Comin' Home to You (10 page)

Bird Dog laughed loudly, slapping the table again for good measure.

“Yeah, can y’all stop talking about Scar and that backstabbing bitch?” Tasha demanded.

Clint motioned with his hands for her to relax. “Hey, I know a way for you to forget about all that shit. Let’s get in the truck and hit the backroads.”

Jolie shot up from the couch, eager to do something else. “Sounds good to me!”

Tasha glared at Ali before following Jolie to the kitchen.

With the two girls in the kitchen, now talking to the other guys, Clint approached his betrothed. “You ain’t be acting like yourself. The meth bad or something?”

“I don’t know.”

“You either know or you don’t.”

“I’m just not in the mood, Clint.”

“Not in the fuckin’ mood?” Clint replied, trying to keep his voice down. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“I don’t fucking know, alright?”

“Whatever. I ain’t gonna wait up for you to get in the mood. Have fun by yourself, bitch.”

Ali waved sarcastically. “Alright, y’all have fun.”

Shrugging his shoulders and giving an uncaring smirk, Clint joined his friends. If they were alone, he likely would have grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and been rougher, possibly even laying a hand on her. But he’d rather go out and drunk and high with his friends than spend another moment dealing with his glum fiancé. Ali was fine with that. The quicker everyone left, the better.

Turning around to at least say bye to Jolie, she noticed Tasha flirting with Clint, who had a case of beer in his arms. Tasha made sure she looked at Ali before they all went out the door, hooping and hollering and ready for a drunken trip down dirt roads.

All that remained was Ali, red dirt music, whiskey and more meth if she so wanted it. She sighed out loud. Somehow, she had pissed Tasha off. All she did was answer questions truthfully and speak her honest opinions about Scar. Now, Tasha had every intention of fucking Clint. Maybe she was getting back at Scar as well, or so she thought. Clint wasn’t going to say no either. He didn’t have a drop of loyalty in his body. Ali had been cheated on multiple times by him. She also did it once to get back at him, but all that got her was an ass beating. No matter how many times he was unfaithful, she was saddened, yet always came back to him. This time, however, she just didn’t care.

Being alone was all she wanted right now. Normally, she would be happy as a clam to drive down the dirt roads, drinking beers and throwing them out the window and breathing in the humid night air. Maybe she would still go outside and look up at the stars tonight, but it would be in seclusion. Squinting her eyes and scratching at her eyebrow, her father once again bullied his way into her brain.
It’s his damn fault I am acting so fucking weird!
She had lost complete control over her thoughts. All that was playing in her head were today’s events with Owen, when he called her an addict and stated how Austin was growing up knowing this fact. Her father had found a way to continuously irritate her, even though he wasn’t even around.

Fuck that asshole. Stupid fucking…urgh!
Even her own thoughts were rattled. She grabbed her trusty shot glass, but instead of filling it, she threw it across the room. It made a loud thud and left a little dent in the side of the drywall. She was disappointed to not hear it break, but the glass was too sturdy. Now all she could think about was her son. Maybe there was a reason why he wanted to go to his grandpa’s house all of the time. She was beginning to feel inadequate as a mother, so much so that she was feeling anxious. Her chest started pounding and she started biting the inside of her cheek. Austin hadn’t wanted to do anything with her. It was always ‘grandpa this and grandpa that.’
What’s so fucking good about him? He’s a terrible parent. He ruined my life with all his stupid whores that came through our house. Fuck him. Why does Austin like him and not me?

Ali tried to quit thinking about her father, because if she continued, it only led down one road. But it was too late. That road had found its destination. Visions of the past conquered her. Anxiety and painful memories made tears well in her eyes. She could no longer tell if she was just really delirious in her buzz or her memories had become extremely vivid, because she was now on her knees as a young girl, looking at a sight that haunts her to this day.

“Mommy…”

“Cirrhosis of the liver!? What the fuck is that, Owen?”

