Ok this is just a little holiday fun…Takes place during the Tea and Crumpets vacation. After they finish visiting Gabe Benedict, Rios convinces Salem to join him in visiting his parents in New York. Yup yet another plot bunny run amok.

Welcome To My Old Hood

Chapter One

Parental Bliss

"You sure this is a good idea, Rios?" Salem asked as the pair strolled around a convenience store on the off ramp of I-95 just outside of Dale City Virginia. It was probably the thousandth time he'd asked it in six hundred miles.

"I think it's a great idea, Elliot. Their only my parents. That all you want? Just the Rasinettes and the beer. We still have a good two hundred plus miles, and I'm driving straight through; both tanks are topped off. Really wish you wouldn't drink in the truck though."

"Break a rule once in a while would you, Tyse. You're drivin'; I'm ridin' what's the harm. I won't tip in intersections, and yea the Rasinettes are good. You're buying right?"

"Gimme that shit."

Elliot slid his choices, two large boxes of Rasinettes and a six pack of Budweiser in the bottle across the counter toward the register. The clerk sighed, and eyed the pair warily.

"Problem?" Rios asked.

"Seriously man you gonna play me like that?"

"Play you like what exactly?"

"Read the sign. Twenty-one years of age to buy beer."

Rios furrowed his brow at the scrawny surf punk attired clerk, and pulled out his wallet.

"Twenty-eight work for you…," he leaned in a bit closer to read the kid's crooked name tag, "Dougie?"

"Not you. You're obviously old. That one."

"What gave it away all a his gray hairs?" Salem quipped while dodging Rios' smack. "Wait which one?"

Salem followed the line of Douggie's index finger which pointed at his chest, then looked around behind him as if the kid was pointing to somebody else.

"Me?"

"He can't buy your booze."

"Booze!"

"You wanna see his I.D.?" Rios asked.

"Policy brah."

"Policy brah? Is it policy to address your customers as brah, brah? "

"'Sides we ain't your brahs shit for brains. Now ring up my beer."

"No plastic, no beer. Policy states that all customers present during the purchase of Alcohol must present I.D."

"Salem go wait in the truck."

"What!"

"Won't work I already saw him."

"You listen to me you skinny little fuck. I've served three years in the Army that protects you little fuckers with salt water logged brains; so you sell us that beer right the fuck now, or I'll come over that fuckin' counter, and rip you a new asshole; you sanctimonious suck ass little bitch."

"I have a panic button."

"Salem forget it. We can go down the road."

"No! Panic button? I'll tear that bitch out, and cram up the new asshole I just ripped him."

"My buddy's old enough, ring the stuff up."

"Then have your buddy show me some I.D., brah."

"Call him brah again and…"

"Salem does the term solitary confinement mean anything to you? Give him your I.D."

"Fucker. Here."

He flipped open the small bi-fold wallet, and held the I.D. out just inches from Dougie's face.

"What kinda I.D.'s that?"

"The kind that says I'm twenty-one, kind."

"Military I.D.; he doesn't have a driver's license yet. Sorta been outta country killing people for the last few years. See, there, there's his birthday. March seventeenth 1972."

"Take it out."

Rios snatched the wallet from Elliot, and began working the green card free. While he was doing that Salem opened one of the six beer bottles, and started to drink it. Both Rios and Dougie glared at him.

"For my troubles. Oops, and this one, and this one, and…"

"Kermit stand down now you dumb fucker."

"And this one, and…"

In the time it took Dougie to scrutinize the card Salem had opened all six bottles, and chugged a good amount from each one before pressing the caps back on, and sticking them back in the holder. Then he leaned across the counter as close to Dougie as he could get, and let loose with a long alcohol laden belch.

"Still not gonna sell 'em to me brah? They're used now."

Dougie handed the card back to Rios, and disgustedly started to ring up their purchases. Meanwhile Elliot sidled away after re-claiming his wallet, and made for the rack of single beers along the rear of the store wall.

"What's he doin' now B… sir."

"Salem let's go." Rios hollered as he took his change from the clerk. "No clue; see you round."

Salem joined him at the door, and as he pushed through backwards he held his hands up as if surrendering.

"Good luck up holding policy, brah, and have a shit life."

The pair piled back into the truck, and Rios started it up. He looked curiously over at Salem who was wiggling around as though he is ass was itching.

"What are you doing?"

"Balls are freezing; hurry up, and lose this dump." Salem moaned as Rios pulled the big Ford out onto the highway.

"You didn't!"

"Course I did. A whole six pack of Bud and some Spicy Chicharrones." Salem sang out proudly.

"Chicharrones! You even know what the fuck they are?"

