Comin' Home to You (36 page)

“Same team, eh?” scoffed Scar. He made a raspberry with his lips to emphasize how he felt about that.

“You know what happens when they arrest you, right? Have you ever thought about why I don’t have a lot of money in my old age?”

“I know. They’ll seize my money and any other assets I got.”

“Exactly. When your daddy got arrested, they seized most of our money. They seized his truck. They even took some of my jewelry that was handed down to me by my mother, just because they thought it might have been bought by drug money. Your father’s cousin, a darn Grayson at that, was a cop and he just went along with all of his cop buddies. They put that money in their own budget, you know. I remember about a month later, that cousin of his had himself a brand new Dodge pickup. They probably handed out bonuses all around. And now you got Ben as the chief. Trust me, he’s gunning for you. You’d better watch what you do. I’m sure you have more than enough to live off of. You short everyone. Even Nicky. That’s how you’ve always been. Life taught you to be greedy.”

Something felt off after hearing her last words, as if someone just heard what Luella said. Scar turned his gaze away from his mother and to the setting sun. She was right. He had always known he was flirting with danger in his line of work. Anyone who does what he does understands that there are huge risks. It’s part of the appeal for some, for they enjoy that feeling of hazard. But what could he even do if he quit? For one, the Roaring 20’s don’t respond well to strong earners suddenly stopping. He remembered a man a couple of years ago in Louisiana. He was a great arms runner, supplying many East Coast gangs and others with high quality weaponry. But a tragic accident occurred when his daughter had a wreck with a drunk driver. She was put on life support, and he spent each day in the hospital by her side. When she ultimately passed away from her injuries, he had lost the fire to perform his dutiful tasks and told his employers so. A day later, his body was found hanging from an oak tree. The authorities ruled it a suicide, but anyone in the know recognized foul play was involved.

Plus, what future did Scar even have without the Roaring 20’s? It was all he knew. He had spent many years climbing his way to the top. He wasn’t about to go from making as much money as he did to bagging groceries or flipping burgers. It was pretty clear that he had a great deal of thinking to do.

He scratched at his scruff and sighed. “Alright, well, good talk, Ma. I’m going to get out of here.”

“Scar…”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, dear boy.”

Scar just nodded his head and gave a half-smile. While family was his everything, he wasn’t great at telling someone that he loved them. He could tell she didn’t expect the words back. She had grown accustomed to it over the past 30 years. What his mother had successfully done, however, is weigh in on his consciousness. He was still having strong urges to rid the world of Owen, but inadvertently, he took his mother’s advice and placed himself in his foe’s shoes. The scenario was the same, though there were different characters. He was outside his home, protecting Austin, who was watching the events unfold from a window. He was facing a dark and monstrous shadow monster. Scar’s imagination wasn’t the greatest, but he had to make do with it. He tried to experience fear somehow, but even that was tough. Changing up his thoughts somewhat, he gave the black shadow a face of someone he loathed. Passerini was perfect for the part. His motive for being there was to sell Austin to some sleazy fat pedophile in exchange for a lump sum of money. To do that, the shadow Passerini wanted to rip up Scar, limb from limb. He thought it was a fairly realistic situation, as Passerini was capable of doing some real dirty and despicable work to get ahead.

Scar did his best to visualize terror and the possibility of losing Austin in the face of this shadowed Passerini. It was extremely difficult, as even attempting to fake being frightened was a hard task. But he was able to get the gist of it when he compared his inventive scenario. Roy was a mountain of a man. Owen was no slouch, but Roy definitely outclassed him in the size department. He also came equipped with a gun that was meant to intimidate Owen into getting what he wanted.
Typical Roy,
thought Scar. Alas, he visualized Owen pissing his pants and cowering in fear. After that unnecessary thought was over, he pictured Owen scared and determined to not let his life be controlled by someone else. It started to mesh together. He felt a semblance of an imaginary fear, followed by an everlasting longing to protect Austin and to survive another day so that Austin will always be protected. He then proudly pictured himself smashing the shadow monster with repeating fists. Passerini’s face turned to mush. That was enough to make him smile for a second. But then he realized what had just happened.

