Page 174 of Beneath the Stain
“I’ve got as much right as anyone else to be here!” he protested, and Mackey caught his breath. He’d been afraid of Trav’s anger. He should have known. If Trav was ever really,trulyangry at Mackey, Mackey would have been really,trulyafraid.
He was certainly afraid for Stevie’s dad right now.
“This is private property, and you have until the count of three before everybody on this lawn either calls the police or helps me kick your ass back into your car!”
“He’s going to kill that bad man,” Blake said at Mackey’s side.
“Oh God, Mackey! He hated jail when it was all of us in there.” Kell sounded a little panicked.
So was Mackey. “Well, we better make sure he doesn’t go back.” He’d go with him—hell, he’d help Trav beat up Stevie’s dad forfree—but…. “We don’t got time for jail right now. Grant’s counting on us. We can’t lose time for this bullshit.”
“Get ouuuuut!” Trav screamed, flecks of spittle coming from his mouth.
Mr. Harris must have been seven times a fool, because he was still stuttering, fumbling—and then, oh God, he really was too stupid to live. “It’s just that, you know, I lost my job and we could use a little bit of—”
Mackey knew where this was going, and he knew what Trav would do. “Stop him,” Mackey cried and ran down the lawn to grab Trav’s arm as he cocked it back. “We don’t got time for this bullshit!” he yelled, hoping to get Trav’s attention.
“I willkillthis guy if he touches one of you!” Trav shouted.
To Mackey’s relief, Kell was on his other arm and Blake—brave man—jumped on Trav’s back.
“I’ll just… you know, I can come back….” Mr. Harris backtracked like a scuttling crab, and Mackey and his brothers just held on to Trav as every muscle in his body fought to either smash the man’s face in or wrap his hands around his throat.
“Do it and I’ll kill you!” Trav screamed, and Mackey snapped, “Not with witnesses, dumbass!” loud enough to penetrate.
The release of tension in Trav’s body was so great that it sent them all stumbling backward, Trav landing square on top of Blake, Kell and Mackey scrambling to the side.
He was small but he was quick, and he rolled, tumbled, and hopped on Trav’s chest, sitting with his backside toward Trav’s face. He didn’t want any of their intimacy done in front of the strangers now watching the show on the frost-crispy lawn as the battered Oldsmobile peeled down the street.
“You can get up now, Mackey,” Trav muttered.
“God, please!” Blake groaned, but Mackey didn’t believe it.
“Walter!” he called.
Sure enough, the driver—who’d had the day off and spent it hanging out in Mackey’s mom’s living room instead of the hotel like he’d said—popped front and center to where Mackey was perched on his stubborn-assed boyfriend’s chest. “Yes, Mr. Sanders?”
“Could you go to Walmart—it should still be open—and buy one of those big leather bags that we keep in the basement, and bring it here and set it up?”
Walter nodded, as if he approved of this plan. “Would you like tape and headgear and—”
“The whole nine yards,” Mackey said, smacking Trav’s arm. “Stop wiggling, asshole. I’m saving your butt.”
“Blake is kneeing me in the back,” Trav snapped.
“Good. If he was in position, I’d let him knee you in the balls. Jesus, you people talk aboutmyself-control!”
“I have wanted to beat the shit out of that guy for ayear!”
In spite of the absurd gravity of the situation, Mackey had to smile. His boys. God, Trav really was proof that God could throw you down a cast-iron jock sometimes, wasn’t he? “Well, we’ve wanted a piece of him for most of our lives. Get in line. We’re not doing this now. If we end up in jail, who’s visiting Grant?”
Trav’s muffled groan of self-awareness had real apology in it. “Aw, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck….”
“Walter?” Mackey said, nodding.
Walter nodded back. “Back in an hour, Mr. Sanders.”
“Use the gas card, Walter!” Trav called, but Walter probably knew that already.