“God damn, brother. Can you say it any louder? I don’t think the people on the other side of the field heard you,” replied a distraught Owen.

“Sorry. So what is it, exactly?”

“Basically, my liver is so scarred up that it can't function properly.”

“What does it do? Sorry, it’s been a while since high school biology. I know it like breaks down alcohol.”

“That, and a hell of a lot more.”

“Alright, so what options you got?”

“I either quit drinking and change my lifestyle, or get a whole new liver put up in me.”

Owen's brother cackled and rubbed his shaved head. “I'd bet anything, hell, I’d bet the dick right off my balls that you picked the second option.”

Taking a drink of a bottled beer, Owen nodded in response. “Hit it right on the head, brother. But there's a waiting list for it and it could take a long damn time before my name even comes up.”

“How long? A few weeks?”

“Months…years. I may not be alive when my turn comes.”

Ben, physically fit and wearing a plaid shirt with khaki shorts, took a drink himself. “So, cirrhosis is fatal?”

“More or less.”

“Then why the fuck are you even drinking then?”

“I probably shouldn't be. But I don't know...it's hard to watch a baseball game without a cold beer.”

“Lame excuse, bro.”

“That it may be. But, if I can put things on a weird positive note, I have a feeling that things are going to be alright. I actually have an appointment with a surgeon in Dallas tomorrow. I gave 'em a call on Saturday and they actually had people in the office to answer. It was their secretary, behind on work, or so she said. Sounded cute. Said that she had a cancellation recently and could fit me right in.”

“How about that...” Ben muttered. A look of disappointment crept on his face as he watched Owen take another drink, almost uncaring of his predicament.

“Hey look, Austin’s leading off,” said a focused and cheerful Owen. He was glad that the moment arose, for he hated this brutal feeling of guilt. He could feel the glaring energy of his brother’s judgement upon him.

It was a warm Monday evening. Loud chirping sounds of crickets were overpowered by the cheers of fans and parents as they watched the children play the great sport of baseball. The field was placed fairly close to a railroad, and trains would occasionally drown out all sounds whenever it thundered down the tracks. It was the same field that Owen played on as a boy. Back then, there was a chain link fence for boundaries and holes in the outfield that were never properly filled. Now, there was a state of the art sprinkler system installed within the field to keep the grass green and a metal wall that had many advertisements from local businesses drilled into the outfield wall for all eyes to see. It was Austin's first game of the year, and one could feel the enthusiasm from the kids as they took the field. Austin’s game was the last one of the night, as kids who just played the previous game sat with their parents and friends, snacking on refreshments in the stands. While the sun still hovered in the western sky, the lights above the field were already on, ready to illuminate the diamond once the sun finally set. The two brothers leaned against a chain link fence just outside the ballpark, so that they could somewhat legally consume their beverages, as the park forbid the consumption of alcohol on the premises. Even if they did drink in the park however, it was doubtful anyone would say anything, especially to the chief of the Adrienne Police Department.

Ben was 33 years of age and five years younger than Owen. While he made about the same grades as his brother, he wasn't quite the athletic baseball star that Owen was. Ben found his calling playing football instead, but only had a mediocre high school career on the gridiron. After graduating and not desiring to attend college, he decided to enlist in the Army. Finally feeling like he belonged somewhere, Ben quickly climbed through the ranks and by the time the fateful day of 9/11 rolled around, he was a first lieutenant. Right after the terrorist attack, he was deployed to Afghanistan to fight the good fight. He spent the next few years overseas in combat, somehow making it out of the desert with just a few scratches and only a smudge of mental trauma that he kept well hidden beneath his tough facade.

