Page 113 of Bobby Green
It was a good fantasy. The next time, they’d used the counters and been out nothing but a little bit of 409.
Bobby’s contemplation of bending Reg over the kitchen countertops again was called to an abrupt halt as he pulled up in his mom’s driveway and saw the brand-new Ford F-250 dwarfing his mom’s little Toyota.
“Shit,” Bobby muttered in disgust.
“Who in the hell is that?” Reg asked, antennae perking up.
“That would be Frank Gilmore.”
“Is Keith with him?” There was a little bit of apprehension in Reg’s voice, and Bobby didn’t blame him.
“He’s in the truck, see?” Bobby said, nodding to Keith lying with his head on the headrest, so immersed in his iPod that he didn’t even see them pull up. “Keith isn’t gonna act up,” Bobby said. “The important thing is not to out him.”
“The important thing is not to get pounded,” Reg said glumly.
Bobby growled low in his throat. It wasterrifyinghow much he’d enjoy pounding Frank Gilmore, but he always swore he wouldn’t be that guy.
Frank’s truck was parked about three car lengths back from his mom’s Toyota, in primeget in the wayspace. Bobby solved that by pulling around it and driving on the meadow on one side of the gravel drive, pulling the truck until it was right in front of his mother’s front porch. There was enough room on either side for the other two vehicles coming up the drive.
Bobby hopped out of the truck and told Reg to stay where he was.
“I’m not a kid,” Reg snapped, sliding out on his side. Bobby sighed.
“I never said you were. I just don’t want—” Frank Gilmore walked around his truck then, spitting mad.
Frank was an older, shorter version of Keith, his thinning gray hair slicked back from his head, although his almond-shaped eyes and dimpled cheeks were still handsome. But Bobby had never warmed to Frank, no matter how much work he’d given. For one thing, he paid shit—baling hay for eight bucks an hour was no way to support yourselforyour family. But for another, he was rattlesnake mean, even to Keith. Jessica had always been his princess—sweet and a little bit oblivious to how hard he worked to screw people over. But Keith had just been a strong back to him, a way to flaunt his prowess over the town. Keith had been his minion, the farthest reach of his already long arm.
Oh, Bobby hated him so.
“So, decided to grace us with your presence, Vern? I’m surprised you even remembered where your mama lived.”
“I know where my mom lives,” Bobby said evenly. “I just don’t know what you’re doing here. She paid you up for the rest of the month. You don’t need to be here to help her move.”
“Now you just wait a minute. Your mama’s leaving me here without a tenant in the middle of winter—how’m I going to make that money back up?”
Bobby shrugged and waved at Kane, who was heading down the drive, so he’d know where to park. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want my mom the hell out of here, that’s all.”
“Wait a minute,” Frank snapped. “Who’s going to fix all the damage done to that place? You two owe me money to fix the floors and the windows!”
Bobby turned to his mom, who was standing behind Frank, hugging her arms around her ribs and crying.
“Reg, go check the house,” he snarled, right before he grabbed Frank Gilmore by the jacket front and forced him back against the side of the truck. “What did you do?”
Frank smiled ingratiatingly. “Now, not my fault your mama knows how to party, is it?”
Reg came trotting out, looking distraught. “The back windows are smashed in, Bobby. There’s glass all over the boxes. And someone went in there with a crowbar and punched holes next to the toilet—it’s leaking all over the place, and there’s a fucking mess!”
Kane pulled in right next to where they were standing, or Bobby might have lost his temper. But Dex was in that car, and Kane’s niece, and he was damned if they’d see him turn Frank Gilmore to hamburger.
Dex slid out of the passenger side of the Navigator and came walking toward them, while Kane turned the SUV off and got Frances out the other side.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Dex said calmly. Well, Bobby had seen him, sleep-deprived and half out of his mind, “calmly” deal with a family situation about twice this ugly. Dex was the right guy for this job.
“This guy and his son broke my mom’s windows and punched holes in the floor—”
“I didn’t do it,” Keith said, almost desperately, coming out the driver’s side of the truck. “Vern, it wasn’t me. My dad had his buddies do it—I didn’t know.”
Bobby turned his head toward Keith and saw bruises—fresh ones—swelling his face. He grimaced.
