Bloodbrothers (4 page)

"You fuckin' guys got a one-track mind. Whyncha both go over yourselves."

"I would," said Chili Mac, "except she only got eyes for you."

"Yeah?" Stony said, trying to keep his interest down.

Barry White's "You're My Everything" started playing. The bar drained of people.

"Bet... on Annette," Mac said.

"She does it with Gillette," said Butler.

"She does it with a razor?"

"It don't even phase'r."

Butler and Chili Mac slapped palms. Mac did a quick about-face, and, extending his hands behind his back, slapped palms with Butler again.

Stony laughed for the first time that night. Butler and Chili Mac looked at each other relieved. "Fuckin' clowns," Stony snickered.

As the song ended, the tide shifted again, the bar crowding up. Then Carl Douglas' "Rung Fu Fighting" came on, the tide moving out.

Chili Mac danced absently at the bar, his eyes spanning the floor for any trouble. He was only eighteen but he lifted weights and studied karate. He never saw the man that could take his ass. Frankie Bones, the other bouncer, danced on a chair at one end of the floor overlooking the crowd. All night, every night, he stood on that chair dancing unless there was trouble. Frankie was thirty, Irish and big. He and Chili Mac hated each other with a passion. Chili Mac dreamed of the day they would finally lock assholes in the parking lot. He wanted a big crowd there too.

Stony felt better. Relaxed. He dug the Mac. He forgot about Cheri. He wasn't even looking at her, but as the three of them lounged at the bar Cheri and Mott passed by arm-in-arm on their way out the door. Stony fell back against the bar.

"He a
ugly
sucker," said Chili Mac.

"Do ya think he'll..." Butler didn't finish the rhyme.

"Do ya think he'll
what!
" Stony grabbed Butler's shirt, his eyes crazy-man blind.

"How do I know?" Butler grinned nervously, looking to Chili Mac for help.

"Well, if you don't fuckin'
know
"—Stony stabbed Butler in the chest with his finger—"don't fuckin'
say.
" He stabbed him again.

"Hey, mah man." Chili Mac laid a hand on Stony's shoulder. Stony violently shook it off, still staring at Butler. Chili knew when to give slack and didn't get pissed.

"You know you're a big fuckin' help, Butler."

"Hey, Stones." Butler managed a smile. "Look, I didn't mean nothin' by that." He tentatively put an arm around Stony's shoulder, and when Stony didn't resist, gently turned him toward the bar.

"Two seventy-sevens, straight up." Butler still had his arm around Stony's hunched shoulders, and when he reached into his pocket for money, Stony's body started trembling. He fell against Butler's damp chest and cried like a baby. Chili Mac was almost relieved when a fight broke out on the floor and he had to split. Butler patted Stony's back awkwardly. Stony straightened up, wiping his eyes.

"Ah bullshit." He wiped away some tears. "I feel like a jerk. I need this, right?"

Butler took a napkin off the counter and dabbed at Stony's face. Stony grabbed the napkin from him and laughed. "C'mon, what're you... my mother?"

"Not yours." Butler shivered.

Stony blew his nose in the napkin and dropped it on the floor. "Hey lissen, gimme the keys to the short, I wanna drive over to the Camelot, check out Annette."

"I'll go witcha."

"Nah, I wanna go myself."

"You ain't gonna go over to Cheri's?" Butler looked skeptical.

"Whatta' you crazy?" Stony smirked.

Butler held out his car keys to Stony, then pulled them back. "You sure?"

"Gimme the fuckin' keys." Stony grabbed them from Butler's hand. "I'll be back in an hour. I gots to cop me some haid, bawh!" He winked.

As he left D'Artagnan's, La Belle belted out "Lady Marmalade." "
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?
" He drove directly to Cheri's house.

At Cheri's, Mott was shitting a brick. He was caught between his lust for Cheri and his fear of what Stony might do to him. Not that he couldn't take care of himself—he was over 200 pounds of mean meat, but you could never tell what a guy would do if you fucked around with his woman.

Sitting next to Mott, Cheri was silent. If his cock was as big as his gut it might be a bit all right. Stony was such a putz sometimes. He was the only guy she ever balled with. Every time he went down on her she would come a river, but she would never come from fucking. Inez used to date Mott and she came all the time. Cheri was pushing seventeen and she didn't want to see life pass her by. Stony would sulk for a while, but whatever. It was funny. As much as a yo-yo as Stony could be, there was something about him that really had her hung up on the boards. She just needed more experience. Romance-wise Mott was nowhere city. This was for science. Maybe if Stony checked out Three-Finger Annette tonight tomorrow would be less of a hassle.

