Sly Bullhorn Brodsky

by Jean C. Joachim

  “I wouldn’t have the nerve to ask a fine woman like your mother to marry an old sidewinder like me,” Hank put in, slicing a piece of meat.

  “Good. Just so’s we’re clear.” Buddy took a swig of his beer.

  The sigh of relief was almost palpable. Sam glanced at Mary Mahoney. She was buried in her plate of food, head down, not making any eye contact. Samantha wanted to bitch-slap Buddy for making things so tense. She could barely keep her anger down. Who does he think he is, ruining our lovely holiday party?

  Then, Trunk went and made everything a whole lot worse. “Where the fuck is that horse’s ass, Brodsky?”

  Mary slapped his shoulder gently. “Al! Watch your language.”

  “Aw, they’re used to that from me.”

  “Stop it,” she hissed at him. “There’s a child here.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry.”

  People focused on their food, avoiding eye contact with the couple.

  “Well, Samantha? Where the hell is he? You scare him off?” Trunk persisted.

  That was the last straw. Her stomach lurched. The dinner that had gone down so slowly was about to come back up a whole lot faster. Sam grabbed her napkin, held it over her mouth, and pushed away from the table. She ran upstairs to the bathroom and slammed the door, which bounced ajar.

  As she bent over the bowl, she heard the goings on in the dining room.

  “Nice going, Trunk!” Devon said.

  “What did I do?”

  “You upset Sam.” Buddy chimed in.

  “I didn’t mean to. I mean, Bull’s my best friend. I thought he was going to be here. Told me he really wanted to come. Did he get sick or something?”

  “Don’t you know when to shut the fuck up? I mean, come on, guy,” Devon continued.

  “Al, I think you should drop it,” Mary’s voice was soft, but Sam heard it anyway.

  “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know, buddy, I know,” Devon said. “Just personal stuff going on.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” Mary suggested.

  “How about those Miners? What a bunch of pussy wimps who can’t tackle or throw a ball.”

  There was a peal of laughter all around. Some of it from relief, some from Trunk’s reference to the team they had just beat.

  Griff jumped in with an analysis of what the Miners were doing wrong. Each team member added his point-of-view, and the discussion got into the intricacies of football. Upstairs, Sam washed her face and mouth. She sat for a moment until her legs stopped wobbling. There was a knock on the door then a familiar face peered in. It was Stormy.

  “You okay?”

  Sam nodded. “All that great food we worked so hard to make.”

  “Maybe you should’ve had chicken soup.”

  Sam grinned. “Maybe.”

  “You okay now? Can you come back? I took his place setting away.”

  “What would I do without you?” Samantha asked.

  “I have no idea.” She grinned at her friend.

  When the ladies returned, everyone got quiet.

  “I’m okay,” Sam said.

  The conversation restarted. There were arguments about which team would be harder to beat in the playoffs, the Columbus Bobcats or the St. Louis Sidewinders.

  “Sigh-binders.” Chip mimicked the men, cracking up the crowd.

  Buddy didn’t participate. His gaze darted about the room, until, finally, he burst out, “What are your intentions toward my mother?” He faced Hank.

  Silence blanketed the room.

  “Buddy!” Verna exclaimed, before putting her hand over her mouth.

  “To spend time with her and make her happy, if it’s any business of yours. I know she’s your mom and you care very much for her. But she’s an adult, Buddy. She can tell me to get lost any time she wants.”

  “And would you?”

  Hank chuckled. “Probably not without an argument.”

  “See?” Buddy put in.

  “I mean, trying to convince her we belong together. Nothing more. What did you think?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t get rough with her. Don’t hurt her. And don’t marry her.”

  “Oh, so you want me to have good intentions, but not include marriage?”

  “That’s right.”

  Hank burst out laughing. “You’re funny, Buddy. In case you don’t know, your mom already told me she doesn’t want to get married again, to anyone.”

  “She did?” Buddy glanced at Verna.

