Cowboys 03 - My Cowboy Homecoming (19 page)

“Ignorance won’t help her if she’s caught with this crap.” I picked up the pills. “I’m going to kill him.”

His hand came down hard on my shoulder. “Take it easy.”

I shook it off. “I’m going to fucking kill him, but first I’m going to flush all his shit and throw the rest of the contraband into the garbage. Then I’m going to drop off his
donations
, just like he asked me to—”

“Don’t.” Lucho rolled from the bed and hopped around the side, ignoring his crutches and wheelchair. “Wait. Stop and think about this.”

“What’s there to think about? That fucker has my ma smuggling drugs for him. Are you kidding me?”

“Think about it. Who’s likely to get blamed if the stuff disappears?”

“Me.”

“Maybe. What if someone blames your mom?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Mind racing, I tried to think of a way out. “Christ. What do I do?”

“Take it. Drop it off like you’re supposed to. When you get back you can confront Slade and your mom, and—”

“She won’t believe he’s got some kind of operation going without proof. Even then—”
She was bound to turn a blind eye . . .

“So if she doesn’t, you did your part.”

Our late night of lovemaking had made me feel tired, but warm and happy. Now all I felt was exhausted. I started repacking the boxes. “Right. I don’t suppose it matters that we opened a bag of T-shirts, but I’ll put it on the bottom, just in case.”

He helped me replace the clothes and shoes in an approximation of the way we’d found them.

“Don’t worry.” He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it has to be.” He smiled up at me, and suddenly I felt the need to protect him from this in the same way I’d protected myself until now.
Distance.

“I can’t let you be any part of this.” I said. “Until I figure out what I’m going to do, it’s best if—”

“Fuck. You.” He stood over me. “If you finish that sentence with anything that even sounds like we’d better cool things off for a while, I’ll call the cops on you myself.”

I gaped at him.

“Well, probably not. But after—” he glared at me, still breathing hard. “After last night, I thought . . .”

“Lucho—” I said. “
Luis.
It’s exactly
because
of last night that I don’t want to get you involved in anything that could hurt—”

“I don’t need to be protected from your shit, army. If you have a problem then it’s my problem too. I don’t know how to help you, but I’m not going anywhere either. Got that?”

I did get it. I’d have said the same thing to him. “Yeah.” My voice sounded husky and unfamiliar to me. “I get it.”

“See that you do.” He hopped around the bed and lay back down. I stacked the boxes by the door.

When I turned back, I found him watching me, relaxed and happy and a damn sight sexier than any human had the right to be. My cock gave my zipper an unsubtle nudge, but there was no time for that if I wanted to make it to the penitentiary at the head of the line.

I needed to get the whole ordeal over with as soon as possible, so I could get on with my life. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe closure was exactly what I needed.

“I don’t suppose you made me coffee?” he asked.

“Sorry. Gotta run.”

Lucho shot me a lazy smile. “I’ll let it go this time because you can probably be trained.”

The address Ma gave me led to a tiny, run-down box of a house with a mostly dirt yard behind a chain-link fence. I opened the latch and found something to prop the gate open, then carried the boxes two at a time, up to the porch.

When I knocked, an old woman answered the door as if she’d been expecting me and—without any kind of greeting at all—she indicated I should leave the boxes on the floor next to the door.

I put the boxes where she told me and that was that.

I glanced back once on the way out to Lucho’s truck, but she’d already closed the door behind me.

That’s it?

I’d expected to have to explain myself, to talk my way in, to prove who I was.

At the very least, I thought I’d see a group of gangsters or something, even a couple of tough street-kids, posted as lookouts.

What I did not expect was a thriving contraband smuggling operation that would leave their pickup and drop-off points visibly unguarded. And I wouldn’t have believed anybody could use their grandmother like that. It defied logic, and common sense, and good manners.

That was probably why the operation worked. C/Os had grandmothers too. Maybe Nana didn’t know what she was getting into and maybe she didn’t care. Maybe she turned a blind eye, like Ma did, because it was easier that way.

After that, the drive to the Tucson Federal Correction complex was uneventful. I went through the paperwork and metal detectors and waited in line until they opened the room where prisoners are allowed to sit and talk with their families.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a plexi-glass wall and those old-school phone intercoms? Orange prison jumpsuits and prisoners in shackles. Instead, when my dad arrived he was wearing khaki trousers and a collared shirt over a white T-shirt. He walked in and sat directly across from me at a small table—almost as if we were there to get coffee together. There were prisoners at every table visiting with wives or girlfriends, and lots of children.

The noise was disorienting. On top of that came the shock of seeing how dad had aged. I was even less prepared to see dark bruising, cuts, and abrasions on his face and hands. He’d been in a fight, but it looked like he’d given as good as he got. New tattoos dotted the pale, freckled skin of his wiry old arms.

I waited for the emotional chaos inside me to subside.

He smiled, and I had to fight the urge to get up and walk away.

“Ma and Yancy said you wanted to see me?” I asked.

