Six Bad Things_ A Novel - Charlie Huston [40]
I try to steer around him to the left, and he steps in front of the car; to the right, and he’s there again. I think about just hitting the gas and going over him, but stop the car instead. He stands in front of the hood, hammer dangling at his side.
—I said out of the car.
Leslie has walked down to the bottom of the driveway.
—Stop being a dick, Danny. I sold him the car. You want to yell at someone, yell at me.
He keeps his eyes on me, but raises the hammer and points it in her direction.
—Get in the fucking house, bitch, I’ll deal with you.
—Oh, fuck off, you’re not my husband. Just ’cause ya knocked me up doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.
He turns to face her.
—Get in the fucking house before I kick your ass.
She shivers all over like she’s cold.
—Ohhhh, I’m so fucking scared. You lay one fucking hand on me and you know my dad will come over here and kick your ass again.
Danny turns back to me, face boiling red.
—What the fuck are you still doing in my fucking car? I said get the fuck out!
—Leave him alone, Danny.
—SHUUUUUUT UUUUUUP!!!
He walks toward my door, hammer hefted.
He’s smaller than me, but has one of those hard wiry builds. He could be dangerous. What say we play this one cool.
He grabs the door handle, yanks it open.
—Out.
—Easy.
I start to get out of the car. He grabs my hair, pulls me the rest of the way out.
—I said out, fuck.
He kicks me in the ass as he releases my hair and I stumble a couple steps.
Leslie is still on the curb.
—Knock it off, Danny.
He ignores her, focused on me now.
—She telling the truth? You got my pink slip?
—I got the pink slip.
—Let’s have it.
—Look, man, I paid for the car.
—That ain’t my problem. That bitch sold something ain’t hers. You want your money back, talk to her.
Leslie takes a couple steps into the street.
—That’s not fucking true and you know it. The judge gave me that car. It’s mine.
—I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. What. The. Judge. Said.
I raise a hand.
—Hey, whatever you guys have going on is.
—Give me my fucking pink slip right fucking now, asshole.
He’s holding the hammer up at shoulder level, cocked and ready to swing.
—Give it to him, Danny.
—Kick his fucking aaaaaaaasss.
—Do it. Do it. Do it.
I look over at the porch of Danny’s house. Three of his friends have come out to watch the party. They’re all about his age, one with a shaved head, one with a ponytail, and one with a greasy mullet. I am now officially being hassled by the assholes who stole everybody’s milk money.
Leslie turns to face them.
—Shut up, you dildos. This is none of your business.
The biggest of the three, or rather, the fattest of the three, he of the shaved head, gives her the finger.
—Fuck off, Leslie.
Danny jerks his head around.
—Hey! What did I fucking say about talking to her like that?
—She’s being a bitch.
—I don’t care what she’s being, she’s my kid’s mom.
Leslie waves her hand toward them, done with the whole scene. She walks toward the car.
—Come on, mister, give me a ride to the bus, he’s a fuckoff.
—Shutthefuckupshutthefuckupshutthefuckup!!!
Enough of this.
—Look, Danny.
He swings the hammer at me.
I MURDERED a man less than a week ago. I saw another man have his face blown literally off. That was . . . yesterday? One of my friends got beat half to death on account of me. I have four million dollars sitting at another friend’s house in Las Vegas, sitting there waiting to attract killers or cops, whoever smells it first. I’m not sure anymore who may or may not be after me: the Russians, the Mexican police, the FBI, a bunch of fucking treasure hunters like Mickey. Whoever wants me or the money, all of them, can find out where my parents live whenever they want because Mom and Dad stayed put through all the killing, and the