Comin' Home to You (29 page)

“I may have had a couple last night.”

“Looks like more than a couple. How come?”

Scar stared at Nicky with annoyance, but the look rapidly changed to that of astonishment. “Shit. You don’t know…that fucker Owen. He tries to kill Clint and tells him that he’s gonna kill him like he killed Roy. That son of a bitch finally admitted to it.” Scar plopped onto his couch. “After 15 fucking years. He finally did it.”

“So where is he now?” asked Nicky, secretly knowing the question.

“The fuck if I care. His house, I guess, getting his funeral plans set up.”

“You ain’t sending anyone after him?”

“Nope. I’m the only one who is going to kill him. This has been years in the making. He’ll die by my hand.”

“When you gonna do that?”

The annoyed look reappeared on Scar’s face. “Today. Tomorrow. Whenever the fuck I want.”

Nicky took a seat on the vacant recliner. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he debated whether this was a good time to talk about this. Scar seemed on edge and may not give him a straight answer. Nicky had to leave with the truth. Otherwise, he’d put his family first and damn Scar to his fate. But he came here to talk and here he was, suddenly unable to let the words escape his lips.

Scar rose back up and headed to the refrigerator, kicking empty beer cans on the floor. “You want anything. A beer? I’ve got a few more in the fridge.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

With a bottle of water in his hand, Scar sat back down on his recliner and took a drink. “So, what’d you want, bro?”

Nicky anxiously rubbed his shaved head. “Man, I ain’t trying to be too blunt or nothing, but…um, I was hoping you could give me a bigger cut from now on.”

“You already get a lot,” Scar stated. “You’re wanting more?”

Of all the things to ask, Nicky panicked and asked for a raise. However, after thinking about it, he realized he might be able to go with his blunder to figure out his friend, while understanding how much me actually makes. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve been puttin’ in the hard work. You know how it is. I just feel like, I should get a raise for my performance. I should get a higher percentage of what I make, you know?”

Scar studied him, trying to understand where this was coming from. Nicky had never asked for any type of raise before. “What kind of percentage you wantin’?”

“Shit, I don’t know,” sputtered Nicky. He silently scolded himself for not thinking of actual money figures.

“You gonna have to give me some numbers so I can see if that is feasible or not.”

“Uh, alright.” Nicky had to spitball something. “Uh, 300 percent more than I make now.”

“Jesus Christ on the motherfucking cross! 300 percent? Three times more than you make now!? That’s way too damn much!”

“That ain’t too much to ask! I do a shit ton of the work. I’m your best friend!”

An irritated Scar rose up from his recliner and walked into the kitchen. He placed his full water bottle on the counter and raided the refrigerator for a beer. “What the fuck crawled up your ass, Nicky? You ain’t ever been so bold. You want my position now? You want what I make? You want the throne?”

“Nah, I ain’t interested in no throne. I just want to earn what I think I should be earning. I should be making pretty damn close to what you make with as much work as I do.”

“And how much do you think I make?”

Nicky got up from the couch and paced toward the blank television. “Fuck, uh, I don’t know. If I am guessing, I would say 80 percent of the profit.”

Scar heartily laughed. “You really think I get that big of a cut? Eighty fuckin’ percent!?”

“Yeah, I do! We get the earnings from our product in fuckin’ Tyler, Lindale, Longview, Kilgore, Marshall, Terrell, all those places. Drugs, stolen drugs, guns, all that shit, we get paid for. We get delivery bonuses when we deliver to Shreveport and Dallas. I know we still gotta kick it up and shit, but as much as we get done, fuck yeah I think you get a big ass cut, and I get shit. I’m fucking struggling here, bro!”

Crossing his arms and returning from the kitchen, Scar took a drink before placing his beer on the coffee table. “Let me break it down for you. I have to kick up 60 percent of whatever we make to the three big dogs, so that only gives me 40 percent to work with. I keep 20 percent, which is actually only ten percent, because I give my stupid brother five of it, and the other five I keep saved for Austin when he grows up. The other twenty is dispersed among the rest of you, depending on how many people play a part in the job. So no, in the end, I don’t get a big cut.”

Nicky’s mind sparked in confusion. “So let me get this straight. If we make, for example, a thousand dollar score. You personally only keep a hundred of it?”

“Bingo.”

“And Clint would get fifty of it? For doing nothing?”

“They gotta feed Austin somehow.”