“How is your mother?” His cool gray eyes drilled into mine. “I missed her visit last week.”

“The truck broke down.”

“So she told me.”
Blink . . . Blink.
That gaze of his was as unnerving as ever.

“You talk to her?” How come I didn’t know that? What else didn’t I know?

“I have a card I can use to call. There’s usually a line and I can’t talk long.”

“I didn’t know.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No.” Obviously not.

“So you’re home now. Not going back?”

“I’m out.” I said. “I was sorry about Heath. I thought maybe . . . I should come for Ma.”

“Ah, yeah. She could use someone now.” Tears glittered in his eyes. “Heath was a good kid, but wild. He drove like a bat out of hell from the minute I taught him. I guess what happened was inevitable . . . but—”

“Did he visit often?”

“When I first got here, yeah. The last few months though . . .” He shook his head minutely. “The guards could always tell when he was using. I guess he figured it was like walking into a cop shop. He stopped coming.”

“I wish I’d known what he was up to.”

“I don’t know what you could have done. Nothing probably.” He eyed me. “But you were off fighting your war in another country, right? Being a hee-ro.”

I accepted that. “Right.”

“Heath used to bring me newspaper clippings.”

“I know. Ma told me.”

“Look. What happened between us . . .” he raked his hands through his hair. “I wish I’d been a better dad. Wish I’d had a better idea of what you had inside you before you left. You turned out to be a fine man, no thanks to me.”

Humility?
From my dad? Maybe the people that beat him had knocked a screw loose.

I’d come with a hundred questions: Why am I here? What does Ma see in you? Why would Slade waste his time on an appeal he can’t win?

How does it make you feel that one of your sons is dead and the other hates you?

All my questions died when he turned to me and said, “So, did you get Ma’s charitable donations to the church this morning?”

“Sure.” My hands balled on my thighs. “Apparently Ma’s real particular about that.”

“She’s a good girl.”

Over the blood drumming too loudly in my ears, I snapped at him. “That’s your wife you’re talking about. The mother of your children. Her
charitable giving
ends now that I’m back. We can’t afford it. Understand?”

“Now, wait just a damn minute—” Dad glanced around. No one was paying any particular attention to us over the noise of a baby’s crying. Two toddlers chased each other around the table where their dad sat, talking quietly to his weeping wife. My dad leaned forward a little. “There’s something I need you to understand about the way things work in here.”

I rose. “I understand exactly the way things work. It ends.
Now.
”

“Don’t make a fucking scene.” One of the guards turned our way. Dad hissed. “
Sit
.”

To my immense shame I obeyed.
Shit.
“Don’t order me around.”

“Try to keep your act together. I need to tell you some things.”

Rage washed over me then, carrying with it all the pain of growing up under his thumb. Of falling for the lies he told. Of accepting his praise and never once seeing the favor he was going to ask coming with that compliment.

Of believing he’d seen me as anything but a convenient tool, like a hammer or a screwdriver he could use, break and replace.

It never got easier. It never would.

He licked his lips nervously while drawing abstract patterns on the tabletop. “There are people who depend on those donations.”

“I know who they’re for.”

His gaze lifted to mine in surprise.

“I found the prizes inside.”

He hadn’t expected that. His lips curved up in a wry smile. “At least it’s for a worthy cause.”

“That’s debatable. Does Ma know?”

“What do you think?”

“I’d guess”—I thought about it hard—“she didn’t know at first. Now she does. How’d she find out?”

“I had Slade tell her.”

“Why would you even—”

“Her anxiety was ruining everything,” he said bitterly. “She was losing control and it didn’t look like she wanted to make the trip here anymore. I had to do something.”

“She’s more anxious now than ever. Couldn’t you find some other way to handle your problems?”

Dad reached for me, but a guard cleared his throat. After that he sat back, smiled cheerfully, and spoke through his teeth. “See these bruises? This is what happens if Birdie doesn’t come through. I’m fighting for my life here, son.”

“You’re going to talk to
me
about fighting for your life? What do you think I was doing in Afghanistan?”

“You—”

“One thing I wasn’t doing—” I stabbed my finger onto the table for emphasis. “—was forcing Ma to fight my battles for me. Man up, Dad. Leave Ma and me out of this.”

He took a deep breath and folded his hands, his mild expression in direct contrast to his tone of voice. “You think you know what you’re talking about? You don’t. In here you belong to something or you find out real fast how alone you are. You don’t want to be alone in here. It isn’t safe.”

“So Ma’s charitable giving is greasing the wheels of friendship?”

“Yes,” he said urgently. “If she stops my friends aren’t going to protect me anymore. You know what that means?”

“It means you’ll pay for your crimes, probably. Better you than her.”

“I could get
killed
. This goes beyond what you think of as the right thing to—”

“Find someone else to do it. Ma’s out. I’m out. End of.”

“I see you still think you’re a tough little fucker, don’t you? You always did.”

