Rumble (22 page)

if not square center. Finally,

I take control of the Glock.

“My turn.” I spend a few minutes

showing off and am reloading

when someone taps my shoulder.

I turn. “Hey, Uncle Jessie.”

His long salt-and-pepper hair

is tied back away from his face,

accentuating the sharp angles

that run in the Turner family.

He is younger than Dad, but could

easily pass for his older brother.

He gives me a giant bear hug,

steps back and grins, then notices

Alexa, who is likewise grinning.

This your girlfriend?

I glance at Lex. “Not exactly.”

His single eye does the work

of two, gives her a total once-over.

Hmm. Well, she should be.

“Uncle Jessie!” Lex doesn’t blush,

but I do. “Um, this is my
friend
,

Alexa. I’m showing her the ropes.”

I know. I’ve been observing.

You could do worse for a teacher,

miss. This boy is a world-class shot.

A Sudden Outburst

Of world-class cussing draws

all attention toward the far end

of the long row of targets,

where an immense, scruffy

guy seems to be wrestling

with a very large long gun.

Ah, hell,
exhales Jessie.
Gus.

Better go help him out.
He starts

away, turns back long enough

to invite,
Quin’s whipping up

enchiladas. Why don’t you two

come to the house for dinner?

Alexa’s all for it, I can tell,

and I’m having frozen whatever

otherwise. “Sure thing,” I call after

Uncle Jessie, who, in a half-dozen

superstrides, has reached Gus.

I can’t hear what he’s saying,

but I can see him coax the rifle

away from the hulk. He checks for

a chambered round, examines

the barrel, points out something

to Gus, who remains agitated. People

start packing it in, but whether it’s due

to the commotion or simply because

the day is tipping toward evening,

who knows? Alexa shifts uneasily

from foot to foot. “Don’t worry.

Whatever the problem is, Jessie can

handle it. You up for another round?”

Lex pulls her attention back toward

the Glock and me, but when she takes

the pistol, I notice the tension traveling

from her shoulders all the way down

through her arms, into her hands.

“You’ll have to relax or forget it.”

I’m trying,
she says.
But that man

looks just this side of going bad. Reminds

me of Paul after an all-night bender.

“If he’s been drinking, my uncle

will escort him out of here. Guns

and liquor are a toxic combination.”

As If to Prove My Point

Jessie and Gus come ambling

toward us, Jessie carrying the rifle

belonging to the bigger man,

who has one arm slung around

Jessie’s shoulder. After they pass

by, headed in the direction

of the main building, Lex finally

expels enough stress to hit the target

again. Her last shot is a dead-on

bull’s-eye. “Way to go!” I offer

a high high-five, one she has to

jump a little for. Anything worth

having is worth working for,

as my Grandpa Turner says.

I take one last turn, annihilating

the target’s center with eight

straight perfect shots.
Awesome!

exclaims Lex.
I want to shoot like that.

“You can, with practice. You’ve

got a good eye.” I drop the clip,

pull the trigger one last time,

making sure no chambered

surprises await me, then wipe

the Glock free of residue.

I pack the pistol in its case and

as Lex and I swing toward the truck,

Uncle Jessie and Gus emerge

from the office. This time,

Jessie does walk Gus to his car,

the offending rifle nowhere in sight.

I tuck the Glock in its usual

under-the-seat hiding place, wait

for Uncle Jessie’s return trip. As

he nears, I call out, “Hey, soldier.

Want a ride? Good time, guaranteed.”

Jessie laughs; Alexa does, too,

especially when Jessie responds,

How could I
not
have a good time

with you? But enchiladas first.

Any and all good times after dinner.

The house isn’t really so far, just

a couple hundred yards up the hill.

Walking distance, but I kind of

enjoy the chauffeur role. I open

the backseat door. “Oh, brother

of my father, your four-wheel-drive,

supercharged V-8 limo awaits.

Allow me to help you in, suh.”

He Slaps Away

My outstretched hand, but he does

accept the ride, climbs up inside,

with a heartfelt,
Jerkwad. I’ll give

you “suh” right upside your head.

We all watch Gus back his beater

out of the parking space, head off.

“What’s up with him, anyway?

And what happened to his rifle?”

Uncle Jessie clucks his tongue.
I

talked him into letting me work on

that old piece of crap. The barrel

is corroded, and I’m worried it’ll

blow his ugly-ass face off.

But he loves that goddamn thing.

I thought he might fight you for it,

says Alexa.
He looked belligerent.