Clint and Ali burn throught that money on drugs and booze.
Even knowing this fact, Scar protected and provided for his family. Especially for the boy he could never physically have. If it weren’t for Scar and his grandfather, Austin would probably starve. Scar treated that boy like the last surviving Grayson in the world. Yes, family meant everything to Scar, but if you were to ask him what Austin was to him, he would undoubtedly say the boy was like a son. He was even saving money for Austin’s future, so that he may grow up to be his own man and not make the same mistakes the rest of the Graysons made. Scar always said how much he admired his younger sister who got the hell out and moved to New Mexico. Even though he had no contact with her, he knew that she graduated college and was making something of herself, instead of theoretically writhing in this gutter.

With Scar disclosing the breakdown of payments, Nicky began to question everything. Who was speaking the truth? Was Passerini the one spinning the web of lies, or was it Scar making up numbers off of the top of his head? Nicky wasn’t sure how many, if any, people knew about Paxton retiring. But he was sure Scar didn’t know, or else he’d be making a bigger play for the vacancy. Perhaps Paxton wanted him taken out before Scar knew of it. The boss mentored Passerini since he joined as a foot soldier, so it made sense if Paxton was grooming him for his position. Passerini definitely had the pedigree and experience for it. He was both respected and feared. His demeanor was all business, his charisma was like a cult leader, and his tactics were always cutthroat.

It was likely they would have a backup contingency plan if Nicky were to tell his friend about the plot against him. If Scar were to take up the proverbial sword against the brass in a coup attempt, it would be an excellent way for the Roaring 20’s to flaunt their power within the organization, and show what happens when people get too big of a head and attempt a rebellion. Nicky sighed inside, grasping how badly of a lose-lose situation he was in. If he took out Scar personally or by proxy, then the Roaring 20’s would have their hands clean of any wrongdoing in a variety of ways. The ideal way for Scar to go is if he were to disappear like his older brother allegedly did. However, if Nicky ever became unruly or uncooperative, they could blame him and play it out as an internal power struggle. Either way, the guys at the top could always find a scapegoat to stay innocent. If Nicky were to tell Scar of their plans, then he would be hunted down just like Scar, with his family likely hinted along with him. It wouldn’t surprise him if they actually preferred it that way. Nicky knew deep down in his heart that he was doomed for failure. There was no good way out of this. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want his family to die. Nicky didn’t even want Scar to lose his life because of a stupid power play by Passerini. Quietly, he cursed his luck.

Smoothly, he veered the conversation well away from his dark thoughts. “I didn’t know you weren’t taking that big of a cut either.”

Scar shrugged, taking a drink of a beer, leaning back on the couch and bracing himself on the armrest. “You never asked, bro. I get you’re struggling. Three kids and a wife. I get it. Remember, I had four other siblings, so I watched how my parents struggled to make do. Though a lot of that was my dad’s fault for spending a lot.”

“I’m just trying to make right with what I got.”

“I get that. And…just know that I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. It’s the God’s honest truth.”

“I owe you just as much, man. You and your family took me in during a bad time. ”

“Tell you what? You made sure the delivery went through smoothly last night. You take all my cut. That gives you 40 percent. Take it, put it in your funds for your home. Buy something nice for your wife and get those kids some gifts. We can make this a permanent thing in the future. Any deals and anything that you oversee by yourself, you take the lion’s share of the cut. How does that sound?”

A small and timid smile spread on Nicky’s face. He knew it was a sign of weakness, but he showed no restraint in smiling. This was a genuine gesture from his best friend and brother-in-arms. He still didn’t know if Scar was being truthful about his earnings. But at least he could tell Scar actually cared. Scar understood him. He had experienced it growing up, and he was watching his own nephew struggling. His reason now for doing what he did was all for Austin, something he confirmed a couple of days ago. Perhaps at one time, he was just trying to get rich and cement the Grayson legacy, and he may still be trying to ensure that the Graysons live on, but in a different way. Just by the way he talked up his nephew and the way he admired his sister, he wanted something more for the boy. College, a career, and children were all likely attributes of the genuine life he wanted for the boy. Just as Nicky wanted to make something for his family and himself, he wanted to give a great and happy life to his nephew. Scar was a good man. Maybe not good by textbook standards, but a man that could carry the moniker of a provider and a family man. That was good in Nicky’s book.

In his mind, he knew what he must do. “Hey, Scar, I gotta tell you something man.”

“Yeah? What’s that brother?”