“Guess you figured me for a pussy a little too early in the game, huh?”

His cheeks darkened. “Aw, now. I regret saying that, son. I do. That was a bad night all around. That—”

“After the Las Cruces thing went south, you told your friends I wasn’t your son anymore. You told them to show me what happens to pussies. Do you remember that?”

He lowered his gaze. “Vaguely.”

“Do you even know what they did to me?”

“I was running scared that first time. I don’t remember much of anything that happened in the first few days after that.”

“The hell you don’t. You watched the fire from the shadows, enjoying your work, and then you disappeared for a week to plan how you could do it again.” I knew I’d hit home when I saw the memory brighten his eyes. Dad liked fire. What started out as an accident had become his true calling. “Your friends took turns beating on me for most of a night.”

“They were all hyped up on adrenaline, son. We all were. It was sort of like after a winning football game. You can’t—”

“They tried to get me with some street girl. When I couldn’t—” the whole thing made me sick to think of now, because she’d been young and drunk and a little scared “
because
I couldn’t—they called me a pussy and took turns making her blow them. They pushed her out of the van on the side of the road in nothing but her bra and panties like garbage.”

Dad’s face looked mildly surprised, but that was all.

“You didn’t know about that?”

“Christ, no. They—”

“They
hurt
her.” And me. I’d been beaten bloody. I had marks on my wrists where they’d restrained me while they took turns taunting me about being a faggot who couldn’t get it up and beating me with their fists. It took a long time for me to heal physically. Emotionally, I never had. I’d just put it behind me. “I ditched school for nearly a week because someone would have called CPS on you and I couldn’t do that to Ma.”

All he said was, “Shit happens.”

I glanced around. “Your friends, on your orders, beat me half to death. They assaulted some girl who may or may not have been underage.”

He rubbed his face with both hands. “You couldn’t get it up with the girl?”

“No. I really couldn’t.
That’s
what you take away from what I just told you?”

“If it really happened the way you said, why didn’t you go to the cops?”

“I
tried
. I wanted to go right when I came home.” I gulped air. Was I really saying this out loud? “Ma said I had to talk to Yancy Slade first and he said—”

“You told your
mother
? What kind of a dick move is that?”

He did not just
say
that. I opened my mouth to reply. Closed it again.

“You told your mother what I did that night?”

“Don’t worry. As usual, she didn’t accept a word against you. So fuck you. You’re a crap dad. You were a terrible role model. Heath is dead and I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. You’re father of the fucking year.”

I settled back in my chair, having said what I’d come to say. Except . . . Everyone was wrong about the truth. The truth doesn’t always set you free. Sometimes it makes you feel violated all over again.

“Look, son. Those were dark, dark days. I was on heavy pain medications and—”

“Forget it. I only came to tell you one thing. Leave me and Ma out of things from now on. We’re done.”

“Junior—”

“If there’s anything else you want to tell me, now’s the time to do it. I won’t be coming back here.”

“Are you gonna run away again? Some soldier. Are you sure all the shit they said about you was true? Or was it just more lies to make that Muslim asshole in the White House look good?”

“You’re such a fool. I’ve salted the ground here. You’ve got nothing left and you don’t have a clue.” I stood. “I came for some kind of closure, and I’ve got it. What about you?”

He glared at me for some time before he said, “We’re done here.”

He left, heading back for the prisoner entrance and whatever they’d do to him before they put him back into the population. Vindictively, I hoped they did a thorough search before they let him back in.

I walked out the way I’d come in, relieved to put that scene behind me. Glad to breathe the air of freedom when my dad would hopefully never get that chance again.

On the way to Lucho’s truck, I checked my phone for the time. Not even eleven yet.

“’Lo?”

“You still in the room?”

“Yeah. Just getting ready to go find someplace nice to sit.”

“I’m done here.”

“Already?”

“Yep. It was a short visit. Short, sweet, and final.”

Silence . . .
“Are you okay?”

“I—” Was I? I leaned against his truck and looked up at the sky. Was I really okay with leaving my dad behind? I’d said what I’d come to say. Maybe. There was no fixing anything, only prolonging the pain. Could I leave it behind, once and for all, without guilt? Was it over?

“Tripp?”

“There was no point in coming here. I’m never going to make peace with the past. I think—” I took a hesitant breath “—I think it’s okay. Even if it’s not.”

“All right.” I could hear a smile in his voice. “All the more reason to start off on the right foot in the future.”

“Yeah. I guess.” My head hurt, but I felt lighter, somehow. “I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

“I’ll buy you lunch on the way back.”

“Sounds good.” I’d only had cake for breakfast. Granted, I’d licked a lot of the frosting off Lucho’s lips, but . . . “Sounds really good.”

Halfway to the hotel, I had to pull off the road so I could lose breakfast in a gas station bathroom.

I’d done what I’d set out to do. I’d gotten closure . . .

It was over between my father and me. Once and for all.

My only mistake was expecting that when it was over I’d feel better.

Because I didn’t.