Page 128 of Bobby Green
“Did you get this out of my truck?” he asked, trying to dodge, trying to protect Reg, trying not to hurt V all at the same time.
“Shut up! Shut up! All the fucking people, screaming at me all the fucking time!”
Oh Jesus. Jesus, she almost caved his skull in with that last one. His ribs were on fire, and his arm ached from one of her first blows, and he was running out of room. With a concerted effort, he woke up and timed his grab with her thrust, yanked the shovel out of her hands, and handed it backward to Reg to guard.
She screamed—and then, oh holy God, reached for the knife tucked into the waistband of her pajama bottoms, and Bobby swore. He’d never evenseenthat knife. Where the hell had it come from? He grabbed at the bed, coming up with a throw from the top, which he whirled around his arm and used as a shield.
She got through once, twice, but Bobby knew he was bigger, knew he was stronger, and the second time the knife ripped through the sheet around his arm, he yanked it out of her hand, and then, hating himself, he backhanded her, cracking her across the face, and throwing her into the far wall.
As he straddled her, held her hands behind her ass, put her in a three-point restraint, he could hear her sobbing, hear her curse the strangers in her house…
Hear her call for Reggie, her little brother, because he disappeared in the night.
In the distance sirens blared, and behind him Reg fell to his knees, phone still in his hands, and cried.
“Bobby,” he said, sounding young. “I’m bleeding.”
Bobby turned toward him in horror, seeing the dirt on the side of his head, the blood in his hair from where the first blow, the blow Bobby had slept through, had landed, just as Bobby had sat up in bed.
“Oh God,” he whispered. He couldn’t get up, couldn’t risk that he’d let her up, let her hurt him again. “Come here, Reg. Come here and lean on me. They’ll be here in a minute. Just one more minute. One more.”
Reg leaned up against him, his back to Bobby’s sore side, and that’s where they were as the cops broke in, guns drawn, and both of them had to lift their hands over their heads.
They obeyed slowly, and as the police helped V up, asking her if the two of them had hurt her, Reg toppled sideways in a dead faint, and the ambulance arrived soon after.
THE COPSwouldn’t let him alone.
One of them hopped in the ambulance with him and Reg and battered the two of them with questions while the medics worked until Reg started to cry.
“Make him stop, Bobby. Make him stop. My head hurts, and she was so still, and calling my name. Make him stop, Bobby, please!”
“But sir, we don’t understand—”
“She’s mentally ill!” Bobby snarled. “She’s mentally ill, and we got her from the adult care home a month ago because she stopped taking her meds, and she stopped taking them again and lost her shit. Can you just leave us alone!”
“What we don’t understand, Mr. Roberts, is what you were doing there.”
“He’s my boyfriend—do you need me to draw you a picture?”
“So, you two were engaged in….” The cop was middle-aged and worn, white with a sort of permanent sneer on his jowls.
“Young folks call it sleeping, sir,” Bobby snapped. “You may have heard of it.”
“That residence is not the one you gave the officer on the site,” the guy said, relentless.
“I haven’t moved in yet,” Bobby told him, feeling like this was too private for words. “Veronica obviously doesn’t like me.”
Reg started to cry some more, and Bobby nudged the paramedic aside as the ambulance jounced down the road. “Sorry,” he whispered, looking at the bruising on Reg’s face and hating himself for falling asleep. “I didn’t wake up in time. I thought I did. I thought I stopped her. I didn’t realize she got you first.”
“Hurts, Bobby,” Reg said. “I’m so weak. It hurts.”
“You’re not weak, baby. You called the cops. You were hurt and bleeding and you called the cops.”
“She got you,” Reg moaned. “She got you too.”
The medics had already wrapped Bobby’s arm on scene and tried to tend his stomach. They’d managed to irrigate it but told him they’d need to wash it more thoroughly before stitching it.
“Yeah, but we’re both tough. We’re both tough, okay?”
