Comin' Home to You

by Dustin Mcwilliams

  “Fuck you, you wetback fucker.

  Nicky chuckled amusingly. “Yeah. What else happened?”

  “Scar comes in, askin’ questions. At first, no one really know why the fuck he’s askin’ about who shot up Owen’s house. The way he was askin’ the questions made it seem like he was concerned about Owen’s wellbeing or some shit. And I don’t know what got up Bubba’s ass, but he called Scar out on it. Then he got up off of his fat ass and bows up to Scar.”

  “Bubba bowed up to Scar. Seriously?” Bubba was a big and somewhat intimidating man, but around Scar, he acted meek and submissive.

  “Yeah, man. Bubba was high off shootin’ that house and then high off the crystal we smoked when we got back. Drunk off his fat ass too. I guess he grew an extra set of balls or something because fuckin’ Bubba says to Scar that he is actin’ like him and Owen are gay together and that they might as well get married and Scar change his last name to Tomkins.”

  “And Scar got furious, I’m assuming?”

  “Hold on, fucker. Let me tell this fuckin’ story.” Clint paused to take another hit of whatever he was smoking. “So Scar fuckin’ rears back and swings at Bubba, but Bubba dodges it and runs to try to get this .38 that was on a table a couple feet away, right? So they are fuckin’ wrestling for it and Bubba’s trying to head butt him and shit, and then BAM! The gun goes off right in Bubba’s fat fuckin’ foot!”

  “Holy shit! No way,” exclaimed Nicky. He had to admit, Clint could tell an endearing story when he was high.

  “So Bubba is on the ground. And Scar just goes fuckin’ ape shit and starts stomping on Bubba’s head. Dude, this was pretty damn brutal. He squished him like a bug. It was gory as shit. Looked like something out of Hollywood.”

  “Wait, you telling me Scar killed Bubba?”

  “Yeah. He fuckin’ turned his skull into a big pile of shit, like mushed up cherries. Then he made BJ and Bird Dog clean up the mess. Then, he fucking punches me in the face for no fucking reason. So I ain’t too happy about that. Not happy at fucking all. That fucker has been treatin’ me like a child since day one. I ain’t having that shit no more. It’s my time to shine ‘round here.”

  Nicky could feel how both disgruntled and immature Clint was. This was a good and bad sign. It was positive because it meant Clint was willing to do the deed. It was bad because it was Clint. There was no telling what he would do or how far he would go. He was a wild dog desperately needing to be leashed.

  “Alright. I’ll hit you back up when I think of something.”

  Clint hung up without responding. Tossing the phone onto the vacant passenger seat, Nicky closed his eyes and calmly breathed. He didn’t like his chances, because it was hard for him to put his faith in someone if he couldn’t control someone, especially Clint. Even if he could concoct a fool-proof plan, as long as Clint Grayson had a part to play in it, there would be a likely flaw or exploit. He was beginning to regret asking Clint to do this for him. He had more faith in asking a cat to learn the guitar. He went even further with his mockery, believing that asking Owen Tomkins to do this job would be even better.

  As ridiculous as that last thought was, it was probably true. Owen held an actual grudge against Scar, and vice versa. His reasoning was also one of protecting his grandson from a corrupted future, while Clint had only petty jealousy to fall back on. But it was too late to even ask.

  Softly letting his head bump into the steering wheel, he was slowly realizing how much of a mistake he had made asking Clint to do the assassination for him. Feeling further frustrated, Nicky made the odd choice of biting the steering wheel, then as anger increased, beating it with open hands. This was all too much for him. Second and third thoughts beat at him relentlessly. How can I seriously do this to my brother? He had stuck with Scar through thick and thin, and even in life threatening situations. A few years back, both had found themselves cornered at an abandoned warehouse just outside of Fort Worth in a deal gone bad. A rival gang attempted to make a name for themselves by ambushing an arms deal. Many men died that day, but it was Scar and Nicky who made it out unscathed, shooting their way out and taking many poor souls with them. The two watched each other’s back through the ordeal, causing their brotherly bond to further strengthen.