B-b . . .
Jessie detonates laughter.

Yep, belligerent is the perfect word

for Gus, and I figure he was born

that way. But he wouldn’t fight me.

We’re compadres. He’s a tad tweaked,

but four back-to-back tours to

the Middle East will do that to a guy.

I let him come out here for free.

He needs to blow off steam every now

and again, and I’d rather it be shooting

targets than most other things I can

think of. Anyway, you’re safe with me.

We pull up in front of the two-story

frame farmhouse. The front porch sags

a little, but seeing as how the place

was built almost a century ago, all in all,

it’s in decent shape. A trio of pit bull

mix mutts come around the side of the house

to investigate, wagging their stumps

at the sight of Jessie and his company.

The Dogs Grin, Exposing Fangs

Alexa hesitates beside the truck.

“I thought nothing scared you

except things you can’t see,”

I tease. “Don’t worry. Larry,

Mo, and Curly are friendly.”

Unless you piss them off,
amends

Jessie. Then he quickly backs off.

But I told you, you’re safe with me.

Now, come on inside. Quin doesn’t

get to play hostess very often.

Lex decides to chance her way

past the dogs, who sniff her as she

walks by.
Hope I don’t smell like

bacon,
she says. But she’s smiling,

and the Stooges go off in search

of squirrels or skunks, hopefully

the former. One time they got hold

of a nest of the smelly critters and

I’m not sure who got the worst of it.

The place smelled like eau de stink for days.

Today, However

It smells like sautéed

onions and peppers, stewed

chicken, and hot corn tortillas.

“Man, I haven’t eaten homemade

anything in months.”

Thank God my lady can cook,

says Jessie.
It’s one of her best

attributes.
He winks at Lex.

I won’t say just what it is

she’s better at, but let me tell

you, she’s an expert!

Tugging Lex behind me,

I follow him into the kitchen,

where Quin is lifting an oversized

pan from the oven. Quite

an accomplishment, considering

she’s barely five feet tall

and thin as a spring shoot.

“Need help?” I move swiftly

across the floor, in case

she says yes, but knowing

that’s highly unlikely.

She thumps the enchiladas

down on the counter, turns

to face me.
The only help

I need from you is a hug.

She pulls me to her, obliges

herself, then pushes me away

again.
It’s been too long. Why

don’t you ever come see us after

you’re finished shredding targets?

I shrug. “Don’t want to bother

you. And anyway, how do

you even know I’ve been here

and gone without saying hello?”

Her laugh is warm and throaty.

I know pretty much everything

that happens around here.

Now, who’s this? Your girlfriend?

Lex and I exchange amused

glances. But before either

of us can respond,

Uncle Jessie says,
Not exactly,

according to Matt, despite

how things might look. Regardless,

this is Alexa, and Matt’s teaching

her marksmanship. Now, how

about a couple of brewskis?

The Invitation

Extends to Alexa and me.

Our mild protests are brushed

away like pesky mosquitoes.

You’re both eighteen, right?

asks Jessie.
If you’re old enough

to fight for your country, you’re old

enough to drink a beer or two,

especially as a complement

to enchiladas. Nothing beats

the spice like cold carbonation.

It’s hard to argue with that.

Quin abstains, “just in case

someone needs to play designated

driver.” I don’t mention I’ve driven

after drinking more than a beer

or two, not that it was the best idea.

We settle around the table, dive

into probably the best Mexican

food I’ve ever tasted.

“You should open a restaurant,

Quin. Where did you learn

to cook like this, anyway?”

I’m one-quarter
mexicana,

gringo, she says, bastardizing

both languages. Mi abuela
taught

me. She’d be happy you like

her recipes. Eat up. There’s plenty.

The revelation is a surprise.

There’s a lot I don’t know

about people in my life.

I suppose I should change that.

The small talk continues

for over an hour. We discuss

Dad, which leads to basketball

and championships almost in the bag.

We move on to Mom,

and I can’t help but mention

that she’s been staying at Aunt

Sophie’s a little longer than I expected.

Problems at home?
Uncle Jessie’s

question elicits a “maybe that’s

none of our business” glare from

Quin. He responds,
Just asking.

I shrug. “I talked to her

yesterday. She says she’s trying

to get some things straight

in her head.” I don’t mention

the precipitating factors.

Quin inquires about college

and when I mention my lack

of concrete goals, Uncle Jessie

says,
Hell, I didn’t have any idea