After returning to American soil, Ben did his best, slipping into an odd job or two, but just felt like he couldn’t find a normal place within society. He missed those feelings of structure and rigidity. Most of all, he missed having a gun on him at all times. There were nights in his safe apartment in Allen that he couldn’t sleep unless his fingertips were touching his cold handgun. Hoping to find that same comfy feeling he had in the military, he promptly decided to enroll with the Tyler Police Department, knowing that it was about as close to the Army as he could get without actually being in it. A couple weeks into his police classes at the local junior college, he and his friends would hit up a sports bar, where he fell in love with the local bartender named Taylor. The skin tight black tank top she wore drove him over the edge every time he saw her. Fate was present, as she was just as in to him as he was into her. The couple moved fast, marrying and having their first boy, Adam, when Ben was 26. The couple would follow Adam up with a baby girl named Rainey two years later.

Just like in the Army, he was progressing through the police department ranks quickly. He made lieutenant at age 30. Yearning for his hometown roots and seeing the opportunity for a small increase in salary, he took the opening as Chief of the Adrienne Police Department at 32 years of age. While he was back closer to his brother and friends, he quickly realized how undesirable his position was. The area had been stricken with increasing violence and drug trafficking, forcing most of the public in the area to greatly desire change and stability. But Ben took it on as a challenge that must be accepted, just like the Tomkins creed demanded.

Owen was quite cognizant that compared to his younger brother, he was a huge failure in life. The extent of his honest work was only as a mechanic, and while he was fairly decent at his craft, he still heavily lacked in comparison to Ben's bravado and salary. There were past instances where he even had to ask his younger brother for money to make payments on the property tax and miscellaneous bills. He considered his need to borrow funds on a few occasions some of his lowest points on God's green earth. Owen hated going to his brother's house for cookouts, as his dwelling was a large 3-2 house with a spacious fenced-in yard and an in ground pool that was eight feet deep with a diving board. Owen's house was a manufactured home out in the woods, where he would awake almost every single day to see woodland critters shitting in his backyard. In a way, he enjoyed living way out in the woods. His driveway was off the county road, but it had a good winding half mile distance away from it. He knew he normally wouldn’t be bothered by most folk. Though, he could take being bothered if it was a scantily clad woman looking to fuck until the morning sunrise. Knowing his current situation, however, the only way he could do that was by hiring an escort to act that way, which wouldn’t be out of his bounds. But he wished he didn’t have to live like that. It just displeased him more knowing he was inferior to his brother. He knew it, his brother knew it, and the entire town public knew it.

Owen Tomkins was a no good drunk who sucked at life.

The dinging sound of a metal bat snapped Owen out of his funk to see his grandson hit a double over the third baseman's head.

“Attaboy!” hollered an elated Owen.

Ben clapped in amusement. “Your boy's got some talent, bro.”

“Well shit, I work with him every damn day.”

Ben’s eyebrows lowered almost covering his eyes. “You taking a shot at me?”

“Damn, chill out, Ben. Why would I do that?”

“Just your tone. You know I work with Adam…or try to.”

“Didn’t say you didn’t.”

“My boy has a long way to go. Hell, this Saturday, I convinced him to put his glove on and come outside. Damn kid immediately whines how hot it is outside and how his hand is all sweaty from it being inside the glove. I don’t know how the hell his hand could sweat after ten seconds outside.”

Owen just politely smiled. “Fatherhood is a blast, ain’t it?”

Ben puffed out his cheeks, following it with an exhale as a means of response. “Had to promise him a Cherry Dr. Pepper if he did good. So I toss him a ball. Overhand, but soft, you know. He turns his head away and puts his glove in the wrong area. Damn ball hits him square in the belly. He runs into the house, bawling his little eyes out and screaming for his mommy.”

“That sucks.”

Frustrated, Ben sighed. ‘That ain’t even the end of it. I’m all outside, feeling like the worst father in the whole damn world. Shit, I was tossing the ball up in the air to myself. When I finally get the nerve to go in there, guess what my boy’s doing?”

Owen stared at his cold beer before taking a sip. “Something you didn’t like, I imagine.”

