Spilled Blood

38

Lenny waited until dark to return home.

He hoped that Kirk’s temper had cooled. It was obvious after he spent two hours near the Indian monument, nursing his bruises, that his brother wasn’t coming back for him. He’d hitchhiked with a truck driver into Barron and spent most of the day playing video games at the pizza parlor on Main Street. His phone didn’t ring. Kirk didn’t try to call. That was ominous.

As night fell, he tried to bum a ride south, but no one was heading his way. He hiked in the rain. His jaw ached like shit; he was sure it was broken. He limped, too, with his right knee throbbing. The miles were slow and miserable. He stuck out his thumb when he saw headlights, but the drivers ignored him. He tried to stay under the shelter of the trees, but the rain found him anyway. After walking for an hour, he found himself shivering uncontrollably.

When he finally lurched down 120th toward the river, he found their house dark. Kirk wasn’t home. He was glad he didn’t have to face his brother yet. He unlocked the door and went inside, and made a beeline for the bathroom in the hallway. He ran a bath, making the water as hot as his fingers could stand. As he waited for the tub to fill, he peeled off his clothes and left them in a soggy pile on the tile floor. Before the water reached the top, he dipped one foot into the bath, then the other. His frigid skin felt scalded. He sank to his knees, and the blistering water stung his genitals. He didn’t care. He sank onto his back, wincing as the heat assaulted every cut and bruise.

His shivering subsided. He was warm again, burning and sweating. He closed his eyes. Under the water, he reached for his shaft and twiddled it until it grew hard, sprouting from the surface of the bath like a pink mushroom. He thought about Olivia as he masturbated. The mental image of her sitting on the edge of the tub as he jerked off sent him flying. He shot wriggling ropes of semen into the dirty water. Sticky strands stuck to his legs.

He was still breathing hard when the front door slammed like a cannon going off. Kirk was home. He heard his brother’s wild voice bellowing through the house, and his intestines convulsed in fear.

‘Leno, where the fuck are you?’

Lenny scrambled to his feet, white goo dripping from his deflated shaft. He clawed for a bath towel, but before he could wrap it around his body, Kirk kicked open the door so hard that the top hinge splintered and cracked. His brother filled the entire doorway. His long hair was loose. Beer smell burped from his mouth; he was wide-eyed drunk.

‘Kirk, listen—’ Lenny began, but his brother took two steps, grabbed him by the throat and hauled him out of the tub. Kirk took Lenny’s scrawny shoulders and threw him across the slippery floor. Lenny stumbled out of the bathroom, and his forehead cracked on the wall. He was hot and dizzy; he staggered forward, and his pizza and Mountain Dew evacuated his stomach, barely missing his brother.

Kirk took a fistful of Lenny’s hair. He dragged him, naked, into the living room, and drove him face-first into the carpet with a knee in the small of his back.

‘You useless fucking moron,’ Kirk hissed.

Lenny’s mouth was sour with vomit. He tried to talk. ‘I’m sorry, man.’

‘Sorry? Who gives a shit if you’re sorry?’

Kirk spun Lenny onto his back and leaned an elbow into his chest with a crushing pressure. Tears leaked from Lenny’s eyes.

‘Really, Kirk, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He squirmed in pain. It felt like a knife driving between his ribs. ‘Johan snuck up on me, man. He kicked the shit out of me. There was nothing I could do. He made me tell him, man. I didn’t want to.’

‘Tell him what?’

‘About Olivia. About what we did to her.’

Kirk swatted Lenny’s head down like he was breaking a coconut. Lenny saw nothing but swirls of color. He thought he would throw up again.

‘You worthless fucking piece of shit, get the hell out of this house and don’t come back.’

‘Please, Kirk.’

‘Get out.’

His brother released him, and Lenny could breathe again, but each breath ached in his ribs. He pushed himself up on his elbows. Kirk stared at him as if he were a maggot in a bowl of rice. He’d seen Kirk furious before, but not like this. This was bad.

‘I’ll get some clothes,’ Lenny said.

‘Forget the clothes. Get out. Now.’

‘Hey, come on, man.’

Kirk’s eyes were black with rage. Lenny scampered to his feet, feeling the world spin. He knew better than to protest again. He ducked backward, colliding with the front door. It opened, and he spilled outside into the fierce rain. The water felt like ice. He clutched the railing and descended the porch steps to the mud.

Kirk was right. He’d fucked up. After everything Kirk had done for him, he’d let him down again.