Stony drove along White Plains Road under the el tracks. His heart was pumping Kool-Aid. He imagined Cheri nude except for knee socks, blue ones, going down on Mott. Mott coming all over her face. Mott hoisting her up, her knees wrapped around his rib cage, lowering her on his cock. Mott standing spread-legged, her arms wrapped around his neck. Mott's hands lifting and lowering her ass on his dong. Cheri biting his neck. The moans, the squeals, the oohs, the ahhs. Stony's boner gave him a hard time with the clutch.

"You wanna drink?" Cheri got up and fussed around in the kitchen.

"Nah... thanks." Mott sat sprawled on the green-and-white-striped sateen sofa. Something felt off. He smelled danger.

Cheri poured herself a gin and tonic. "You sure?"

"I'm fine." Mott tried to concentrate on Cheri's nipples, but he felt like he was in Vietnam. "Where ya parents?"

"They went to Puerto Rico for a week." Cheri walked carefully into the living room as if her drink was filled to the top of the glass.

Mott had heard Cheri only came from eating out. This freaked him. The only girl he'd ever made come was Inez, and she was the type of chick that once she started moaning you could get up, fix a sandwich, watch the eleven o'clock news, take a piss and when you got back in bed she would still be moaning like you were never gone. A very intense personal experience.

Cheri sat down beside him.

"I'm thinkin' a becomin' a T.A. cop," he said.

"Fascinating." She gulped down the rest of her drink, swallowed a belch, shuddered and clutched Mott's thigh to brace herself.

Mott put an arm around her neck, thumb raising her chin, and lowered his face to hers. She moved her hand to his crotch. He slipped a hand in her blouse and the doorbell rang four times. Mott jumped up, almost sucking Cheri's tongue out of her head.

"What the fuck!" Cheri fumed as she strode over to the door. "Yeah?"

"Cheri, let me in."

"Oh Christ, Stony, come back tomorrow."

"Lemme in or I'll kick down the fuckin' door."

She walked back to Mott and took his clammy hand.

"Let's go in the bedroom. He'll go away."

Mott stood rigid. Stony started pounding the door. Cheri tugged on Mott's arm.

"Let 'im in." He was scared shit, but he would be more scared tomorrow if Stony split.

"What the hell for?"

"Just . . The door exploded inward, the chain lock flying into a mirror. Stony stood hunched in the foyer hissing in pain, rubbing his right shoulder.

"You!" He pointed to Mott. "Get the fuck outta here!"

"Now look..." Mott started.^ Stony lunged at him, both tumbling down on the couch. Cheri screamed curses at Stony, holding her temples, her face turning red. They held each other in bear hugs cursing, spit flying. They rolled off the couch onto the rug, snarling with frustration.

"Yah fuckin' homos!" Cheri bent down over them as she screamed. Mott kicked Stony away and scrambled to his feet.

"I'll kill ya!" Stony charged again, swinging wildly, accidentally catching Mott with a backhand across the bridge of his nose. Mott fell down, blood all over his shirt. Stony was startled by the blood and stood over him as if trying to keep his balance.

Cheri slid down next to Mott. "You fuckin' prick!" she yelled at Stony, one arm around Mott. Mott sat dazed. The pain from his nose made his eyes tear. Gingerly he touched his nose, stared fascinated at his bloody fingers.

"Ya broke it." He glared murderously at Stony. Stony didn't know what to do with his hands. He started to apologize, stammering. Mott pushed Cheri away, stood up, shoved past Stony and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door.

Cheri sat on the rug crying. Stony didn't know whether to go after Mott or Cheri—stood nailed to the spot.

"I wanna thank you for a wonderful evening," Cheri spat with her head down.

"Me!" Stony sputtered, pointing to himself.

"Oh, get outta here." Cheri got up, slapped away Stony's hand and marched into her bedroom, slamming the door. Stony felt panicked again. He ran to the locked door. "Cheri, lemme in."

"Whyncha break it down."

Stony rested his head on the wooden door. Suddenly the door swung open and he almost pitched forward into the room. Cheri walked past him into the bathroom, slamming that door.

"Cheri, I love you," he whined.

"Do me a favor, don't love me so much."

He heard running water and gargling.

"I got jealous," he offered to the closed door. More gargling. "I'm sorry," in his best puppy tone of voice. "I'm goin'." He lingered at the bathroom door. "Hey... Cheri? He's fulla shit. I didn't break his nose. I just tapped it. You remember that time I thought I busted my nose? You remember that game against Power? That guy rammed me with his helmet? I thought I was dead. All I got was a nosebleed." The only response Stony heard was running water. He went into the kitchen and poured himself some orange juice. Cheri came in five minutes later wearing a red bathrobe.