“He was in his room, playing one of his dumbass video games and shoving spoon after spoon of chocolate ice cream in his mouth. I about flipped, but Taylor saw me and got me to chill out. But still, that kid doesn’t want to do shit.”

“He may not be into baseball, man.”

“He ain’t into anything sports. I mean, I guess I should be glad he even goes outside to play sometimes. I don’t have to worry about that with Rainey. She’s got her first tee ball game in a couple of weeks and she’s beyond excited. The girl’s constantly outside practicing. Granted, she still gets confused which way to run on the bases, but she’s trying.”

Owen sheepishly grinned, seeing an opportunity in front of him. “What I am hearing is that it sounds like the Tomkins' athletic genes just completely passed on your side.”

“Eh, fuck you.”

Both men simultaneously finished off their beer. Owen dipped into his ice chest at his feet and pulled out two more, handing one to his brother.

Owen ignored Ben's troubled look toward him. He had to switch subjects quickly. “So, how's work?”

Ben sighed, drinking about half the beer in one go. “Not good, bro. Not good. This might surprise you, but policing was a lot easier in Tyler. It wasn’t ever complicated. Things stayed routine. But out here, especially as chief, it’s just tough. I have six full-time officers and four part-timers under my command, some of which are rookies I pulled off the street. I got city hall meetings where all the damn citizens are complaining about the drugs. I got farmers scared to work on their own land in fear of finding a meth lab. I’m still dealing with the dead body we found a few weeks back floating in the Anderson’s pond. We know damn well that all kinds of dirty meth gets made out in these woods and that causes a lot of trouble for these citizens. But I can’t just set off on an excursion through private pastures on a witch hunt. The law just seems to hinder us sometimes.”

“If only you could do things your way.”

“If I could, the only crime in this town would be DUI’s and illegal parking.”

Owen was legitimately interested in his brother's job. He sometimes wanted to apply himself for a part-time gig. He was sure he could do a good job, but he didn’t want to stress his brother out with him hiring his possible alcoholic brother. Ben had enough on his plate anyway. “Any ideas on how to get things done then?”

“Luck. Just a whole bunch of luck. Most of what you would call ‘progress’ in this case is just by pulling over vehicles we find suspicious. Even then, we still only hit the users who are holding a measly quarter gram. What we need is someone to flip to our side of the fence. We know the players here. Besides Scar and Nicky and those guys, there are a few more that we’d call higher tier players in this area. The best case scenario for us is for one of those guys to turn Benedict Arnold. We get that, we get info. We get locations. We get the distributors. Then and only then, will we make actual progress.”

“So that traffic stop I saw on the news wasn’t a big bust?”

Ben shrugged. “Wouldn’t call it big. Officer Lanoux pulled over a vehicle going 80 in a 65 on its way to Mineola. You ever play against any Yates back in the day? This one’s name is Jordy. He’s out of Fruitvale.”

“That name sounds familiar. I'm sure I played baseball against a couple of Yates back in the day.”

“Well, this Jordy had a pretty big rap sheet. Lanoux claimed he came off as a bit twitchy, so he searched his car. Found a pound of meth hidden under junk in his trunk. Not sure if he’s a dealer or delivering a dealer. Either way, I drove him down to Tyler to jail. Tried my best on the way to get him to talk. He didn’t say a damn word. I told him he was looking at years in the system and I even told him I’d vouch for him to just get put on probation if he cooperated. But, he stayed silent. Well, I say silent. He did have a nice colorful comment on how he was going to fuck my wife in the ass. Real class act, that one.”

“I bet he’s scared of what might happen to him if he does say something.”

“Oh, for sure. The Roaring 20’s definitely built up a reputation of a gang you don’t cross. Doesn’t matter if you are already in prison or on vacation out in the Bahamas, they’ll find you. Remember that picture I showed up of that guy’s arm?”

Owen looked up at the fading sky in his attempts to recall. “Oh yeah. Ew, the guy that got shoved into the wood chipper?”