  But wondering why Scar had been allegedly stiffing him on payment over the years made his eyes narrow. His front teeth bit below his bottom lip, dragging his teeth across his facial hair. There were many questions he needed to ask. If they were answered truthfully, he may consider changing his mind about the assassination. But if he were to cancel it and decline Paxton and Passerini’s orders, he would have to be one hundred percent behind his decision. Saying no would put his own life in danger, where Nicky would always have to be watching his back for the rest of his life from Passerini’s trained murderers. Also, his family’s lives would be at risk. Wives and kids were fair game to Passerini. He would do whatever he had to for the job to get done. Thoughts like picturing Rachel and his kids in a pool of blood gave Nicky anxiety. What the hell am I supposed to do!? Putting his family in danger was undesirable, but backing up his brother and the other Graysons who gave the word ‘family’ new meaning, would be a worthy way to do battle against those that would do them harm. The Graysons helped him heal from the traumatizing and painful familial memories of the past. Nicky owed it to them to at least hear Scar out. He nodded his head, as if agreeing with himself with an awkward smile on his face. Backing out of his driveway, he drove off, calling Scar on the way.

  Scar sounded exhausted over the phone, but did accept Nicky’s request to come over. Distance wise, it wasn’t very far, probably just three miles or so. But there were a lot of winding roads that made the drive last much longer. Pulling into Scar’s long driveway, he spotted the usual two trailers by the road entrance, under copious amounts of trees. Scar liked to have a couple of his distant cousins and other men living close by to act as guards and notify or stop anyone approaching. He was a cautious man. But Nicky tended to believe that his vigilance was a bit overblown. No one had taken a shot at him for years, because no one wanted to end up dead. Until now…

  Stepping out of his vehicle and walking to Scar’s front door, Nicky wasn’t sure what he was going to ask or how he would ask it. It was something he should have thought more in-depth about. Before he could knock, Scar opened the door. “What’s going on, Nicky?”

  Nicky put on his usual calm face, though his insides were panicking. “Not much, man.”

  “How’d the shit in Plano go down?”

  “Can’t complain. The shit got unloaded and should be delivered to all of our dealers by tomorrow.”

  Scar nodded in approval. “Good. Things run smoothly when you are around. Good to hear.”

  “Yeah, it does,” replied Nicky, hoping Scar would get the hint.

  He didn’t, or he didn’t show it. “Uh huh, come on in.”

  Nicky followed Scar inside and quickly noticed the beer cans lying in the floor. “Uh, what the hell happened? You forget where the trash can is?”

  “I may have had a couple last night.”

  “Looks like more than a couple. How come?”

  Scar stared at Nicky with annoyance, but the look rapidly changed to that of astonishment. “Shit. You don’t know…that fucker Owen. He tries to kill Clint and tells him that he’s gonna kill him like he killed Roy. That son of a bitch finally admitted to it.” Scar plopped onto his couch. “After 15 fucking years. He finally did it.”

  “So where is he now?” asked Nicky, secretly knowing the question.

  “The fuck if I care. His house, I guess, getting his funeral plans set up.”

  “You ain’t sending anyone after him?”

  “Nope. I’m the only one who is going to kill him. This has been years in the making. He’ll die by my hand.”

  “When you gonna do that?”

  The annoyed look reappeared on Scar’s face. “Today. Tomorrow. Whenever the fuck I want.”

  Nicky took a
seat on the vacant recliner. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he debated whether this was a good time to talk about this. Scar seemed on edge and may not give him a straight answer. Nicky had to leave with the truth. Otherwise, he’d put his family first and damn Scar to his fate. But he came here to talk and here he was, suddenly unable to let the words escape his lips.

  Scar rose back up and headed to the refrigerator, kicking empty beer cans on the floor. “You want anything. A beer? I’ve got a few more in the fridge.”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  With a bottle of water in his hand, Scar sat back down on his recliner and took a drink. “So, what’d you want, bro?”

  Nicky anxiously rubbed his shaved head. “Man, I ain’t trying to be too blunt or nothing, but…um, I was hoping you could give me a bigger cut from now on.”

  “You already get a lot,” Scar stated. “You’re wanting more?”