It felt like his tongue was twisted in a thousand knots and his mind was incomprehensible. When it came time to say something, his chest tightened and a feeling of helplessness and panic overwhelmed him. He just needed to say something. “Thanks…thanks for everything.”

Scar laughed. “That’s it? Man, I thought you were going to tell me you were in love with me or some shit.”

“You’re my brother, and I do love you, but not like that! Hell nah!”

Both men chuckled, though Nicky’s laugh felt forced.

“Anything else, Nick?”

Nicky took an audible breath and shook his head. “Nope. That’s all I gotta say.”

“Alright. I’ve gotta get busy and have a talk with the little brother. Damn kid’s been a huge pain in the ass recently. But he’s family. You know how it is.”

Nicky silently agreed.

“But really man,” Scar concluded. “You’ve been loyal and a good friend. Shit, you know you’ve been a brother. A true brother. I’m gonna make the call and have my cut directed to you. You earned it. I mean that.”

Nicky nodded his head and with a smile on his face, walked out the door after saying his goodbyes. Once the door shut behind him, Nicky’s face twisted into a sharp frown and his lips shook. He was extremely grateful for what Scar had done for him. But when it came down to it, he still didn’t know what to do. His brain was a machine, pumping out hundreds of scenarios for every decision he could make. Even now, his decision for tomorrow remained clouded, but at least he had a few more hours to mull it over.

But the clock was ticking.

As soon as her father and son were completely out of sight, Ali took off through an opposite direction of Old Day’s land. She made a concrete promise to herself and had it in her mind that she was going to kick her drug habit and actually become a responsible mother. While she still harbored some ill feelings for her father, she was sure that the toll of her mother’s death gave him just as much mental trauma and stress as it did her. He just coped in a different way, and while she didn’t agree with how he managed his feelings of grief, Ali knew he loved her mother, and that he loved her too.

But his love for her was tough and blunt. Owen stated yesterday that she was becoming like her mother. Just thinking of those words put her in a cantankerous mood. She was ready to claw her own father’s eyes out and beat him senseless. But when he finally broke down and tears came from his eyes, she realized how true his words were. There were sides to her mother that she never witnessed. Her father wouldn’t lie about something like that. He wouldn’t drag down the name of the love of his life just to mask his own shortcomings. There was no other choice but to compare the mother and the daughter, because he didn’t want to lose anyone else. He wanted her and Austin to grow up in a safe and hazard-free environment without any trouble from her fiancé and his family. It was still hard to believe, but even after taking an ass kicking from Scar and Clint, his eyes and resolve stayed strong. When she watched the fight, each blow into her father’s chest was like a hammer to her brain. What the hell had she been doing these past ten years? She had a son that she was neglecting just to get high. Then, when she thought about how often she spent time at her grandmother’s house or with a friend while her mother and father were away on “business,” she put two and two together. Owen was right. She was on Patricia’s doomed path. But that would end today. Ali was willing to make the changes needed and to get back on the right and clean path.

To do that, leaving Clint and getting out of that house was the first step. Plus, she needed a change of clothes. The humidity last night made her perspire in her sleep, and she hated feeling grimy. Her goal was to get as much clothes for her and Austin. She also wanted to get some of the jewelry from her late mother. Maybe she would take some of Clint’s money that he didn’t earn as well. She couldn’t even recall the last time Clint didn’t earn money via a handout from his older brother.

Stepping over a dried up stream as a squirrel scattered up a tree when alerted of her presence, she wondered why she had even stayed with Clint for this long, besides the obvious easy access to drugs to fuel her uncanny addiction. She didn’t love him. She couldn’t decide if she even liked him. The feelings she held for him when they first met were geared more to lust and infatuation than love. She got with him because her father hated him and told her not to. It was childish, but Ali was aware of the fact that since he was so despised by Owen, it made Clint all the more enticing.