"Stony, get out of my house."

"Just answer me one question. Then I'm gone." Stony carefully placed his glass on the counter. "Did you fuck with him?"

Cheri put her hands in the deep pockets of her robe, tossed her head to snap the hair out of her face. "Yes."

Stony's insides frosted over. He stared at her. Her expression was set. No backs. No penny tax. The end. Stony lifted the juice glass, put it down. Walked into the living room. Walked back. Picked up the glass, put it down. Walked into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, came back into the kitchen, picked up the juice glass, stared at her immovable face, her get-out-of-here eyes. He wheeled and with a yell flung the glass against the far wall. The smash stung his ears. Orange rivulets dripped down the wall to the counter, flattening out, heading left and right along a strip of chrome behind the faucet. Cheri didn't move. Stony picked up a chunk of glass at his feet, dropped it in the plastic-lined trash can and left the apartment.

S
TONY HIT
the streets, hands in pockets, nose aimed at the pavement. He walked half a block before he heard shouts. Mott was running toward him, bloody handkerchief to his face, followed by two Mott-sized guys brandishing baseball bats. At first he thought they were chasing Mott, but when one of them pointed to Stony—"There he is!"—Stony turned and tore ass back to Cheri's. He took the stairs four at a time up to the third floor.

"Cheri!" Stony pounded on the door for fifteen seconds until he heard shuffling slippers.

"What n..."

He pushed past her indignant face, slammed the door. "Mott's comin' up the stairs wit' two guys." He leaned spread-eagled against the door, panting.

"What!?" Cheri didn't know whether to be angry or scared, settled on stunned.

A commotion in the hall. Stony almost jumped into Cheri's arms as one of Mott's friends decided to play home run derby with the door, the resounding boom rattling the dishes in the kitchen.

"C'mout, De Coco, yah cocksuckah!"

"Right away!" Stony shouted back.

Another explosion of wood and metal. Cheri stood catatonic, eyes as big as half dollars. She made a halfhearted grab at Stony's arm as he raced into the living room, lugged and yanked the couch back into the hallway, jamming it lengthways between the door and the near wall. Two bats going at once like the Fourth of July.

"I'll kill yah, De Coco!"

With every smack on the door Stony took one step in a different direction, making a full circle after five shots, his hair a nest of sweaty ringlets. After every smack Cheri twitched convulsively as if she was warming up for an epileptic fit. Stony finally shoved/ushered her into her bedroom, slammed the door, ran into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. After six rings: "Ma!"

"Stony?"

"Where's Pop?"

"He's out. You think I ever know where..."

Stony hung up and dialed again.

"Yo."

"Chubby!"

"Hey, Stones, wh—"

"Chubby! You gotta help me! Three guys are after my ass wit' bats. I'm gonna get creamed. Hurry!"

Stony slammed the phone down, walked in little circles. "Shit!" He grabbed the phone again. Chubby picked it up on the first ring. "I'm at Cheri's. Three-two-o-one Bainbridge. Hurry!"

Stony ran into Cheri's bedroom. From the sounds at the door Stony guessed the two lummoxes were trying to shoulder-butt the door down. Cheri started crying. Stony sat her down on the bed, squeezing her shoulder. "Chubby'll be here in ten minutes." His hand strayed down to her tit. Her nipple was erect. He was pretty erect himself. She didn't seem to notice, just stared at the far wall. He debated laying her down on the bed, but a renewed barrage of bat blasts had him on his feet. He ran into the foyer, the door trembled with each blow, but the couch held it shut. He high-jumped the couch into the living room and hung his head out the window scanning the empty street for Chubby's car. After five minutes, an orange-and-cream Impala careened screaming up Bainbridge, coming to a rocking stop in front of the building. Chubby burst out of the driver's side, carrying a five-foot-long broom handle.

"Chubby!" Stony almost fell out the window. Chubby looked up, saw Stony on the third floor waving his arms in desperation like a woman at the window of a burning building. Chubby swung his weapon over his head, let out a battle cry and charged into the building. Stony did a little war dance in the living room, laughing gleefully, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a wax applicator, took a few practice swings smacking the kitchen door. Cheri screamed, running from the bedroom into the bathroom, slamming the bathroom door. Stony stood in the foyer, waited until he heard the stairway door burst open, shoved the couch out of his way and stood poised at the locked door holding his pole like a bayonet.