  “Yep. And I respect that. Not sure I agree, but then some days I don’t disagree.”

  Anger whipped across the wide receiver’s face. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’m not sure if I’m fit for marriage anymore. I’m kind of an old bachelor type nowadays.”

  There were chuckles all around.

  “Now that you’ve trotted my personal life out on the table for everyone, Elroy, are you completely finished?” his mother asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Buddy swallowed. “Sorry, Ma. Just trying to protect you.”

  “Next time, could you do it in private?” Verna placed her hand on his forearm.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I needed to get a few things straight with Hank.”

  “And are they straight now?”

  “I guess.”

  Hank reached over Verna’s plate and extended his hand to her son. Buddy looked at him with sad eyes and met his handshake. The men and women applauded. Little Chip Montgomery clapped his hands and shouted, “Bang her!”

  The noise stopped immediately by the stunned crowd. Then, they all burst into laughter.

  “See? I told you,” Lauren growled to her husband.

  “Gotta laugh, Lauren. Gotta,” he replied.

  Chip loved the attention and kept repeating the words to additional guffaws from the guys.

  “I guess I’ll have to watch my words at home,” Griff said, shaking his head.

  “Ya think?” Lauren agreed.

  ****

  The dinner lasted until nine. Chip fell asleep in the guest room. The men were glued to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation while the women cleaned up. Afterward, the guys took over while the ladies put up their feet.

  “Why don’t you stay tonight too?” Devon suggested to his sister.

  “Good idea. I’m tired. And I still have to close up at the shelter.”

  “You have to go over there now?”

  “Yep. It closes at ten.” She glanced at her watch.

  People started leaving. Griff carried his sleeping son out to the car and fastened him in the car seat. Buddy, Emmy, Verna, and Hank left together. Buddy and Hank chatted about football, while Emmy and Verna talked babies.

  Trunk and Mary hung back a bit.

  “I’m so sorry, Samantha. Please, believe me. I’d never do anything to upset you,” Trunk said.

  “Not a problem, Trunk. I understand.” She allowed him to give her a hug.

  “Bull’s gonna kill me when he finds out.”

  “He won’t find out from me,” Sam reassured him.

  Mary spoke for the first time in hours, thanking them, and then making a beeline for the door.

  “She never seemed comfortable here. Trunk neither,” Devon said.

  “She’s kinda strange or very shy,” Stormy put in, stifling a yawn.

  “You guys go up to bed. I’ll be back soon.” Sam shrugged into her down coat and picked up her keys.

  “Lock up when you get home. We’ll be up,” her brother said, settling on the sofa with Stormy.

  “That’s what he thinks,” Stormy added, yawning.

  Sam turned the heat to blasting in her car. Her fingers were as cold as ice, and she regretted leaving her gloves inside. I wonder what Bull did today? Was he with Tiffany? Probably.

  Even the light from the street lamps shone cold, illuminating the darkness, but providing no warmth. The side streets were deserted. She imagined
the main drags were loaded with vehicles returning home after shopping on the busiest day of the year. Thanksgiving on Black Friday. Guess I saved a bundle being home today.

  The lights were on in the shelter. Ten o’clock was a kind of curfew. The director urged the residents to be in by then. Samantha parked and walked briskly to get out of the cold. She didn’t notice a car that had just turned its headlights off across the street.

  She went through the security door. There was a board with hooks and keys to the front door hanging on the back. Residents were permitted to take the key when they planned to be out past ten. She counted and all the keys were there.

  “Hey, there.”

  Samantha turned around. Tiffany stood before her wearing pajamas and a robe.

  “Hi. How you doing?” Sam asked.

  “Fine. You?”

  “Okay.” She turned to go, but the blonde took her arm.

  “Bull told me about your big Thanksgiving dinner today.”

  Sam nodded, the pain still too fresh for words.

  “He said he wasn’t going. Did he show?”

  Sam shook her head.

  “He wasn’t with me today.”

  “Oh?” Sam cocked an eyebrow.

