Shameless (23 page)

“Sorry to burst your bubble, friend, but you’re wrong.” John told him about his and Sam’s agreement to part ways once she became pregnant.

“You can give me whatever story you want. I know you, John-boy. And you,
friend
, are whipped with a capital W.” He shook his shoulders in a little dance of delight. “I predict nine months from now, you’ll be holding a red-faced, screaming baby and making goo goo noises, while the next Mrs. John Everest stands beside you with love in her eyes.” His silly laughter rang out again.

John leveled his gaze at his friend. “Are you finished? Because we have a meeting to go to.”

Alex’s laugh lessened to a chuckle as he glanced at his watch. “You ready?”

John held up the stack of index cards and flicked them with his fingers. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

They both stood. John grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and put it on, dropping the cards into the inside pocket. He crossed the room to get his charcoal trench-coat from the rack behind the door. He draped the garment over his forearm, opened the door and came face to face with Sam.

“Oh, shoot,” she said. “You’re leaving.” She glanced back and forth between him and Alex. Her gaze stayed with John. “Hi.” With what seemed like an afterthought, she greeted Alex. John heard his friend chuckle softly behind him.

John couldn’t help grinning at Sam. “Hi, yourself. What are you doing here?”

“I had an interview across the street. Since I was close by, I wanted to wish you luck in your meeting.” Her eyes skimmed over him. “You look great.”

He touched her sleeve. “So do you.” He took in her appearance in a leisurely glance, from her thigh-length leather jacket to her fire-engine red stilettos. He turned to Alex. “We have a couple of minutes, don’t we?”

Alex looked at his watch. “That’s about all we have.” He grinned and scooted around them. “Meetcha downstairs, John-boy.” He sauntered away with a bounce in his step. “With a capital W,” he called over his shoulder, his goofy chuckle echoing in the hall.

Sam stared after him. “What did he—?”

John yanked her into his office, not wanting to explain Alex’s words, and needing to have her in his arms. Now. Before the door finished shutting, their bodies were pressed together, lips locked, tongues probing, hands groping.

A couple of steamy minutes later, he came up for air. “God, we’re like a couple of horny teenagers, aren’t we?”

She pulled on the hem of her coat and grinned. “Yeah. Ain’t it great?”

Chapter 12

The week flew by in a flurry of passion, laughter and conversation. Except for having dinner Monday night with Alex and his girlfriend of the hour to celebrate the successful city council presentation, the couple spent every available moment alone.

Besides the great sex, they had stimulating talks about life. John told her about his childhood, his domineering father and how his mother was scared to stand up for herself. He told her what it was like growing up with a “perfect” older brother and how he used to plot ways to make Harlan, Jr. look bad. She, in turn, told him about her picket fence life before her mom caught her dad cheating, how she’d always felt a bit superior her parents were still together while many of her friends’ folks were divorced. She told him how devastated she’d been when she learned her perfect life had all been a façade.

Their talk wasn’t all serious, though. They discussed recent movies and books, argued over politics, laughed about the silliest, most mundane things. He told her all about the youth center, and gave her a tour of the building site. Her
oohs
and
aahhs
enchanted him — especially since they were clearly sincere.

They discovered a shared passion for black and white movies and popcorn, although he liked it plain and she liked it drenched in butter. He learned she was ticklish on her left foot but not her right, and she learned no matter how many times they played, he was unbeatable in tic tac toe and the stupid game of rock, scissors, paper.

All in all, it was a great week.

It was one hell of a shitty week for Brian. On Monday, he was jumped at school for his new shoes — his brand new Air Jumps he’d worn all of three times. It’d taken him
forever
to swipe enough cash from Earl’s wallet without the prick getting suspicious — two dollars here, five dollars there. The asshole was about as observant as a corpse. But what did you expect from a night shift security guard at Jim Dandee’s Furniture Warehouse in Tukwila? Earl didn’t even carry a gun. A reject with a uniform. He couldn’t guard a pile of dog shit.

Tuesday was worse than Monday. Brian had hung around the school grounds until after dark to avoid the maroon car. Thankfully, he’d made it home without incident. But, of course, home was a whole different kind of hell.

He entered the filthy house well after the dinner hour — not that there was ever dinner to be had in the Borksaw household. At least nothing Brian would want to put into his mouth. He heard the tinkling strains of Wheel of Fortune coming from the television in the front room and pictured his mother and Earl passed out and/or half drunk on the tattered couches. Even stone sober, they probably lacked the brain cells to play that brainless game.

Not bothering to announce “I’m home!” because no one here gave a shit, he grabbed a box of Froot Loops from the cupboard. He found a reasonably clean bowl and settled on a fork because all the spoons were dirty. After sniffing the milk in the fridge, he decided to eat the cereal dry and tossed the fork back into the drawer where it clattered against the other utensils.

“Hey, shithead. Is that you?” Earl Borksaw’s voice rang out from the living room.

As far as Brian knew, his name
wasn’t
shithead, so he didn’t answer. It wasn’t five seconds before the swinging door separating kitchen from living room banged open. Earl filled the entire doorframe. “I’m talking to you, shithead.” His slurred words and swaying body told Brian he was drunker than a skunk. Brian didn’t move, hoping if he just ignored him, he would go away as he sometimes did.

This wasn’t one of those times.