"Si senior, fried pork rinds. I love 'em. Neighbor used to make them fresh, I could live on that shit. No, I did live on that shit. Beer?" He corrected himself pulling the final can of the six pack out of his pants, and holding it out toward Rios. The bigger man studied it warily.

"Hold that shit down you dip shit. And no, I'm driving."

"Come on Tyse, fuck policy have a beer. See no pubes, or nothin'. It's no worse than the ones I hid down our shitter that time, and you drank those."

"Fine, but not too many, I have no desire to ever see the inside of a cell again, and if we get sent up Top'll kill us if we can't get out. We'd be AWOL."

"Ehh, cheers! AWOL schmay-wol, here's to us." He held his bottle up toward Rios', and they clinked them together. " Ok, 95 north to your old hood… Chicharrones or Rasinettes?"

Fifteen minutes later Salem stopped crunching away on his Chicharrones, and rolled the top of the cellophane bag closed.

"So your dad's name is Ty what again? Or should I stick to sir?"

Rios chuckled, "Tynan."

"Right, and you're Tyson. Is that like a junior thing?"

"Nope; Tyson, Salem, means the son of Ty."

"Oh. So he's Mexican?"

"Well yes and no. My grandfather was from Spain. A Basque…"

"Oh like Tyannikov's Dabi?"

Rios scowled at the reference. Anything Tyannikov pissed him off.

"Yea like that. Anyway his name was Guxti Salcedo…"

"Gux what!"

"Guxti! Can you at least try and force yourself to listen patiently."

"Not one a my virtues Tyse, but go on continue."

"Means, or so we think, little. Basque is a pretty individualized language. It was a joke his father played, because he was a huge baby. Guess my great grandmother didn't survive the birth. Any way so the tale goes. Guxti supposedly means little, and Basque well there's nothing else like it anywhere in the world language wise."

"Dabi's teaching me Basque it's fascinating. Says I'm a quick study. Good fighters, the Basque. Tough as nails."

"Yea, well that was his problem. So he gets run out of Spain way back forever ago, and ends up in Mexico. But, his reputation followed him. So he crosses into the states, makes his way to New York in the midst of booming skyscraper construction, and takes a job as a roofer. He changes his name to Tyler Rios…"

"Jesus Christ, and fuck my twice you really have a sorted past, Tyse. Fuck."

"Do you really need to be to sacrilegious Elliot?"

"I know where I'm ending up so I don't much care. I mean check this shit out." Salem held out his right arm so that Rios could see his new dragon and flames tattoo. "These killer flame tats will fit right the fuck in. Ok continue."

"So he wanted to start a new life, but still keep a tie to Spain, right? So he's Tyler, which is a roofer his new job in his clean life, and Salcedo means Willow tree, so Willows grow along the water; rivers and stuff so since he felt like he was reborn when he crossed the Rio Grande he picked Rios, which means river. Tyler Rios. Then, his son, my dad is Guxti Tynan Rios, and I'm Tyson Guxti Rios."

"Why wasn't your dad, Tyson?"

"No clue. Oh yea, because my grandmother was Irish, and my dad came out all dark skinned, and Tynan means dark. So I'm dark, and Tyson Rios."

"So your old man's a fat ass like you?"

Rios laughed aloud. He knew Elliot well enough by now to know that the query had two reasons. One was recon. He wanted to know if he was going to need to face off with another man twice his side that was a 'parental figure', and secondly he wanted razz Tyson about being some sort of odd genetic throwback to his grandfather size wise.

"Nope more like about your size, Kermit, but he's a bad ass. The Basque blood I guess, and he can kick ass. Trust me."

"Hmm, Tyson Rios. That's all cool. Really Tyse I mean that." Salem muttered quietly. While he held a beer bottle out of the truck's win to completely drain and remnents of the liquid. Then, after closing the window he opened another, and settled back into the comfortable leather seat leaning against the door. "I mean what the fuck's with my name. Tyannikov says it's some shit about Elliot is from Elijah, and that means the lord is my god. Don't think god knows my skinny little ass exists, and if he does he damn sure has never had anything good planned for it; sorry imaginary fucker. And Salem, that's an even better pile a bullshit. At peace, peaceful one… fuck me twice what a bunch of crap. More like Elliot Nicholas Salem, son of the meth lab bastard on the edge of the swamp. Wanna another beer?"

Rios looked over at the younger man who's jovial mood of earlier was crashing. He didn't want Elliot to slip into a funk so he agreed to the beer.

"Yea man, shit what's a fucking road trip for two best friends without tipping a few cold ones along the way. Hit me, and if we run dry we'll just hit an exit. Just this time you can stay with the truck."

"Bottle or…"

"Can; I ain't swapping spit with you anymore than necessary for emergency CPR."

To his great relief Salem busted up into a roiling laugh, and fetched the needed beer.