  Of all the things to ask, Nicky panicked and asked for a raise. However, after thinking about it, he realized he might be able to go with his blunder to figure out his friend, while understanding how much me actually makes. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve been puttin’ in the hard work. You know how it is. I just feel like, I should get a raise for my performance. I should get a higher percentage of what I make, you know?”

  Scar studied him, trying to understand where this was coming from. Nicky had never asked for any type of raise before. “What kind of percentage you wantin’?”

  “Shit, I don’t know,” sputtered Nicky. He silently scolded himself for not thinking of actual money figures.

  “You gonna have to give me some numbers so I can see if that is feasible or not.”

  “Uh, alright.” Nicky had to spitball something. “Uh, 300 percent more than I make now.”

  “Jesus Christ on the motherfucking cross! 300 percent? Three times more than you make now!? That’s way too damn much!”

  “That ain’t too much to ask! I do a shit ton of the work. I’m your best friend!”

  An irritated Scar rose up from his recliner and walked into the kitchen. He placed his full water bottle on the counter and raided the refrigerator for a beer. “What the fuck crawled up your ass, Nicky? You ain’t ever been so bold. You want my position now? You want what I make? You want the throne?”

  “Nah, I ain’t interested in no throne. I just want to earn what I think I should be earning. I should be making pretty damn close to what you make with as much work as I do.”

  “And how much do you think I make?”

  Nicky got up from the couch and paced toward the blank television. “Fuck, uh, I don’t know. If I am guessing, I would say 80 percent of the profit.”

  Scar heartily laughed. “You really think I get that big of a cut? Eighty fuckin’ percent!?”

  “Yeah, I do! We get the earnings from our product in fuckin’ Tyler, Lindale, Longview, Kilgore, Marshall, Terrell, all those places. Drugs, stolen drugs, guns, all that shit, we get paid for. We get delivery bonuses when we deliver to Shreveport and Dallas. I know we still gotta kick it up and shit, but as much as we get done, fuck yeah I think you get a big ass cut, and I get shit. I’m fucking struggling here, bro!”

  Crossing his arms and returning from the kitchen, Scar took a drink before placing his beer on the coffee table. “Let me break it down for you. I have to kick up 60 percent of whatever we make to the three big dogs, so that only gives me 40 percent to work with. I keep 20 percent, which is actually only ten percent, because I give my stupid brother five of it, and the other five I keep saved for Austin when he grows up. The other twenty is dispersed among the rest of you, depending on how many people play a part in the job. So no, in the end, I don’t get a big cut.”

  Nicky’s mind sparked in confusion. “So let me get this straight. If we make, for example, a thousand dollar score. You personally only keep a hundred of it?”

  “Bingo.”

  “And Clint would get fifty of it? For doing nothing?”

  “They gotta feed Austin somehow.”

  Clint and Ali burn throught that money on drugs and booze. Even knowing this fact, Scar protected and provided for his family. Especially for the boy he could never physically have. If it weren’t for Scar and his grandfather, Austin would probably starve. Scar treated that boy like the last surviving Grayson in the world. Yes, family meant everything to Scar, but if you were to ask him what Austin was to him, he would undoubtedly say the boy was like a son. He was even saving money for Austin’s future, so that he may grow up to be his own man and not make the same mistakes the rest of the Graysons made. Scar always said how much he admired his younger sister who got the hell out and moved to New Mexico. Even though he had no contact with her, he knew that she graduated college and was making something of herself, instead of theoretically writhing in this gutter.

  With Scar disclosing the breakdown of payments, Nicky began to question everything. Who was speaking the truth? Was Passerini the one spinning the web of lies, or was it Scar making up numbers off of the top of his head? Nicky wasn’t sure how many, if any, people knew about Paxton retiring. But he was sure Scar didn’t know, or else he’d be making a bigger play for the vacancy. Perhaps Paxton wanted him taken out before Scar knew of it. The boss mentored Passerini since he joined as a foot soldier, so it made sense if Paxton was grooming him for his position. Passerini definitely had the pedigree and experience for it. He was both respected and feared. His demeanor was all business, his charisma was like a cult leader, and his tactics were always cutthroat.

