The Shotgun Rule Part 38

He tells his mom he'll stay and keep her company with Andy, but she says that as soon as his dad gets back she wants him to go home and get some rest.

And the truth is, sitting in the ICU with Andy is f.u.c.ked up. Not just because they don't know if he's ever gonna wake up or what he might be like if he does, but because looking at him makes him think about the house and what happened inside. And thinking about his little brother doing those things makes him have to get up and go to the drinking fountain again and sip some water.

He could go see Hector, but Hector's mostly too doped to talk because they have his face all sewn back together. Say he's gonna have scars no matter what. Say he's gonna need crutches because of the way his leg was cut. Say he may need a cane for his whole life.

Paul's gone.

Came to George's ward late last night and stuck his head inside the sheet wrapped around his bed. Said not to jerk off in there because everyone else on the ward would hear it. Told him that when Andy and Hector wake up to tell them they're f.a.gs. Said his dad is dead. They identified his body in his car in a wreck off Collier Canyon Road. Said they found some stuff, some pictures and stuff at his house and some things, and they were gonna take him somewhere to talk to the cops or something but that it's all bulls.h.i.+t and he'll see him later. He cried the whole time, but he talked like he wasn't crying at all. And then a chick cop stuck her head in and took him away.

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So on Sunday George waits in the ICU until his dad shows up, comes in and takes his mom in his arms.

George watches as she presses her lips against his dad's lips and whispers as they kiss and pulls her face from his and takes his hands and touches some scratches on the backs of his hands and pulls them to her eyes and wipes her tears across them. Then she pulls him across the room to Andy's bedside. His dad looks at Andy and then looks at George and tilts his head at the door.

His mom grabs him on his way out and hugs him and he hugs her, his cast clunking into her back.

Outside they get in the truck.

--You want anything before we go home?

--No.

--Stop at the store and pick something up if you want.

--No.

--Cops want to talk to you some more?

--Yeah.

--When?

--Said at the station tomorrow.

--I'll take you over.

--OK.

--Know what to say?

--I know.

--Don't mouth off to them.

--I know.

--If someone saw you guys go in the house, if they bring up the house, ask you about anything but the black guys and what happened with them, don't say anything at all.

--I know.

--They mention any of that stuff.

--I know, Dad. You're not the only one ever talked to the cops before.

Bob pulls the truck over, puts it in park and looks at him.

--Something you want to say?

George looks out the winds.h.i.+eld at the sunny day. He puts his hand in front of the AC vent and feels the cool air.

--No.

--Now's the time. You don't say it now, you never say it. After this, whatever happened in the past is in the past. After this, what happened last night is what we say happened.

George thinks about who Geezer said his dad was, and about who he is.

He turns and looks at him.

--Let's go home, OK?

Bob puts the truck in first.

--Home it is.

At home George goes straight upstairs to his room and takes off the stupid OP shorts and the c.r.a.p "First Blood" T his mom got him from the gift shop because his clothes were trashed and she hadn't brought any for him to wear home. He gets out some cutoffs and his B.O.C. s.h.i.+rt and puts them on and sits on the side of the bed and looks at the floor and starts thinking about the inside of the sketchy house again and gets up and walks around the room until he hears something banging in the backyard.

He stands at the window and watches his dad.

He's already tilled the yard and tamped the dirt and rolled sheets of heavy plastic over it. Now he's going around with a mallet and a handful of stakes, pounding them through to the ground, dimpling the plastic with them so it won't peel up later.

He watches.

When the stakes are all in and he's walked over the whole yard and looked at the ground to make sure it's even and flat and nothing bulges from underneath, Bob Whelan goes to the front of the house for a shovel and the wheelbarrow that are in the garage.

He parks the barrow next to the pile of rocks and starts shoveling.

George comes out of the house and gets another shovel from the garage. He tries a couple grips until he finds one that hurts a little less and will let him work with one thumb and half his right hand in a cast.

He starts shoveling rocks.

--When'd you do the rototiller?

Bob dumps a shovel load of rocks in the wheelbarrow.

--First thing, sunrise.

--Neighbors must have loved that.

--Job needed to get done.

--What's that smell?

--Lye.

--That's like acid or something, isn't it?

--Put it down so weeds won't grow and punch holes in the plastic.

George stops, tries a different grip, goes back to shoveling.

Bob points at his hands.

--You should wear some gloves.

--Won't fit over the cast.

--On your good hand.

--I'm fine.

--Gonna get blisters.

--I'll live.

George shovels, awkward by his father's side, working hard to bury what needs to be hid, even if he doesn't know it's there.

Things to Make Them Feel Better Paul gets there first.

He stands in front of the benches, away from the Mexican family with their twined cardboard boxes, and shoves his hands deep in his pockets, scanning the sidewalk for a b.u.t.t.

--Hey.

He looks up as George and Hector cross the street.

--Got a smoke?

George pushes his bike, going slowly so Hector, walking with his cane, can keep up. He leans the bike against one of the benches, drops Hector's backpack next to Paul's duffel bag and takes a fresh pack of Marlboros from the breast pocket of his Levi's jacket.

--Here. For the ride.

Paul catches the box, slaps it into his palm a couple times and peels the cellophane.

--A going away present, you shouldn't have. f.a.g.

He pulls one out and offers it to Hector.

--You allowed to smoke, Quasimodo?

Hector smacks him in the s.h.i.+n with his cane.

--f.u.c.k you.

Paul gestures with the cigarette.

--Seriously, aren't you supposed to avoid it? Isn't there a risk of infection with all that s.h.i.+t?

Hector snaps his new silver teeth.

--s.h.i.+t's close enough to healed, just give me the f.u.c.king smoke.

Paul hands him the cigarette and lights a match.

--Careful you don't burn your face, might end up uglier than you are.

Hector leans close to the match and lights his cigarette, the scars on his face livid.

--Least my scars came from a fight and not from picking zits.

Paul tosses the spent match.

--My scars came from your mom's p.u.s.s.y hairs grinding in my face.

George picks at a loose thread sticking from the Scorpions patch on his shoulder.

--You guys are such a cute couple. You guys should skip LA and go to SF. Go to the Castro. I hear there are some cool bars in the Castro for guys like you.

Paul flips him off.

--I'll go down there and tell all your boyfriends you'll be in soon.

They smoke.

Hector looks at the family on the bench, catches the little boy staring at his face. He sticks his tongue out at the boy and the boy laughs and sticks out his tongue. His mother catches him and tugs his hair and whispers in his ear and he starts to cry.

Hector looks down the avenue.

--What time?

Paul pulls the schedule from his back pocket and runs his finger down it.

--Two thirty seven.

George kicks a rock into the street.

--Any trouble getting out of the home?

--h.e.l.ls no. f.u.c.king place. All the kids are juvies or head cases. Think the staff'd be more careful about who can go where and s.h.i.+t. Just raised my hand in group therapy and said I needed to p.i.s.s and went and got my bag and jumped out the window.