In a way, she would always hold a soft spot for him, because without him, there would be no Austin. In the past, he had moments where he seemed like he cared, but they were few and far between. But any feelings for him on her end were long gone. How could she like, let alone love, someone who beat her and cheated on her? Sure, she cheated on him too, but she only did so after finding out that he performed the adulterous deed. Because of Clint, she had accumulated her fair share of bruises and wounds. One of her front teeth on the bottom row was chipped when Clint threw her face first into the corner edge of a nightstand. In another instance, he broke her arm when he threw her down in a fit of rage over the outcome of a Texas Longhorns football game. He had also taken his anger out on Austin, as he had taken his fair share of slaps and verbal lashings. She had witnessed it too. Looking up at the dark and cloudy sky, she became furious, both at Clint and herself. Sitting there and watching the physical and verbal abuse to her son occur, Ali ignored it all and got high instead. It was her easy way to run away from all of life’s problems. After what her father told her about how he allowed his own fiancé to fuck someone else all in the name of getting high, she had the urge to just take a knife and jam it into her face repeatedly. She loathed herself that much for getting to that point in life where getting high was her number one priority. Her father had made mistakes, and had seen the errors her mother did first hand. It pained her, but she was glad she realized it when she did. She was on a crash course to destroying her life, and in turn, making a mess of Austin’s life.

Getting away from Clint would be easy. She questioned if he would even notice that she was no longer there. All she was to him was something to fuck and someone to get high with. One odd quirk about Clint was that he would never do any drugs alone, save alcohol. Be it weed, meth, or heroin, he refused to do it without the accompaniment of another person. She fit the bill perfectly for him, since she was always down to take the edge off and something to fuck when he needed it. But he could find another skank from out in the woods to screw and smoke with in a heartbeat. There were many women in the area who wanted to be in her position. Ali was happy to vacate it.

As she approached the back entrance to her home after a humid trek through woods and pasture plains, she thought to herself over and over again.
I can do this. I can fucking do this.
The mantra was all she could think of, but it suited her well. She had to believe in herself. Her father believed in her, why should she not believe in herself? Owen gave quite the speech in his reminiscing tale, which he had never told her until last night. He had held that story from her, since he didn’t want her knowing the gruesome and ugly details of her mother’s demise. She imagined it was his warped way of protecting her. But she was glad he finally caved in and told her, because if he hadn’t, she truly would have never known how much he cared for her and her mother. Owen didn’t want his daughter following in her mother’s footsteps. It was the ultimate deterrent, an impactful crash course on a possible future.

But with each step toward the house, anxiety set in. Unlike Clint, she had no problems smoking crystal meth while watching DVR recordings of American Idol in solitude. She worried that she would get distracted while packing clothes and take a hit out of Clint’s crystal stash. Overcoming her own addictions would be another obstacle to climb.

Opening the back door to her brick house, she repeatedly muttered to herself. “Ali, you can do this. You can fuckin’ do this, Ali.”

Once her foot stepped on the faded linoleum kitchen floor, her eyes darted immediately to the countertop. On it, along with a dirty bowl filled with the crusty remains of Fruit Loops, was an ounce of a milky crystalline methamphetamine, wrapped neatly in a clear plastic baggy. She bit her lip to the point of pain, and with as much power as she could muster, walked past it and into the bedroom. Even in there, a bong that she knew was filled fresh with weed sat on the dresser. It was her personal bong, with the glass colored in bright yellows and reds. Marijuana didn’t have quite the effect other drugs held on her, but even as craving as it sounded, she decided to abstain from taking a hit from it. Right now, she just wanted to get her shit and go. She was having enough problems as it was fighting urges to run back to the kitchen and getting that meth into her system. She had to stay vigilant. Opening the closet door and finding a suitcase, she began throwing as many clothes as she could fit in there. Half of it didn’t match, but she didn’t care. Ali needed to do what she came to do and get out of this den of vice.

Once she had enough clothes to get her through a week or so, she picked up a smaller suitcase and entered Austin’s room. At her father’s house, Austin’s room was decorated with sports posters, and on his dresser sat his trophies from his t-ball and pee wee leagues. Here, however, it was just sad. The white walls were bare, though with a few dents where the boy had thrown baseballs in boredom. The bed was unmade, and toys littered the floor. At Owen’s home, it was kept fairly clean, and Austin was there half the time. This sight just depressed her more. She felt like a pitiful mother who couldn’t do a damn thing right with her son. Doing her best to channel that depression into motivation, she hastily threw some of his clothes into a suitcase, while also tossing a few toys that she knew he enjoyed.

Zipping up the suitcase, she felt a sense of relief knowing that she was almost out of the house. Whether she would ever come back, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t in her name or Clint’s, so they had no real tie to the abode. It looked nice when they moved in a couple of years ago, but since then, they had let it go to waste. She spent so much time focused on being high that seeing a cockroach scattering away from an overfilled plastic trash receptacle didn’t faze her in the least. Sure, it could be cleaned and there could be repairs made, but she just wanted to be done with this chapter of life. Moving on and leaving this all behind was what must be done.