With a quickness that belied his lack of sobriety and the pathetic, out-of-shape mass that passed as a body, Earl’s hand shot out and locked onto Brian’s arm like a vice. “Come on out here, boy. You’n I’s gonna have ourselves a little man-to-man talk.” He yanked Brian into the living room and shoved him none too gently onto a thread-bare chair by the front door.

“What’s going—?” Brian began, scooting to the edge of the flat cushion.

Earl spun around from the middle of the room. “You just stay there and shut your trap, and listen to what I’m gonna tell you.” He dropped onto the larger of the two couches. It was then Brian noticed the other person present wasn’t his mother but one of Earl’s equally slimy friends, Roy Meggett. Meggett the Maggot. His bloodshot, watery blue eyes swam in a face that looked like a skull covered in white parchment. The living dead, Brian thought, easing back into his chair and relaxing a little. If Earl wanted to beat the shit out of him for whatever reason, as Earl sometimes did, he would’ve done it by now.

“Whaddaya want?” he asked, keeping his voice and face expressionless.

“I said to shut your trap,” Earl hollered, pointing a fat, hairy-knuckled finger at him. When he seemed satisfied Brian wouldn’t say more, he adjusted his pot-belly over his too-low waistband and settled into the sagging cushions. “I know you’ve been taking money from me, ya little shit.”

Shit
, Brian thought, but still kept his expression blank. The man wasn’t as dense as he looked.

“I thought it was your mom,” Earl went on, “but after I knocked her around a bit and she still didn’t confess, I figured you was the thief. And if you even
think
of denying it, that’ll
really
piss me off. Now. The way I see it, you got two choices. One,” Earl held up a fat finger, “you pay back my money pronto, or two,” he didn’t hold up another finger because that would require math skills, “I kick you and your mama back out on the streets where I found you. You get my drift, you understand me, am I making myself clear?”

As glass, dickhead
. He knew his options were limited. He and his mom had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to. Her family had disowned them years ago and Brian had never known his father. Earl might be a king-size prick, but he did let them live here for free. Sure, his mom had to pay their way by letting Earl poke her, but she didn’t seem to mind. All Brian knew for sure was he didn’t want to go back to the streets.

“I’ll get your money, Earl,” Brian said and stood. Earl reached for a beer from the cooler sitting on the floor between him and Maggot. Earl hurled the can across the room and hit Brian square in the left temple.

“Ooh, you still got that pitcher’s arm,” Maggot shouted with glee.

Brian staggered but didn’t give in to the urge to wince or cry out in pain. That would give fat-ass too much satisfaction. He pressed a hand to the side of his face. It was wet. With blood or beer he wasn’t sure. At this point, he didn’t care. He’d been hit worse.

“That’s for stealing from me, shithead,” Earl said. “I figure you been taking money for two months or so, so I expect to be paid in exactly, oh, one month.”

Brian glared at the man and finally nodded. How the hell he’d come up with two-hundred bucks in a month, he had no clue. The real pisser was he didn’t even have the shoes anymore to show for it. He started out of the room.

“Hey, Bri,” Maggot said. “I know how you can make a quick ten bucks.”

Brian narrowed his eyes. Maggot was offering him a job? It sounded too good to be true. “How?” he asked cautiously.

Maggot snickered and leaned back against the tattered couch cushions. “I got a crisp, new ten dollar bill in my pocket with your name on it.” He gave one of his creepy smiles to Earl. “All ya gotta do is blow me.” He grabbed his crotch.

Brian recoiled in disgust. He couldn’t tell if Maggot was kidding and he didn’t plan to find out. “What are you, a fag or something?”

Maggot’s lifeless eyes sprung to life like lightning fire and he jumped to his feet. “Who you calling a fag, boy?”

Still a bit dazed from being hit by the beer can, Brian couldn’t move fast enough to dodge Maggot’s fist as it connected with his jaw. His world swam and he fell to his knees, dizzy and nauseous.
Just get it over with
. He knew from experience if he didn’t cry or fight back, they’d bore with him sooner rather than later. He grunted as Maggot’s steel-toed working boots kicked him hard in the ribs. And then kicked again. And again. He vaguely realized Earl had joined in the brawl. Even in a half-conscious state, he recognized the man’s B.O.

He didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed when he finally stirred again. His body felt like it had been tossed from the top of the Space Needle and his head might as well be split in half, that’s how bad it hurt. Somewhere in the corner of his consciousness, he heard a soft female voice near his ear. “Come on, Brian. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His eyes had already started to swell, so he could barely open them, but he recognized his mother’s voice. It sounded reasonably sober for a change. “Mom?” He squinted through the dull light at the woman who hovered over him. “Where’s—?”

“They’re out. Passed out, I mean. Guess beatin’ the crap out of you made them a little tired.” She hooked her frail hands under his arms and helped him to his feet. The room swayed dangerously and Brian grabbed onto his mom’s bony shoulders, fearing he’d topple back to the dirty hardwood floor and take her with him. “You should really try to avoid Earl and his friends when they been drinkin’. They get real mean when they’re drinkin’.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. His mind barely registered the words or remembered how he made it to his bedroom. The feel of his mother’s hands on him as she gently washed away the blood from his face and rubbed ointment into the cuts brought back memories of another lifetime, when they’d had a place of their own, when his mom had a real job before drugs had commandeered their lives. The feel of her stringy hair tickling his face brought back how pretty she used to look and how she’d smelled of Ivory soap and sunshine. He remembered the hugs she’d given him every night as she’d tucked him in, even though he’d protested loudly and had insisted he was too old for hugs. He remembered his mom’s laughter. And her smile.