God dammit, Ma,
silently chastised Scar. She got to him, and she got to him well. Never in a million years would he think of empathizing with that rat turd of a person named Owen Tomkins. But he just did.

This resulted in the big question that he asked himself.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

He took off in his truck and drove away, trying to answer that question.

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Hitting a puddle of mud that made its brown mark on one of her tires, Ali was driving in her red Honda Accord down the dirt roads of Adrienne toward Main Street. Her goal was to make it to the liquor store before it closes. It was already 9 o’clock, but the owner would occasionally hang around and sell after that time, but only for selected patrons. Ali was luckily one of those special customers.

She had the radio blaring, but her mind was racing so much that the tunes were drowned out. Throughout the trip home after the talks, both her and Ben pleaded and begged Owen to reconsider. They both thought he was assuring his death by being all alone with Scar out in the middle of nowhere. Owen continued to admit that it was probably a stupid idea, but it was one he had to do. Despite hating the Graysons, he at least felt like he owed it to Luella to give them the remains of Roy. He also continued to insist that he was going to die soon anyway. They countered with many words, though a lot of them were expletives about his stupidity. Owen just shook it all off, much to their chagrin

In her constant thinking of a solution to prevent her father from leaving tomorrow, she thought of an idea. She was hoping that she could get him so drunk that he wouldn’t wake up in time to leave the next morning. Hence her journey to the liquor store, since a lot of the whiskey from last night was consumed and all he really had left were a couple of light beers that wouldn’t create any impression of a buzz.

When pulling into the still lit liquor store, she hit her brakes a little late while parking, hitting the concrete parking stop with her still moving tires. Darting out of the car as if there were a swarm of bees within the interior, Ali ran to the door, relieved that it was still open. She pushed open the smudged glass door that was adorned with signs that showed that they would always check for identification. The signs were laughable. If the person looked like they might be 21, Lancaster, the fat balding owner of the establishment, wouldn’t even bother to ask for an ID. She hastily walked to the counter that held the whiskeys. Finding a large sized bottle of Maker’s Mark, she jogged to the counter to find Lancaster picking his nose at the counter.

“Ali. I was about to leave.”

“Sorry there, Lancaster. I got caught up with some shit back at home.”

“Your father again?”

“I guess you can say that.”

Lancaster picked at his old and decaying teeth with the same finger he picked his nose with. “That’ll be 48 dollars and 35 cents. I hope you got cash, Ali. My credit card thing is being a piece of crap today.”

“Yeah, I’ve got…um.” Digging around frantically, she came to the stunning realization that her pockets were empty. Just now remembering that she had forgotten the money on the guest bed, Ali felt foolish. “Ha, any chance I can pay for this later?”

“Ain’t the first time you asked. The answer is still no. Money upfront.”

“Man, come on!”

“Ain’t happening.”

Ali tried her best not to curse, but her temper got the best of her. “This is fuckin’ bullshit! You know I’m good for the money. I just forgot it.”

“Don’t know what to tell you.”

A deep voice from behind her spoke up. “I got it, Lancaster. $48.35, you said?”

Ali knew the voice immediately. She didn’t turn around, but instead watched the veiny, muscular arm place a hundred dollar bill on the counter from behind her.

“You want your change?”

“Nah, keep it.”

“Heh, thanks a lot Scar,” said Lancaster. “Now I can get the hell out of here and get some shuteye.”

Turning her body slightly, Ali saw the man himself holding a handle-sized plastic bottle of cheap vodka. “Scar.”

“Ali.”

Lancaster cleared his throat before interrupting. “Yeah, if you two could talk outside so I can close up, that’d be great.”

Both nodded and walked toward the exit. Ali trailed behind Scar. She had hoped that would be the end of their interaction, but as soon as they were out the door, Scar turned around to face her, but said nothing at the offset.

