had the strength to rip the door from its hinges, she would have.
Finally, Owen was alone, which is what he wanted. Not because of his need for solitude, but because of what events may still transpire. Looking up at the sky that wasn't covered by the reaching trees above, he noticed dark clouds moving in. It was probably the cold front that he heard about on the local news channel yesterday, as his exposed skin on his hands and face could feel the temperature slowly decline. He quickly opened the passenger side door to his truck and pulled out a handgun from the glove box. Checking the clip, he was relieved to find it fully loaded. Unfortunately, it didn’t give him peace of mind. His breaths became harder and faster. Nerves set in and the adrenaline rush he had over the last hour was finally diminishing. Instead, panic had overtaken him. He had only experienced this feeling before with certain drugs, but his uncertainty of what the coming days, hours, or even minutes had in store for him and his family made his heart and mind race frantically. Grasping his gun tightly in his palm, Owen tried to calm himself as he waited.
A thought hit his head like a hammer to a nail, exacerbating his panicking. Where’s my daughter? Why can’t I remember? He rubbed his hands through his dark medium-length hair, hoping that would jog his cloudy memory. She wasn’t with his mother, so that only left her friend Cal
lie’s house, which was a half-mile away. Ali was likely safer over there, but he would rather have her close by. Even if Patricia was acting hysterical, she would calm down once Ali was with her. Plus, he just needed to see her beautiful face, just in case something happened to him. Before heading off. Owen considered lighting up a joint that he had stashed away in his console. It would help calm his nerves and allow him to think clearly. But he quickly disregarded that notion. He wanted to make a concerted effort to kick as many bad drug habits as he could. The needle, the dope, the weed, everything. Slowly, he felt his breathing calm down. He had to stay strong, for his fiancé and daughter's sake.
Quickly hopping into his truck, he sped down the dirt road, kicking up dust and gravel. It took barely a minute for him to slam to arrive at Callie’s house, slamming on the brakes loudly in the small driveway. Keeping his firearm in his vehicle, he jogged quickly to the front door. Callie's parents had already opened the front door, both aged and with concerned looks on their faces. Owen apologized for braking too fast and calmly, though still feigning panic, asked where Ali was. The parents figured they were somewhere off in the woods behind their house. Thanking the family, Owen slowly walked until he was out of sight from Callie’s parents, then sprinted off into the trees. It was a cloudy day, and the birds filled the skies and the branches of the trees, chirping so loudly that it was almost impossible to hear any other sounds. Any other day, he would have enjoyed that warm feeling he received when walking into the woods. Nevertheless, he continued into the woods, listening closely for the voices of gossiping little girls.
After 20 minutes of searching, he finally found the girls picking flowers in a small glade near a still creek. He wished he could admire the serenity of Ali doing such a small, feminine activity, but time was of the essence. As he told her to come along with him, trickles of panic came out of his voice. She picked up his distress quickly and asked what was wrong. Owen insisted that it was nothing over and over again. Eventually, he had to grab her arm and pull her away from her friend to get her to leave. She initially resisted, but succumbed to his will and strength. He felt awful, for it was the first time in his life, he was somewhat physical with her.
After pulling into his driveway, he quickly told Ali to run inside the house. She did as he asked without even asking why, but stopped halfway when she noticed a different truck pulling into the driveway behind them. The vehicle parked behind Owen's truck, almost bumping it with its large metal grille guard. The newly arrived truck had a high lift, with large mud tires and a decal that said ‘redneck’ in big bold red letters on the top area of the windshield. Owen recognized that truck. Most people around here did. Before he stepped out of his truck, he placed his gun in the back waistline of his jeans, then through his shirt over it to conceal it. Leery about the coming sequences of his life, he stepped out of his vehicle, ready to pull the trigger if need be.
On cue, the visiting driver's door opened up, creaking loudly. A large man wearing snakeskin cowboy boots with blue jeans over it hopped off the side step. The individual was a good six inches taller than Owen. He had a slight beer belly, short light brown hair and arms that looked to burst out of his plain white shirt. An unkempt goatee grew on his emotionless and wrinkled face, though he was the same age as Owen. His furrowed and thick eyebrows showed he was all business.
“Owen,” boomed the man.
“Roy.”
Roy Grayson sized him up, examining him from head to toe. “You know why I'm here?”
Owen could feel Roy's eyes sizing him up. His stern gaze could cause paralysis to a weaker man. Nevertheless, he stayed outwardly strong. “Maybe.”
“Don't maybe me. You either do or you don't.”
Turning around to see Ali still outside, Owen almost blew a gasket. “I said get in the damn house, Ali!”
Frightened and hurt by the tone of her father's voice, she dashed into the house. Everyone knew he had a daughter, but he was still unhappy that Roy saw his daughter in the flesh. Just another weakness he could exploit, if he was feeling vicious enough.
