Lamentation (21 page)

Jenny spun around to the sink and ran the water. “Jay stopped by to see Aiden.”

“That so,” Brody said, slipping off his leather jacket, which, although faded and worn, was probably the nicest he owned. Underneath, he was wearing what he probably considered to be dress clothes, meaning not his usual jeans and T-shirt. He looked ridiculous in Dockers and motorcycle boots. Brody must’ve felt self-conscious, because he immediately tugged off the collared golf shirt, leaving only a wifebeater and torso covered in ink.

“I thought you were going to work from the bank,” Jenny said, water still running, back still to him. “How’d it go, by the way?”

Brody smoldered by the fridge. He eyeballed me as he answered her question. “How’d it go? Fucking bank says we can’t get a loan!”

I hadn’t said a word since Brody had gotten home, and I didn’t want to be there for this conversation.

“Give Aiden a kiss for me when he gets up,” I said, and went to retrieve my coat from the back of the chair, but Brody hooked the chair with his foot, pulling it toward him, out of my reach.

“Don’t leave on my account, Jay,” Brody said. “Have a seat. I obviously interrupted something.” He spread his arms in a magnanimous gesture, alternating his stare between Jenny and me. “Please, go on.”

“Nothing left to talk about,” I said.

“You sure? How goes the hunt for your faggot brother?”

“What’d you say?”

Brody pulled out his cigarettes, extracting one with his teeth.

“You know I don’t want anyone smoking in here,” Jenny said.

Brody lit up anyway. “Fucking bank says I can’t buy a house. Better believe I’m smoking in the fucking apartment I rent.”

Jenny slid open the window and a cold gust blew in.

“Yeah, Jenny was telling me about your faggot brother,” Brody said. “Blowing dirty trucker dick down at the TC. That’s gotta suck.” Brody snickered. “No pun intended.”

I lunged and snagged my coat. I could see where this was headed.

“Y’know, everyone in Ashton knows he killed your parents, that’s been going around for years. But finding out your own brother, the one you used to look up to, is a whore as well?” Brody looked at Jenny. “I’ll be glad when the cops pick up his sorry ass. I wouldn’t want someone like that around
my
son.”

“Okay, Brody,” I said. “I get it. You’re having a bad day. Sucks about the loan.”

“What the fuck would you know about it, huh, junk man?”

“Brody, why don’t you go to work?” Jenny pleaded.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” Brody said, swilling some more beer.

The open window chilled the apartment and the heater kicked on, a loud thrumming, droning beneath the floor.

We’d passed the point where I could walk out now. I sure as shit wasn’t leaving Jenny and my son with this guy, not the way he was acting.

I dropped the coat. “I think I will stay.”

“Terrific!” said Brody. “What do you want to talk about?”

“How about the Commanderoes?”

Brody set the beer on the counter and stepped up hard. “Excuse me?”

“The motorcycle gang you were in.” I pointed at the big panther tattoo on his arm, the one that looked like a hastily done cover-up.
“That’s their insignia, right?” It was easy to see how a flaming wing and a gun would fit underneath.

“You were smart to want to leave,” he said, falling back, flicking his wrist. “Go back to hunting queers.”

I could see Jenny begging me out the corner of my eye.

“The thing is,” I said, “from what I know, those gangs—sorry, those ‘clubs’—are for life, blood in, blood out. Can’t quit. Unless you have some leverage.”

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing. Just, you must’ve seen some shit. There has to be a good reason why you were allowed to walk away.”

We locked stares.

“Since you’re so concerned about my brother’s well-being, I thought maybe you’d want to help. Our practically being family and all.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Jenny, who wasn’t a fan of either of us at that moment, her eyes a seething mix of rage and disgust.

“Adam Lombardi—you know him, right?—seems he has some Commanderoes working security detail for him. I guess it’s like a side business for them. Bullying tenants, strong-arming, breaking and entering. Now they’re looking for Chris. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Brody got right in my face.

