He'll never be like him
The dripping sound appeased him, an infinite succession of drops falling one after another. A thin stream, leaking from the faucet behind the counter, the one where the old man always washes the cocktail blender. Stupid old man doesn't care about anything but himself, he thought... Inadvertently, he started to count the drops in silence, his eyes vacuous, pointing in the faucet direction, seeing farther behind. Farther than the faucet or the wall, or the storage room at the back, farther behind his own mind, farther in time and place.
He wasn't a man that gives attention to details, but he frequently focused on small things. Ordinary and unnoticed little things conveyed a lot of meaning for him. Like the button on her dress that summer, unevenly sewed with white thread, the second in place from top to bottom. It was yellow, as the dress itself and the rest of the little round buttons, six in total. He could remember and recall that day again just by thinking in the button. As high as he were with the drugs, he could dissolve the rest of the world around him and focus in something, forcing himself to remember things otherwise forgotten by the pain. But not all had been pain; it came after as usually, he used to known the routine by then. A warning followed by rage, the stalking, bewilderment, and sooner or later the inevitable pain. No matter how it hurt after, it was the moment before that made it all bearable. Before the drugs, this had been his high. Anger, surprise, pain in that exactly order, he couldn't manage them separated. The first one followed by a boost, to bring the others within the equation. The meth always did the trick for him. Now was one of those times.
While immersed in his private mental scrapbook, Mac was suddenly shaken by something hard. He didn't remember how he ended in the back storage room. The icy water hit him like a current circulating through his body.
– What the hell?, he stand up shaking like a bathed dog, – Fuckin' man what's wrong with you?
– Certainly nothing, you dirty mongrel, drag your useless body on to work, these are the orders. Walter said shoving a piece of paper in front of Mac's face and slamming it over the table whit a closed fist. Then he lumbered back to the bar taking with him the bucket emptied of water and molten ice.
Mac made a gruffly noise to himself, watching the man with menacing eyes. Both hands curled into fists, closing so hard that the veins in his arms were clearly visible. He took the piece of paper disdainfully tugging it into his coverall's pocket, and walked himself out of the Luna Mesa.
Sliding inside his truck he struck his fists into the steering wheel, punched the passenger seat cursing, trying to release his anger.
– Mothafucker! , the right fits hit the seat, thump, then the left, thump!, his voice hissing roughly, – Sunov tha… bitch!, thump, thump.
The childish tantrum was serving as spectacle for Devon, who stood on the porch watching it with priceless expression, a sneaky laugh being held on the corner of his mouth. He moved closer to the truck, moving his head slowly and making a disapproval sound.
– Tsk, tsk, tsk. Hey man… about time to get a bath, you are a really stinky piece of shit you know.
Mac reacted suddenly turning his head and grasping Devon's shirt collar, still inside of the truck. Devon's face hit the window frame, bruising his left eyebrow, a line of blood running down its face. He felt the stench of Mac's breath close to his face and the moist of his saliva while he spoke spitting every word.
– He won't be always to save your sorry ass, you prick! Mac hissed. A click resonated on his ear as the cold metal pressed his neck. Dawn this was definitely one of those days, he though, remaining still, but not losing his grip.
– Need a reminder of the rules around here boy?. 'Cause I hate to repeat myself, like a begging whore, ain't I. Walter stood at the passenger door, holding the rifle through the window.
He'll be more than willing to grant the old man wishes right here, right now. He'll be dead but also the precious prick, leaving Walter with nothing. He knew he wouldn't be missed, and the old man never shed a tear for him. Not that it matters to him anyway, but the possibility of been released from his pity life embraced him for a second. Though, he never could end it by himself, neither just let it happen. By the end of the day, alone in his house, in the dark room with nothing but a filthy mattress in it, the drugs finally abandoning the grasp on his body, he knew he couldn't, because he was afraid.
His hand unclenched Devon's shirt. The shaking young man taking two steps back, catching his breath, unable to speak, a finger tracing the blood line in his face. The cannon still firmly pressed against Mac's neck.
– Aren't you forgetting who is the boss... son? The last word was pronounced with hate. Mac realized it. He shook his head slowly, lowering his eyes.
– Good. Now you go to the cave and work. We'll have a little conversation later on, OK? Walter remained expecting a response.
– Then? Walter insisted, the shotgun maintaining its position on his hands.
– Ok. Mac barely spoke with an almost inaudible tone.
– Okay What? Walter pushed on further.
– Okay sir.
The weapon finally removed from him, Mac started the vehicle and drive away from the parking lot.
