Dead Man's Bluff (5 page)

Possession
of controlled substances?

Mental
illness?

Sexual
abuse?

My
lawyer had a fucking field day ripping that bitches’ creditability to shreds.

What
the hell? All of it was lies, unless his father was citing his own sins.

With
his hands slayed on the mattress, Drew leaned down, his mouth next to his
father’s ear. “FUCK YOU! Lay there in your vomit. I’m done cleaning up after
you.”

He
backed his way out of the bedroom. His hands fisted by his side as he quickly turned
and stormed into the den. The apartment walls started closing in on him. He
shoved his hand through his hair trying to process all the thoughts rattling
around in his head. His pulsed raced as he lifted a glass with lipstick marks
around the rim. He drew back his arm and slung the glass at the wall.  Crash!
It shattered into pieces! Crash! Another glass hit! Then another! The tip of
his boot caught the edge of the end table sending it skittering across the
floor. Within minutes he had destroy the den, and used his arm to sweep the empty
beer cans off the counter top in the kitchen sending them pinging against the
floor.

Why
hadn’t she fought for him? What kind of mother doesn’t fight for her son? She
knew damn well what she was leaving him to endure on his own! She’d lived the
life. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a firsthand look at what life with
Jonathan Mackenzie was like. Somewhere in the back of his mind the words
“self-preservation” were screamed, but he refused to listen. It was an excuse.

She
had sacrificed him for freedom.

His
rage finally subsided and he stilled, chest rising and falling with heavy
uneven breaths as he assessed the damage of his fit of rage. A little
self-preservation of his own was way overdue. Scooping his jacket up off the
back of one of the chairs in the dining room he headed for the front door.

There
was only one place he’d ever felt at home.

Only
one place he’d ever found peace.

Only
one place he wanted to be.

Boonville,
Arkansas.
♠

Drew plunked his duffel bag on the ground and turned
gazing out over the yard. There it was… the barn shrouded by a blue, cloudless
sky. Rocks grew to the size of boulders in the pit of his stomach and a sheen
of sweat formed along his brows. It’d been two years, and it still looked the exact
same as the day he’d left: gaping holes in the burned roof, charred jagged wood
gutting out, curled up tin pulled loose from rot.

Tink had loved the ranch. He’d loved that barn and
working with the horses. He’d spent many nights alone in that barn dealing with
his demons and he’d died in that barn, and Drew knew in his heart the old man wouldn’t
have wanted it any other way. He’s tombstone reads, “Reunited with Mabel on
Friday, July 13, 2012.”

“You okay, sir?” The Cabby asked gazing up at Drew
from the driver’s side window. The cabby draped an arm over the wheel his eyes
following the same paths as Drew’s. “Looks like the owners had themselves a
nice little fire. Hope nobody got hurt.”

Drew swallowed hard retrieving his wallet from his
back pocket. He handed the man the cab fare and heaved the strap of the duffle
bag over a shoulder, climbing the steps to the front porch. “Anybody home?” He
called out pushing open the door. Silence greeted him. Dropping the bag he
headed for the kitchen.

Griffin swung around by the kitchen sink whenever he
heard Drew enter the room. He leaned lazily against the cabinets chugging down
an entire glass of water.

“Shit you’ve gotten a lot taller!” Drew remarked,
grabbing a soda from the refrigerator.

“Turning nineteen will do that to you,” Griff
smirked.

The soda hissed as Drew dropped down in a chair and chugged
down half of the soda. It had been a long, tiring trip. “Where’s Birddog?” Drew
asked his gaze traveling over the matured features of Griffins face. The guy
had more stubble along his jaw than he did. When did that happen?

“Her and Ms. Susan went to pick up a few things from
the grocery store. They’re both going to have a conniption-fit when they see
who has honored us with his presence.” Griffin was still smirking like a
smartass. He asked Drew, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“About what?” Drew gave his empty can a spin on the
table top.

Griffin raised a brow.

“Oh, you mean… am I going to ask about your sudden
ability to communicate like the rest of us?”

Griffin appeared the same as every other nineteen
year old relaxing at home on a Sunday afternoon. He was wearing a long sleeve
red T-shirt, the sleeves so long they almost swallowed his fingers, no shoes;
one grey sock scratching the top of the other foot. He studied Drew as if he
was waiting for more. “I take it you’re not shocked?”

Drew shook his head. “I figured something was up all
those times I saw you and Emma sneaking off to the lake for a swim. I didn’t
think she was hanging out with you just to hear herself talk…can’t picture her
being satisfied with that.”

“You’re not going to hit me up for reasons why?”

“Nope. I’m guessing you didn’t feel like talking to
a bunch of strangers. It took us a little while to earn your trust, and it’ll
take even longer for you to trust us enough to tell us the entire story.”

Griffs eyes narrowed. “When did you get so smart?”

Drew lunged out of his seat and playfully punched the
guy in the stomach. “What the hell you talking about? I’ve always been smart.”  

“Maybe in your dreams!” Griffin clipped Drew’s
shoulder with his knuckles. “Are you home for a visit or for good?”

A lazy smile crept onto Drew’s face. “I’m thinking
about fixing up the barn and buying back the horses.”

Griffin bit down on his lips fighting hard not to
laugh. “Do you even know how to swing a hammer?”

“I’ll hire someone to do it.”