“All I know,
bro
, is if the Commanderoes are looking for your brother, you might as well arrange the funeral, because he’s a fucking dead man.”

There was no way around it now. We’d come too far. Neither of us could stand down. It was only a question of who’d throw the first punch.

There was a light knock at the door.

Brody and I stopped and turned as Jenny opened it.

And there stood my brother, bum overcoat draped over a Pac-Man T-shirt, hanging off his skeletal frame and stained with hobo filth; that goofy haircut looking even goofier in the light of day; his old, brown backpack slung over his shoulder like a Sweet Pickles kid about to catch
the short bus. His dirty jeans sagged, but not because he was attempting any b-boy style; he was just so damn skinny.

Chris didn’t say anything. And neither did anyone else. Just four misfits standing in the middle of a fucked-up situation.

I’d never been happier to see my brother in my life.

It was Jenny who jolted out of shock first, taking my brother’s hand and pulling him inside.

“How are you?” she asked.

He half flinched, half nodded.

“Sit down, Chris,” she said. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

“What do you have?”

“A sandwich?”

Chris nodded, moving between Brody and me, taking the seat I’d been offered. He slung his battered brown backpack on the table, gazing up at me.

“What’s up, little brother?” he said.

Brody flexed once more, then retreated, resuming his position by the fridge, swilling his bottled beer.

“Want to grab me one of those?” Chris asked.

Brody toed open the refrigerator door, snared a beer, and flipped it to him.

Chris caught it, then held it up. “Need an opener, bro.”

Brody didn’t move.

“I’ll get you one,” Jenny said, opening a drawer next to Brody, fishing out an opener, and handing it to my brother. Then she opened the fridge and collected meats, cheese, bread, and mustard to make my brother a sandwich.

“Where have you been?” I asked him.

He motioned toward the door. “Standing out in the hall. Listening.”
He turned back to Brody. “Appreciate you being so worried about me.” Chris paused. “Sorry about the bank. Guess they decided you weren’t worth the investment.”

Chris was a drowned rat compared to Brody, who outweighed my brother by at least sixty pounds, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way Chris talked.

“No, I mean, the last few days,” I said.

“You know, around.”

“Did you follow me here?”

Chris popped the top of his beer. “I wanted to talk to you. Can’t use the phone. They’re watching your apartment.”

“Who?”

Chris rolled his eyes like I was every bit the clueless baby brother.

Jenny set the sandwich in front of him. She had even cut it in half. Such a mom thing to do.

“Thanks, Jenny,” he said. “You’re always nice to me.”

“You’re welcome, Chris. I’m glad you’re all right.”

Chris tore off a bite. “I wish you and my brother would just get married,” he said through a mouthful. “Stop doing this dance.”

Jenny looked around uneasily. “I care about your brother—the both of you—very much.”

“No, I mean, Jay loves you. He’s crazy about you. Always has been. Always will be. You’re the only girl for him, Jenny. I’ve known my brother my whole life. He’s never looked at another girl like he does you.”

Chris casually looked over his shoulder, nodding in Brody’s general direction, and wrinkled his nose disdainfully, like someone had just tried to douse a fart with air freshener. “It’s none of my business, but you’re wasting your time with that piece of shit.”

What happened next was a split-second blur and a high-speed train wreck.

Brody leapt at my brother. In a flash, Chris, who had been sitting with his back to him, slipped out of the chair, sidestepped the bum-rush, and let Brody’s momentum carry him past. He caught Brody on the flyby and smacked his head flush against the table. There was a sickening thwack. Jenny screamed. I tried to grab Chris, who pushed me
away as Brody regained his footing and surged to pile-drive him backwards, but my brother gave him the slip again, slithering around, slinging an arm over his neck, and choking him in a half-nelson. Chris delivered a series of lightning-fast hooks to Brody’s kidneys. Five, six, seven, just like that.