Taking solace in a hopeful future, Ali turned around to leave her son’s room. In the doorway, with a wicked smile on his face was someone she wished she didn’t have to see again.

“Well, well. Where the fuck you think you’re going? I didn’t know we were going on vacation.”

Ali gasped at the sight of Clint. It felt as her skeleton almost vaulted out of her skin. She had no idea how long he had been standing there and watching her.

“You ain’t answerin’,” stated Clint. “Cat got your tongue?”

A wave of courage washed onto the shores of Ali’s mind. “I’m leaving, Clint. Austin and me, we are out of here. Done.”

Clint’s face turned sardonic. “The fuck you are.”

“I’m serious. I’m done with you. I’m done with all this. Austin doesn’t need to be around this shit. I don’t need to be around you. We are fucking done.”

“Nah, I’m gonna say no on that.”

“Why do you fuckin’ care anyway? You don’t need me! You don’t give a fuck about me!”

Clint just shrugged, maintaining his presence, his prone and ready body blocking the doorway.

“Let me go. I’m fucking serious.”

“Or what?” asked Clint, bowing up with that stupid cocky smirk that seemed to be glued to his face. “You gonna come at me like your gay ass daddy did? Too bad he was too much of a bitch to get the job done.”

Gripping Austin’s heavier suitcase tighter in her hand, Ali’s eyebrows furrowed and her eyes squinted. “He would’ve got it done, bitch. But he wasn’t about to do that in front of his grandson.”

Clint left the doorway, and within a second was nose to nose with his fiancé. “The fuck you say? You calling me a bitch, bitch?

“You heard me. You gonna hit me, huh!? You gonna ball up that little pussy fist and smack me around? Fuckin’ try! I don’t give a fuck! But I can guarantee you, no matter what you do, I am getting the fuck out of this house and the fuck away from you!”

Clint showed no emotion from Ali’s fighting words. Instead, he smiled and backed away a step. “You got a big fuckin’ mouth, little girl.” Clint’s face once again grew into a smirk, then into a full toothy smile. Though, most of his teeth had developed a yellow tint to it from lack of care and from drug use. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the milk colored drug baggy that was sitting on the kitchen countertop.

Dangling the baggy from his fingertips, Clint’s smile remained. “How about we just calm down, sit down, and smoke this crystal, eh?”

The sight of the methamphetamine made her scratch and pick at a scab on her chin. She would occasionally break out like a teenager going through puberty. Whenever she noticed a pimple, she would pop it and pick at it relentlessly. Combined with her drug problems and the skin condition that it creates, she had a fair share of scabs on her face that she would cover up with makeup. Laying eyes on that milk-colored meth, she just wanted to reach out and grab it, load it into a pipe, and inhale the toxic gas into her lungs for that feeling of confidence and happiness that she had difficulty finding in the facets of normal everyday life.

But she remembered whose room she was in. There was a reason she was here, holding two full suitcases that were beginning to grow heavy in her hands. She wasn’t here to get high, though she knew just by stepping in this house, she would be tempted. She swallowed a large gulp of saliva and bit her lip. She had to get out of this house, but first, she somehow had to get past her soon to be ex-fiancé. In her hands were full suitcases. They were heavy and not a viable option for weapons. By the time she could build up the strength to swing it, Clint could overpower her with ease. She looked around the room for something more substantial. It took just a second for something to catch her eye. Under Austin’s bed, but still visible, was a baseball. It had been years since she last threw a baseball, and even though she had not stretched out the muscles and ligaments in her arm, she was sure she still could pack on some speed with the throw.

Before she became pregnant, she was on her way to being a star in softball. In junior high, she already had the high school coach salivating for her to join the team when she became a freshman. She was that good, and the high school team was already a yearly contender for the state championship. Thinking back, he was probably drooling over her ass, which was maturely formed for her age. It made perfect sense, as rumors of the coach’s infidelity with his own students had made the rounds about town many times, though no charges were ever filed.

Not even trying to hide it, she dropped the suitcases and knelt down, grabbing the ball firmly in her right hand. Her fingertips gripped the seams tightly, with her determined eyes locked in with Clint’s. Her father taught her how to throw a four-seam fastball as a girl, along with other types of pitches. For some reason, the grip for the fastball had always stuck with her.