  “Nope. I spent the day reading. I don’t know where he was. But it wasn’t with me.”

  “Thanks.” The brunette moved to leave, but was again stopped.

  “He really loves you, you know,” Tiffany said.

  “Does he?”

  “Yeah. I can tell. He doesn’t talk about you, but I see the look on his face when your name is mentioned. He’s yours. Don’t throw him away, like I did. You’ll regret it. He’s a keeper.”

  This time, Samantha managed to get to the door. She hesitated for a moment. “Thanks. Thanks for that.”

  Tiffany nodded.

  Sam returned to the waiting room and locked up behind her. She put the key in her purse, checked the computer for email, then, finding none, shut it off. Pulling out her cell, she started a text to Bull. Maybe I’m wrong about him.

  Before she could type anything, the outer door burst open. Clyde Belden entered, stopped in front of her desk, and brandished a baseball bat.

  “Open that door, or I’ll beat your head in.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Samantha jumped, almost dropping her phone. “What?” She moved her cell onto her lap, out of his line of vision, typed four letters, and then hit “send.”

  “Put that phone down! Now!” Clyde held the bat up only inches from her head.

  She didn’t move.

  “Give it to me.” He reached over.

  “Okay, okay. Calm down.” She pulled the phone out.

  He ripped it from her shaking hand then fired it at the wall. It blew apart. “Calm, my ass! I want Tiffany. She’s my wife. Hand her over.”

  “I told you, I don’t know where she is.”

  “Fuck that shit. I know she’s stayin’ here.”

  “Some of the women here don’t use their real names.”

  “Quit stalling. I’ve seen her. Walking back from the diner.”

  “You saw her? Why didn’t you talk to her then?”

  “She got here and behind that door before I could catch up.”

  Keep talking. Samantha’s fingers frantically felt for the panic button.

  “What are you doing?” His gaze darted from her face to the desk and back.

  “Nothing.”

  He ripped the landline apart, detaching the hand set from the body. But that wasn’t enough. He yanked the wires from the wall then heaved everything through the window. Pieces of glass were airborne. A sharp sting drew her attention to her arm, where several knife-like pieces had sliced open her skin.

  “There. Now, it’s just you and me, bitch. Both hands on the desk. Come on. Where I can see ’em. Now!”

  While he had been venting on the phone, her trembling fingers had located the button and pushed hard. She withdrew her hand from her lap. “See? Nothing to see here.”

  “Liar. You’re up to something.” He narrowed his eyes. “The key. Where’s the key?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t find it. I swear! I had one of the residents lock the door from the inside.”

  “I’ll just knock.”

  “They won’t open. They’ve been told never to open the door.”

  “Then, I’ll break it down!” He swung the bat at the small vase of flowers on her desk. It shattered to smithereens, making a great noise and scattering shards of glass everywhere. The flowers and the water landed on the floor. Sam covered her ears and shut her eyes. “Your head is gonna end up like that if you don’t give me the key.”

  “I told you. I don’t have it.”

  “Quit yer lying! I don’t know what you’re stalling for. No one’s coming to help you.”

  Come on, Bull. Pick up your phone. She wondered why she hadn’t heard any sirens yet. Was the panic button even working? She’d never used it before, so she couldn’t be sure. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, Clyde.”

  He snorted. “You think so? Think again. I don’t give a shit about you. You mean less to me than that door.”

  Samantha swallowed. Her heartbeat had doubled. “I mean, you’d never get to spend time with Tiffany if you were in jail.”

  “No one’ll know it’s me that killed you. And when I get through with you, no one will even know it’s you.” He bounced the bat in his palm.

  Sweat broke out on her forehead and upper lip. Her palms went clammy when her body began to tremble. She gripped the stapler with one hand to keep it from shaking.

  “A stapler?” He laughed. “Ain’t gonna do you much good.”

  She looked down. “Oh, yeah. You’re right.”