Birdie and Ms. Susan squealed as soon as they
entered the kitchen. Birdie settled the bags filling up her hands on the
counter top and pulled Drew in for a hug. “You’re home,” she cooed, firmly
patting him on the back.
♠

Seven

Mackenzie
staggered up to his door. His head buzzed and his legs felt like they were pumping
Jell-O instead of blood, wobbly underneath the weight of him. He only had to
make it to the couch, and then he could pass out. The keys he was picking
through clattered to the floor.

Ah
shit, bending over wasn’t going to go over too well with his stomach.

A
flat palm smacked against the door squealing down wood as he folded at the
waist bumping the set of keys with deft fingers. He fed the keys into the lock
and stumbled inside the dark entry, his only welcome the darkness and silence. “Damn
it all to hell! Fuck ‘em all! Who needs the headaches?” Keys plunked down beside
a crystal dish on the small table in the foyer. He shrugged out of his jacket
and zigzagged his way over to the couch realizing he had way too much shit someone
could run into. The comfort of the couch sucked his large frame into it and a
smirk formed on his face. Triumph! He’d managed to make it home without needing
to call his son and without ending up face down in gutter somewhere. He punched
two enthusiastic fists in the air; one more victory for team Mackenzie!

He
must have passed out, because the next time he opened his eye there was a man
standing before him, and not just any man, it was Clyde the owner of the bar
he’d frequented when he was in his twenties.

Clyde
was wearing a black denim button up that puckered along the ridge of his fat belly,
occasionally one could get a glimpse of wiry hair through the cracks between
each button. A Bolo Tie was strung around his thick neck: a leather lanyard
with silver tips and a silver buckle. Sometimes he wore a cowboy hat to hide
his balding head, but in the vision, or nightmare, he was holding the hat. His double
chin swung above the snug tie as he whistled through his teeth, “Fine mess
you’ve gotten yourself in, Mack. I always told your evil dealings would be like
a bad stench that finally caught up with you. I never could quite figure it out:
you were either one confused socially inept man or hell bent on ending up
alone.”

Mackenzie
swayed a fraction and snarled, “Don’t tell you’ve given up bartending to play
“The Ghost of Christmas Past”?

“Hey,
if you pay attention…you might finally learn what you’ve been doing wrong all
these years.”

Mackenzie
snorted, his head bobbing around on his shoulders.

“Well,
are you ready?”

“It
all depends… exactly where am I going?”

“To
the biggest mistake you’ve ever made of course.”

“Is
it okay if I sit right here for the show? Don’t think I’m up to strolling down
memory lane in my inebriated state.”

“Suit
yourself.”

There
was suddenly the sound of sobbing echoing off the tall ceilings of the
apartment: a female crying mixed with a small child’s over by the front door.
Mackenzie’s swung his head in that direction seeing a much younger version of
himself: tall, dark and dangerous. His stomach dropped and his jaw started
grinding.

“You
promised he wouldn’t be here when I came to get my things, John! You swore!” His
first wife Clarissa sniffed. Her hands clutched at the small boy clinging to
her left leg.

“And
who am I supposed to leave him with? He doesn’t have a mother anymore.”

“He
has a mother… I’m his mother,” she hissed. She kneeled in front the small boy
rubbing her hands along his thin arms, pasting a fake smile on her face. “Shh,
it’s okay, don’t cry, Drew. Daddy and I had a little disagreement, that’s all.”

Mackenzie
added, “Mommy’s leaving us for her new lover, son.” His fingers dug into Drew’s
boney shoulder as he peeled the five year old off his mother’s leg and directed
him towards the bedroom.

Drew
glanced back at his mother one last time sucking in air with each sniffle,
before he was propelled inside the room. His father’s large hands slid under
his arm pits as he lifted him, tossing him up on the bed. “Here, read a book.”
A book from the nearby dresser landed on the motorcycle bedspread Clarissa had
purchased to go with the dusty blue wall color.

Decorating
Drew’s room—one of the last sane things the woman ever did. 

The
five year old version of Drew blinked, confusion bunching his brows. “I don’t
know how to read yet.”

“Then
just look at the pictures or take a nap.” Mackenzie unbuckled his belt buckle.
The leather made a ‘swish’ sound as he jerked it from the waist of his pants.
“You see this belt? You take one step out of this room without my permission to
do so and I’ll turn you backside blood red…do you understand?”

Drew
nodded.

Clarissa
took a couple of steps back as Mackenzie stalked furiously towards her. She
fought for courage as she muttered, “The lover remark was uncalled for…you
didn’t have to tell him that! He’s just a child!”

Mackenzie’s
hand sprung out grabbing the length of her hair, forcibly angling her head back
so he could sneer down at her, while he forced her to look him in the eyes. “I
walked in on my wife screwing another man! Do you have any idea how much that crippled
me? Drew would do well to realize what kind of woman his mother is now instead
of later!”

“If
you’d only calm down... I love you, John. Don’t do this, don’t shut down of me,”
she pleaded, wincing as his gripped on her hair tightened, yanking and tugging.

“You
were the only woman I wanted. I gave up everything to cater to your ass! You’re
the only woman I ever envisioned carrying my child!” He spit on her face, foamy
bubbles of salvia sliding down her right cheek. His expression turned to stone.
“You make me sick! I think I deserve a fucking explanation… a reason you
trashed our entire marriage and your son!”

His
hand released her hair only to clamp around her wrist, his fingers turning
white from the pressure. With his other hand he shoved the sleeve of her shirt
up past the elbow, already knowing needle marks would be visible. “You’re using
again! You traded a fucking fix for sex, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU? YOU FUCKING
WHORE!”