“Chris! Let him go!”

My brother did. For a second. Then he juked and refastened his hold under Brody’s arm. I don’t know how it was possible, given the size disparity, but Chris lifted the bigger man high off the ground, then body-slammed him to the floor. I heard Brody’s arm crack, like a twig for kindling. Brody clutched his elbow, which bent unnaturally in the opposite direction, bone piercing skin.

“Holy fuck,” I muttered.

Brody writhed on the floor, rolling and howling. Chris hopped up, goofy smile back on his face as though nothing had happened. My brother had lost his mind, completely divorced from reality. Not that I didn’t enjoy seeing Brody handed his ass like that. Whole fight lasted less than ten seconds. You wouldn’t have believed it from the damage inflicted.

Jenny stood, mouth agape.

“You’d better call an ambulance,” I said to her, giving her a little shake, before whispering something in her ear.

I turned to my brother.

“Come on, let’s go,” I said.

“Sorry, Jenny.” Chris grabbed the rest of his sandwich. “Good seeing you. Thanks for lunch.”

“Where’re we going?” Chris asked, as I steered my Chevy beneath the trestles. “Don’t take me back to your place. They’re watching it. I’ll jump out of this truck right fucking now if you even try it.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’re not going back to my place.”

Chris nodded, snaking skeletal fingers through strips of peroxide. He fervently scratched the sheared side of his head, unscabbing little bleedy bumps. “I have to talk to you, little brother.”

“All right,” I said, calmly, exiting the small town center and making for Lamentation Mountain. “Take a deep breath. You’re safe, all right? I want you to relax.”

“Where’re you taking me?”

“Just relax. We’re going up to Lamentation. Nice and secluded. Safe from prying eyes. We’ll go up to the watershed, out of harm’s way, and then you can tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.”

Chris nodded. “You got a smoke?”

I took one for me and passed him my pack.

Clouds of fog rolled over the mountaintop, billowing down the sides like dry ice at a rock concert. He kept checking the mirrors.

“No one is following us,” I said. “Now, you want to tell me what’s going on with you? You broke the fucking guy’s arm! I’d be surprised if you didn’t give him a concussion too.”

“Brody’s a dick.”

“That’s beside the point. There are laws. You can’t assault someone like that.”

“Really?” He snickered. “Because it sounded like you were getting ready to before I showed up.”

“Sure. I might’ve taken a swing. One punch. Chris, you sent a man to the ER.”

Which was why I felt all right leaving Jenny and Aiden alone back there: the only way Brody was getting off the ground was onto a gurney. The smartest thing for me to do right now was to get my brother out in the open, where this mess could be resolved, peacefully, with no one else getting hurt.

Chris brushed me off.

“And don’t be saying that shit to Jenny.”

“What? That you’re still nuts about her? Dude, that’s the least-kept secret in town.”

“Never mind my love life, Chris.” I dragged on my smoke, stealing glances in my rearview mirror. I was getting as bad as my brother. “You know about Pete?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know who did it?”

He wouldn’t answer.

“Chris?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Yeah.”

“Now isn’t the time to play games, Chris. I want you to get the story straight in your head, because in a few minutes, you’re going to have to explain yourself. Understand?”

I took Ragged Pass, my old Chevy trudging up the snow-covered mountain, jostling along shifted plates of unpaved road. I veered onto the southern rim of Echo Lake before the bridge and drove to the water’s edge. I punched the truck in park.

“Start talking.”

Chris slung the backpack onto his lap and unzipped the front pouch. He dug around inside, retrieving a CD in a white sleeve. “I need you to take this,” he said.

“What is it?”

“It’s why Pete died. I need you to promise that, if something happens, you’ll take care of this for me.”

“What’s on there?”

“Contents of a computer. Hard drive. Transferred to disc.” My brother stuffed the disc back in the pouch. “Here take the whole damn thing,” he said, thrusting the backpack at me. “I don’t need it anymore.”