  “Let’s go. Give me the key, or I’ll break that fuckin’ door down!” He swung the bat at a picture on the wall, knocking it to the floor. The glass broke and pieces flew everywhere.

  Then, he stepped closer. Samantha froze. She raised her gaze to Clyde’s.

  “That’s nothing. By the time I finish with you, the rest of your blood’ll cover the floor.”

  As brave as she had been, his last threat broke through her tenuous control. She burst into tears, reaching for a tissue to blot the blood running down her arm.

  Clyde snapped. He pushed her out of her chair. She hit her head and cried harder. He ripped open the drawers and started flinging things out. Sam rubbed her hair and pushed to her knees.

  “Where the fuck is that key?” He was screaming.

  “I’m not going to tell you. I’m never going to tell you. And if you kill me, you’ll never get it.” Samantha had regained her control. It’s my responsibility to keep the women here safe.

  Clyde’s eyes widened, and his face flushed. Her goading must have stepped over the line. He slapped her hard, banging her head against the wall.

  She passed out.

  ****

  Bull laced his fingers behind his head and rested his feet on the coffee table as he watched television. The movie was a comedy, but Sly wasn’t laughing. He’d spent the whole day having a pity party. He didn’t feel welcome at Devon’s house, so, despite what Samantha had said, he’d decided not to go. He mooned around all day, eating crap, watching endless, mindless television and brooding. He had wondered who was there and what they’d be eating. It didn’t take long to realize that the person most hurt by his refusal to join in was him.

  He glanced at his watch. Ten. Sam’s Thanksgiving dinner is over. Shame filled him as he looked at the empty pizza boxes, cookie bags, and beer cans. Eating and drinking stuff that was bad for him was over the line. He’d behaved like a jerk, a spoiled brat. While they were all together, having fun, he had been alone, licking his wounds. There wasn’t much satisfaction in that.

  He’d told her he was going then chickened out. I didn’t used to be such a pussy. Coward. World’s biggest temper tantrum.

  His cell rang. Trunk.

  “Hey, dickwad, where were you today?”
r />   “I didn’t feel like going.”

  “You missed some awesome food. I can’t even stand up. And Samantha was pretty upset you weren’t there. They even had a place set for you. That was an asshole move. You’re a jerk.”

  “I suppose I am.” Bull’s heart was heavy.

  Before Trunk could respond, Bull’s phone dinged. It was a text from Sam.

  “Gotta go. Text from Sam. I’ll call you back,” he said, disconnecting.

  He read her message and bolted up off the couch. There was only one word.

  Help

  Bull put on his coat while he dialed Devon.

  “You asshole, where were you today?”

  “Forget that. Where’s Sam?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Don’t fuck with me. I got a text that said ‘help’. So, where is she?”

  “She went to the shelter.”

  “Fuck. That asshole Clyde must have come back. Call the police. Meet me there.” He stuffed his cell in his pocket, snatched the keys from a bowl on the front hall table, and ran out of the house.

  He floored the gas and roared onto the street. Weaving in and out of the cars taking their time, his heart rate doubled. Adrenaline surged in his veins. That asshole is crazy. Who knows what he’ll do.

  Bull didn’t bother to pull into a space before shutting the car off. He looked at the building and spied a hole in the window. The curtains were billowing in the winterish wind. Not a good sign.

  “Fuck.” The front door was locked, but that didn’t stop him. He put his shoulder to it as if it was a defenseman on the gridiron. The wood ripped as the barrier gave. He burst into the room as the door slammed back into the wall. Clyde, bat raised and aimed at the other one, swiveled to face the lineman.

  “Put the bat down, Clyde.” Bull kept his eyes on the man, but quickly scanned the room, looking for Sam. She was crumpled against the wall, moving slowly.

  Belden waved the bat at Bull. The sound of sirens drew Clyde’s attention away from the big man facing him, giving Bull just the opportunity he needed. The footballer knew how to take advantage of a little diversion. He put his head down and ran full out into the other man. The sound from Clyde’s chest told Bull he’d knocked the wind out of him.