Lenny didn’t know where to go. He was naked. He was cold. He was humiliated. He decided: The truck. He’d sleep in the truck. Kirk would pass out soon enough, and Lenny could go back to his own bed then. In the morning, his brother would forgive him. The storm would break. It always did.

He hauled himself inside the pick-up that was parked in front of the garage. He didn’t have the keys; he couldn’t turn on the engine. He found a musty blanket behind the seat, and he covered his bare skin with it, curling into a ball. He squeezed his eyes shut. His body was shivering again, and the wool turned his skin into a scratching post. He yearned for sleep, but his pain and misery kept him awake.

He heard the rain firing bullets at the roof of the pick-up.

He didn’t hear the footsteps outside the truck.

Kirk stripped to his boxers and flipped the channels on the television until he found a Wild hockey game. He couldn’t concentrate; he was still too pumped with rage. Part of him wanted to follow his baby brother outside and beat the little fucker until he was a lifeless pulp of blood and bones. Cut him up, just like Dad, and send the parts floating down the river.

He drank another bottle of beer in two swallows. His phone rang. The caller ID was blocked, and he muted the television and barked into the phone.

‘What?’

There was a long silence and then a cool, familiar voice.

‘It’s me.’

Kirk tried to unfog his brain. Shit. He didn’t want to be drunk when he was talking to the boss. He didn’t want to talk to him at all. Not now. He thought about hanging up, but you didn’t play games with Florian Steele.

‘Hey,’ he said, taking a breath. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m hearing things I don’t like.’

‘Yeah? Like what?’

‘The police think they’re close to tracking down this man Aquarius.’

‘So what?’ Kirk asked.

‘Do you know who he is? Do you know what he’s doing?’

‘Me? I don’t have a clue, boss.’

Florian was silent. The dead air felt tense. ‘I’m hearing a name I’d hoped never to hear again,’ he said finally.

‘Oh, yeah? Who’s that?’

‘Vernon Clay.’

Kirk gripped the phone with a slippery hand and listened to the rain outside. ‘Who’s talking about him?’

‘Apparently Ashlynn was before she was killed.’

‘No way.’

‘I was wondering where she heard about him.’

‘Hell if I know, boss.’

‘Did you go out with her?’

‘Uh, yeah, we went out a few times. It was months ago.’ He added quickly, ‘I didn’t touch her.’

‘I told you to stay away from her.’

‘She came on to me, boss. I figured you knew.’

‘She was trying to get information out of you, you idiot. What did you tell her?’

‘Tell her? Nothing. Nada.’

‘Did you tell her about Vernon Clay?’

‘Fuck, no. Are you kidding?’

Shit.

Kirk thought about his last evening with Ashlynn. He wanted a kiss. A squeeze. A fuck. Anything from that beautiful chick. They were drinking; he needed to get her wasted if he hoped to get anywhere near that amazing body. He figured out later that she kept pouring her beers on the ground when he went to piss. The more he drank, the more he bragged, hoping to impress her. When your daddy has a problem, you know who he calls? Kirk, baby. Me and him are tight.

She talked about how warm she was. She undid a couple of buttons on that churchy silk blouse of hers. He could see the swell of those perfect breasts. ‘Really?’ she asked, with her big eyes and that smoky voice. ‘What problems?’

Vernon Clay, baby. Big problem.

‘Swear to God, boss,’ Kirk went on. ‘I didn’t say a word.’

‘The police have linked Aquarius to Vernon Clay through a name on a hotel register,’ Florian told him. ‘They believe he’s back.’

‘He’s not.’

‘I’m having doubts.’

‘I told you four years ago the problem was solved.’

‘Yes, you did.’

Kirk was getting angry. ‘What, do you think I lied?’

‘I think for enough money, you’d tell me whatever I wanted to hear. Don’t forget, I know all about your other disgusting business, too.’

The vein in Kirk’s neck throbbed. ‘You don’t complain when it saves your neck.’

‘Vernon Clay,’ Florian repeated calmly.

‘What about him? I’m telling you, he’s not Aquarius. The police have it all wrong.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Kirk didn’t want to argue with the boss, but he was losing control. The frustrations of the day piled up on him. ‘What the fuck are you saying?’

‘I’m asking if Vernon Clay paid you to help him disappear.’

‘Hell, no!’

‘Where is he?’

‘You know where he is.’

‘Do I?’

‘You want proof?’ Kirk asked. ‘Is that what you’re saying? I’ll give you proof.’

‘I want to know whether Aquarius is Vernon Clay.’

‘He’s not. Look, give me two hours, and meet me in the usual place.’

‘Why?’

‘Because then you can ask Vernon yourself whether he’s been sending fucking notes to anybody.’