“So, do you or do you not know anything?” repeated Roy.
Owen tried to maintain an air of confidence. “You're gonna have to be more specific.”
Rolling his eyes, Roy was losing his patience. “Longview. Does that ring a bell? You'd better answer yes or no. I don't have time for any bullshit.”
It was time to truthfully answer. “Yeah, I do. I was just there.”
“You gonna tell me who beat the shit out of my supplier?”
“I did.”
“And why did you do that?”
Owen squinted his eyes and lowered his eyebrows. “Because no one is fucking my Patricia again.”
“Fucking?”
“Yes...fucking.”
Roy stared at him for a moment before nodding and creating a faint smile. “About time you got your fuckin' balls back. I heard rumors you and your lady got addicted to smack, and I heard some other rumors that you were lettin' boys fuck her for a little extra. Is that about right?”
Too pained and embarrassed to reply, Owen meekly nodded, averting his eyes from Roy's gaze.
“Like I said, good for you. Now answer another question. Where the fuck is my junk?”
It was frightening how abruptly Roy's tone changed. He had to think fast, but he couldn't simply tell the truth and say that he dispersed it from out the moving truck. They'd be dead quicker than he could blink, as that was a hundred thousand dollars wasted away. If given a choice, Owen would prefer a quick death. Alas, he was a Tomkins, and if Roy Grayson had his way, his hands, feet, balls, dick, tongue, and just about anything else would be violently removed before he was allowed to die. There were only two options given to him: Lie or kill. His eyes widened for a second when he noticed that Roy had lifted up his shirt just enough to see a concealed handgun in the front waistline of his jeans. Owen couldn't tell if Roy lifted his shirt up intentionally. Roy could probably draw his weapon quicker than he could, and if he were to be shot and killed, then he would have no further obstacles to Patricia and Ali. The thought made the bile shoot up in the back of his throat when he thought of what Roy might do to them. Lying was the only choice, and boy, would it have to be a damn good one.
“That fucker burned us.”
Roy's mouth opened slightly. “He burned you? With what?”
“Powdered sugar mainly.”
“And when did you figure this out?”
“Patricia took a quick taste while I was beating that fucker's ass. That's when she figured it out.”
“So, he might have cut it with the sugar. Could still be some product.”
“I don't think so. She dabbed all through the package. Same sweet taste all through it. That's what she told me.”
Roy exhaled in frustration. “So what did you do with it?”
“Patricia did you a favor and threw it into the wind as we drove off.” Owen hated having to use her name in this lie, but Roy liked Patricia and might be more forgiving with her. He wouldn’t do the same for Owen.
“Sounds like something she would do. Doesn't mean she had to fucking do it though.”
“She was pissed. Nothing I could do about it.”
Taking a half step closer, Roy stopped and stared at Owen. “Alright...”
This was it. The giant of a man didn't believe his lie. Slowly, Owen’s fingers crept toward his back pocket and closer to his gun. He didn’t want to make it obvious, but he had to be ready. No oxygen could escape from his lungs. He could feel the blood rushing to his head. His gun hand trembled.
Roy nodded to himself, then looked to the sky. “Alright, then I guess I made the right call.”
A massive respire blew out of Owen’s mouth. “What do you mean?”
“This ain't the first time he's done this shit.”
He still wasn't sure whether to remain panicked or finally be relieved. Instead, he did his best to stay calm and unsurprised. “No shit. He's been selling packages of most
ly sugar?”
“Sorta. You can use caffeine, Tylenol, formula, all kinds of stuff. Pretty sure he was keeping some of the pure product on the side, then selling small amounts far away from our reach without us knowing. That way he could charge what he wanted without giving us a cut.”
“But you are still getting your cut from the fake shit, right?”
“That ain't the fuckin' issue. Whatever he distributes, we expect a cut. I don't give a shit if he is distributing hot dogs, I expect to see some money.”
Owen scratched his neck, still a little nervous. “Wait, what right call did you make?”
“I picked up where you left off, and I didn't stop until I felt like it.”
He put his head down slowly. There was no telling what that corpse looked like. “So, what now?”
“I’m going to start a new distributor soon. A loyal one. One that ain’t gonna do any flaky shit. We’ll let you know when he is ready.”
“And if I don't want to do it anymore?”
“Then Patricia will. I bet she'd love the extra dough, with a few extra hard cocks on the side.”
That was the Grayson hostility he expected. Owen did his best to ignore it, despite his face obviously showing irritation. “If WE don't want to do it anymore?”
Roy smirked. “I'll give you some time to think on it, Owen. You know what, as the kind gentleman that I am, and since we've known each other for so long, I'll give you and your girl a month off to, you know, collect yourselves and think long and hard about it. Maybe you can fix your fucked up relationship.”
Comin' Home to You Page 10
