Two

Billy
 

Billy sneaks into his house; he doesn’t want to talk to his mother. His mother watches TV. She hears him—caught.

Peggy bellows out, “Out making a name for yourself?”

He jumps, tensing before relaxing. “You heard?”

“Hell, it’s all over the damn TV. You’re a Goddamn movie star." Billy scowls. “Those Rangers were here looking for your ass.”

“Rangers? What? When?”

“Hell, I don’t know. It’s when ya disappeared. I told them to tell ya: we’re out of milk. Ya got milk?”

“Nah.”

“I’m guessin’ ya haven’t seen them.”

“Nah.”

“Chicago?” She asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Ya ran over someone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What ya into, boy?”

“Nothin’.”

“If ya say so—we need milk.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

 

Billy doesn’t make a run for milk. He goes to The Cue Ball; business is light. He snuggles up to the bar, sitting on his regular bar stool.

“Hey, Billy.”

“Hey, Tim.”

“Where ya been?”

“You don’t know?”

“Of course, I do, but I thought I’d let you tell the story. Chicago is what I’m hearing?”

“Yeah—it was cold as shit. I’ve never seen so much snow.”

“Snow? Was the dude you ran over really from Texas?”

“I guess. They put me in this interrogation room.”

“What are you talking about—an interrogation room?” Billy nods. “Why?”

“The dude got shot.”

“What ya talkin’ about?”

“The dude was shot—I don’t know why it’s not on the news, but the dude was shot. I thought they were going to lock my ass up.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about? Didn’t you run him over?”

“No, no. I ran him over, but he was also shot—like, simultaneously.”

“You’re shittin’ me?”

“Serious as a heart attack. Shit, I didn’t see anything—and I mowed him down. It was some crazy shit. They took my truck, my gun, and put me in the back of a cop car. Shit, I was in the back of that car for like two hours, and then they put me in this room. I don’t even know how long I was there, but it was long. They were just fuckin’ with me.”

“Jesus, Billy, sounds like a hell of an experience. Why would someone want to shoot him? Didn’t he coach football?”

“I guess. I didn’t find out until they released me, but he shot up that head coach's family. Maybe one of them shot him?”

“Wait a second. I’m a little fuzzy on this, but he was from Texas, and he shot up the family, like—”

“In Indiana.”

“Right. And you ran him over in Chicago—”

“Right.”

“How in the fuck would anyone know he was in Chicago?”

“I know, right? Fuckin’ weird.”

“Man, this is some crazy shit. What's it like, fate or some shit?”

“Ya got me? I was floored when I found out the dude was from Texas.”

“Shit.” Tim stares at Billy. “Maybe the dude did more than coach football?”

“Maybe.”

“Jesus, Billy.” They share a look. “Ya sure have gotten sucked into some crazy shit lately.”

“You can say that again. I’m tellin’ ya, when I was in that room, I thought I was never going to see Texas again.”

“Well, someone must be watching out for ya, cause you’re here.” They laugh. “Beer?”

“Yeah, set me up.”

Tim pours a glass, placing it on a coaster.

“Hey dude, all kinds of people are looking for ya,” Tim says.

“I heard. The Rangers?”

“Yeah, them, and Sylvia, oh, and Brett.”

“Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back?”

“I thought ya liked Sylvia?”

“I do, but it’s been wonky since John died. It’s probably my fault.”

A voice booms from behind Billy. “What the fuck, dude?”

Billy swivels on his bar stool. “Brett.”

“Don’t Brett me.” Brett points. “Out back—I need to talk to your ass.”

Brett leads Billy toward the back door. As soon as Billy clears the doorway, Brett drives his forearm into Billy’s chest. Billy’s back collides with a brick wall, sounding like slapping meat hitting a wall. Billy is pinned. He coughs.

In a wispy voice, Billy says, “Damn dude, what the hell?”

“Dude, what did you do?” Brett asks. Billy tries to free himself; he looks like a bug stuck on its back. Billy’s face turns different shades of red as he struggles to breathe.

He struggles to speak, eking out, “Chill, man.”

“Man, Skinny is all up in my ass, asking about you and what I told ya.” Brett releases Billy. He paces like a caged big cat. Billy throws his hands on his knees, coughing.

His voice returns. “How in the fuck does he know about me?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Okay, okay. So, he knows. Dude, it’s okay—really.”

Brett stops, giving him a deadeye stare. “It’s not fuckin’ okay, man. Skinny is fuckin’ psycho. You never know what that motherfucker is going to do. He’s fuckin’ scary—shit” He goes back to pacing. “This is bad, man. If he finds out, you—” He stops, locking eyes with Billy. “You need to leave town.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about? I’m good. I can take care of myself.”

“Dude, you’re not getting it—and now the fuckin’ Rangers have also been sniffin’ around, and they’re all up in my ass. Dude, I don’t need this shit. Fuck.”

“Rangers? Oh shit, that is bad. Those boys just like fuckin’ with me. Look, man, I will go to my grave with what you told me,” Billy says.

“Fuck, fuck. Billy—”

“Look, man; I get it. I get it.”

“Can ya like—take another vacation?”

“Dude, it’s okay. Really.”

“All these motherfuckers are squeezing me.”

“Ya want me to talk to Skinny?”

“Bad idea, man. Bad idea. You need to, like—disappear.”