  It was likely they would have a backup contingency plan if Nicky were to tell his friend about the plot against him. If Scar were to take up the proverbial sword against the brass in a coup attempt, it would be an excellent way for the Roaring 20’s to flaunt their power within the organization, and show what happens when people get too big of a head and attempt a rebellion. Nicky sighed inside, grasping how badly of a lose-lose situation he was in. If he took out Scar personally or by proxy, then the Roaring 20’s would have their hands clean of any wrongdoing in a variety of ways. The ideal way for Scar to go is if he were to disappear like his older brother allegedly did. However, if Nicky ever became unruly or uncooperative, they could blame him and play it out as an internal power struggle. Either way, the guys at the top could always find a scapegoat to stay innocent. If Nicky were to tell Scar of their plans, then he would be hunted down just like Scar, with his family likely hinted along with him. It wouldn’t surprise him if they actually preferred it that way. Nicky knew deep down in his heart that he was doomed for failure. There was no good way out of this. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want his family to die. Nicky didn’t even want Scar to lose his life because of a stupid power play by Passerini. Quietly, he cursed his luck.

  Smoothly, he veered the conversation well away from his dark thoughts. “I didn’t know you weren’t taking that big of a cut either.”

  Scar shrugged, taking a drink of a beer, leaning back on the couch and bracing himself on the armrest. “You never asked, bro. I get you’re struggling. Three kids and a wife. I get it. Remember, I had four other siblings, so I watched how my parents struggled to make do. Though a lot of that was my dad’s fault for spending a lot.”

  “I’m just trying to make right with what I got.”

  “I get that. And…just know that I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. It’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “I owe you just as much, man. You and your family took me in during a bad time. ”

  “Tell you what? You made sure the delivery went through smoothly last night. You take all my cut. That gives you 40 percent. Take it, put it in your funds for your home. Buy something nice for your wife and get those kids some gifts. We can make this a permanent thing in the future. Any deals and anything that you oversee by yourself, you take the lion’s share of the cut. How does that sound?”

  A small and timid smile spread on Nicky’s face. He knew it was a sign of weakness, but he showed no restraint in smiling. This was a
genuine gesture from his best friend and brother-in-arms. He still didn’t know if Scar was being truthful about his earnings. But at least he could tell Scar actually cared. Scar understood him. He had experienced it growing up, and he was watching his own nephew struggling. His reason now for doing what he did was all for Austin, something he confirmed a couple of days ago. Perhaps at one time, he was just trying to get rich and cement the Grayson legacy, and he may still be trying to ensure that the Graysons live on, but in a different way. Just by the way he talked up his nephew and the way he admired his sister, he wanted something more for the boy. College, a career, and children were all likely attributes of the genuine life he wanted for the boy. Just as Nicky wanted to make something for his family and himself, he wanted to give a great and happy life to his nephew. Scar was a good man. Maybe not good by textbook standards, but a man that could carry the moniker of a provider and a family man. That was good in Nicky’s book.

  In his mind, he knew what he must do. “Hey, Scar, I gotta tell you something man.”

  “Yeah? What’s that brother?”

  It felt like his tongue was twisted in a thousand knots and his mind was incomprehensible. When it came time to say something, his chest tightened and a feeling of helplessness and panic overwhelmed him. He just needed to say something. “Thanks…thanks for everything.”

  Scar laughed. “That’s it? Man, I thought you were going to tell me you were in love with me or some shit.”

  “You’re my brother, and I do love you, but not like that! Hell nah!”

  Both men chuckled, though Nicky’s laugh felt forced.

  “Anything else, Nick?”

  Nicky took an audible breath and shook his head. “Nope. That’s all I gotta say.”

  “Alright. I’ve gotta get busy and have a talk with the little brother. Damn kid’s been a huge pain in the ass recently. But he’s family. You know how it is.”

  Nicky silently agreed.

  “But really man,” Scar concluded. “You’ve been loyal and a good friend. Shit, you know you’ve been a brother. A true brother. I’m gonna make the call and have my cut directed to you. You earned it. I mean that.”