Page 82 of Intrepid

“Well, you gotta be somewhere. Whether it’s here, the streets, or in the dirt.”

“Everything’s a fucking joke to you! You’ve got some … stupid ass phrase for everything. You do not want my ass coming after you. Whether it’s here, the streets. or in the dirt.” I wished more than anything I could add a nice solid punch across his smug jaw.

“Good likeness.”

“Good likeness,” I echoed in the same mocking tone. “Piss off! You don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“You want to know what serious is? Serious is not hearing from your baby brother for a good seven years and suddenly having a nephew thrown in your lap. That’s some serious shit.”

“If I’m such an inconvenience for you, I’ll let Susan know you’re not up for the job.”

“Oh, I’m up for the job. Question is, are you? ‘Cause I ain’t nothin’ like your dad, JT. He was a better man than I’ll ever be. I drink too much. Smoke and cuss too much. And anybody comes after you?” He puffed his cigar again, blowing it off to the side. “I’ll kill ‘em dead and make sure no one finds ‘em.”

Realization dawned on me, and I narrowed my eyes. “You …. My dad told you?”

“Who do you think gave your dad the gun?”

“You believe me, then.”

“Yeah. I believe you. And if I didn’t have you to think about, I’d have gone after those little cocksuckers myself.”

“So, why don’t you?”

“’Cause this is bigger than a few white trash pedophiles. See, I looked into it a little deeper, JT. Those men? They’re connected. And their connections have connections. That’s how shit works on the streets. It’s bigger than you think, and your dad didn’t find that out until it was too late.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” My fingers dug into the arm of the chair. “You could’ve had his back. You should’ve had his back, and maybe he wouldn’t be dead right now!”

“And you’d be left alone. I didn’t know what the hell he was doing, when he asked me for that gun. Told me he wanted it for protection. Didn’t find out the truth until I caught the six o’clock fuckin’ news and started piecing shit together on my own. Believe me, if I could make it the other way around, I’d have burned in that house, and you’d be here with your pop. But shit happened, and I’m damn well keeping my promise to your dad.” Cigar wedged between his fingers, he pointed toward the door. “So, you want to run? You want to hit the streets and hide away? Do what you gotta do.” He lowered his hand, pointing at me. “But I’m going to be right behind you. And I promise you, kid. Here on out, I’ll always have your back.”

My muscles tensed from trying to keep the anger locked in, to keep from crying in front of him. Bowing my head, I gave a slight nod, and my eyes found the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “You hunt?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He swiped at his nose and sniffed. “Your dad did, too.”

“What d’you hunt?”

“Deer, bear, rabbit, turkeys. Depends on the season.”

I rubbed the bruises across the back of my palm, where the needles Fox and Gideon had pushed into me left a harrowing memory. “Will you teach me?”

“Sure, kid. What’d you like to learn to hunt?”

I lifted my gaze to him, silently imagining Fox and Gideon’s brains and bits of skull scattered across the floor. “Prey.”

27

Ty

Present day …

I found it interesting what small details the mind picked up after so many years. Shit that didn’t make sense at the time became clear as fucking day, the moment you dumped all the emotional veneer that kept most people hidden.

As a kid, I probably watched Pinocchio about a half-dozen times a week. It was the only movie we had on DVD, and one I never got bored of watching. To the extent that my mom could sneak off to the bedroom with any swinging dick that happened to knock on our door when my dad was at work, and I was completely oblivious. She’d be fucking some asshole in the next room over, while I’d sat mesmerized by the little boy whose nose grew every time he told a lie. So, when my dad had asked me if I’d seen anyone come into the house, even after my mom told me to keep my mouth shut, I guess I’d just felt kind of compelled to tell the truth.

The irony had been somehow lost on my ma, who’d accused me of ruining their marriage, and ended up taking off not long after that. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a sidekick cricket telling me my mom was a crazy crack whore, so I’d spent years blaming myself, until the day I decided some people were simply fucked up. Though, probably none so much as the ones who manipulated kids into feeling like shit most of their lives for something they didn’t have any control over.

That was when I realized that, to really move on with my life, I had to not only sever the ties to my guilt, but bury those bastards so deep in the ground, I’d never have to hear them mock me again.

I later found out my mother had died of a drug overdose a few years back, so in some ways she’d buried them for me.