She decided to speak first. “What do you want, Scar?”

He held up his newest purchase. “I wanted vodka, so I came here to get some. Didn’t expect you to be here. Well, on second thought, maybe I did. Is Owen already too drunk to drive so he sent you to buy some more booze?”

“No. Fuck you.”

Scar smiled, but there was some noticeable regret in his face. He stammered out a reply. “Sorry.”

Ali knew something was off. “Did you just say sorry?”

He nodded, but it was barely noticeable.

“You’re acting fucking weird.”

Scar sighed and glanced at a street lamp for a moment. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever back at you. Thanks for the bottle. I’ll pay you back whenever.”

“You ain’t gotta pay me back.”

Ali widely opened her eyes and gave a emotionless smile, indicating in her own way that she was done with this unwanted rendezvous. She attempted to speed walk past him, but Scar gently blocked her way with his arm. His big hand consciously contoured to the side of her waist. Frustrated, she brushed his arm away and glared at him in annoyance. “Get the hell off me! What the fuck do you want, Scar?”

Scar brushed his hair back. He was clearly searching his mind for an answer, but none came to him. Ali gave a combined look of skepticism and confusion. She didn’t know what to make of his loss for words. It took him a moment to even formulate the ability to move his mouth. “I don’t know.”

Ali hid her amazement at his overall cluelessness, though it was difficult. Her mouth had opened wide. “I don’t get you. You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Scar. You’re being freaking nice and awkward as shit and it’s weird. Like, today. Why did you beat up Clint when he called me a-”

“Because you aren’t that! You aren’t that,” loudly interrupted Scar.

“Well shit. Scar Grayson defendin’ my honor,” Ali exclaimed, trying not to laugh in front of him. “You some sort of changed man now? All gentleman like?”

Scar remained lost for words.

She wasn’t completely oblivious. Many times, she would catch his eyes on her, checking out her assets. He was always friendlier to her than just about everyone else. He would even go out of his way to open doors for her, which was something Clint never did. Even though he interacted with her rarely, whenever he did, he treated her with respect and courtesy, but still acted awkward and looked like he had so much more to say.

Ali decided to ask. “How long you liked me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? That’s a pretty easy question to answer.”

.“I don’t know, alright? A few years. I look at you and...I don’t know.”

The more she thought about it, she didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. “This is so fucking convenient for you. I dump that shit brother of yours and here you come in your fucking awkwardness. You want me to be with you? You want me now that Clint’s out of the picture. So fucking convenient. So fucking ridiculous! If you did like me, then why didn’t you do something earlier today, huh? I know you know what he did to me almost every single day. You could have been a man! Fuckin’ shit, today he burnt me with his lighter. You saw me icing my fucking arms! God, he’s thrown me around and punched me and what have you done, huh!? You defend me today, but where were you every other day, huh? You’re too busy ignoring it or turning your cheek away from it. You knew what he did and didn’t do shit, you fuckin’ prick!”

“I’ve told him not to many times. I swear.”

“Oh, you’ve told him not to. Don’t make me laugh. You’d have better luck teaching a goat how to farm. If you did care at all, the first time he hit me would have been the last time! You don’t give a shit about me. You just wish you were the father of Austin since you can’t have children!”

The plastic bottle of vodka slipped from his fingertips, hitting the ground with a slight bounce. There was no reaction on Scar’s face. But in a flash, it changed to one of extreme ferocity. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved Ali into the brick wall of the liquor store. She felt the thud of her back on the wall, but judging by the many times she has been pushed into walls, it was perceptible that Scar deliberately held his strength back to not hurt her. She looked up into his eyes. They were pretty, but looked confused. Yet, even if he did hold in his power from the shove, she still felt concern for her wellbeing. Witnessing how bad Scar destroyed her former fiancé and her father, she was now worried what he could do to her. Trembling, she bit her lip.