Walter spitted on the ground. Dawn thing had become fearless and defiant. He'll sure have to put an end to it before it blows on his own face. As a child Mac had been easy to intimidate, he used to fear him, and know better to obey. The boy had grown resilient and sleazy, but tamed. That was the only reason for he had spared his life in several occasions. But as man, he has been getting too much confidence about himself. Walter got back to the Luna Mesa rummaging with his thoughts. – What his fucked up, twisted mind is thinking. That's the damn problem.. is thinking! He thinks that he can stands up against me, boss Devon around, take over the business? MY BUSINESS!. With this last tough he got really angry, the business was the only thing that made him a different man, one with power, not the shadow he used to be. And also the only thing that kept his mind busy, a sense of realization, and now with Devon by his side things finally got a purpose again.
But Mac, he wasn't like Devon, and not because the corrupted monster Mac had now become, but since before he had born. An unwanted child engendered by greed and a sick desire, an animal desire for pleasure, not love, never love. Walter was tempted by his old does, and he had pay for it. And the unwelcomed baby remained to live as a constant reminder of how he had lost the only person that he could possible love in his life, twice.
-/-
The rest of the afternoon befallen without novelty, just some of the regular town folks that usually came for dinner and beer, mostly for the beer. Samuel Lee, who owned the ATV rental and also offered tours at the canyons for sightseeing, was eating at one of the tables, and the son of Joe Dixie, Hank came for an after work drink, hoping to catch a word with Mac. He helped his father in the only local auto body parts of the town, were Mac also worked. Two couples of bird lovers that tried to get their dates drunk and relax their crossed legs, and a group of college boys from the city, which usually organized illegal car races or rented a lodge for their depraved fraternity parties that ended in sex and drug orgies. There wasn't much of a young population in town, most the teens leave after high school to work in the city, a few could manage to go to college, and the rest worked in the few places available in town, for a meager pay that they usually spend in drink, drugs and whores. The girls mostly to pay the bills and bring bread for their children while their temporal partners drunk out the money. The succession of client walked in and out, as the place met his usual crowd of clients. By the end of the night Walter flipped the open sign to closed, feeling tired. The years haven't passed in vain over his body.
– Hey, dad. I finish to check the account balances, we've got pretty good numbers for this month. Devon just came from the back office, sitting in a stool and pouring two whiskey shots, offering one to Walter.
– To the business! Devon said raising his glass.
– To have my son back with me to run the business together! Walter raised its glass and tapped it against Devon's. Both drinking the shots in one big gulp.
– You did good, son. The voice has been spread, and all the dealers know that you're in charge of delivering and collecting. For the next batch you will be meeting them.
– Except for the Mexican, Ortiz?
– For now it'll be. That man is dangerous and I don't want you risking your life unnecessarily. We leave Mac to handle that one. He'll go with you to do the recognizance, and safe the place before you meet with any of the other clients.
– I don't need a babysitter, and less that piece of shit. He'll slide my throat open if I blink, you sure can manage him, but I'm neither sure it's a good idea, nor feel comfortable around him.
– WelI, he may be a piece of shit, but is a thought one. He knows how to deal with this kind of craps. You believe me son, he'll do as I say, and that is make sure you don't get hurt.
– Sounds like you are a big fan now. Devon pointed with arrogance.
– You know me better son. We keep Mac by convenience and opportunity, but he always has been an expendable piece of the business. Don't worry about him, we'll have a little chat and he'll do well for me and for you.
– Are you completely sure he's your son? Devon couldn't avoid smirking.
– No Devon, you are. He just happens to share some of my blood, but that is just incidentally. I was mad because your mother leaved the town. She wanted better that I can offer her. I don't complain about that, but sure regretted when she came back married. We both were too young anyway.
– I'd better check on Regina. Devon said in a low voice leaving the bar to the house that was just a few steps from the Luna Mesa.
Walter continued fixing things at the bar, as he did he couldn't avoid thinking of his sons. Despite Devon had been a dainty child, he definitely has a lot in common with him. He'll learn well the business and be respected like him, Walter thought. He has grown with more opportunities than he had, a loving mother, education, a good life quality without the shortage and abuses that he had endured himself. He lied to Devon, because Mac indeed had been the cause that Evelyn broke with him and not a consequence. But he was not in the mood to offer details about his past, he never was. After Devon's mother couldn't hold to be mad with him for more time, they resolved a functional agreement. Despite Walter was once willing to marry her, and do things right, his hideous mind concocted a better arrangement. They both took advantage of Ray Ashton to raise they child as his own, so that Devon can afford a better live. In the end Evelyn couldn't deny that she was also enjoying the commodities that her new husband gave to her, living in the city, without having to work two turns and been molested by drunken clients. While the fake father spent without restrictions to raise his son the best, Evelyn tolerated the boring sex. Regina wasn't planned, but she welcomed and loved her little girl, and Walter had no objections as the girl resembled his mother as hell. For years they made it work, Evelyn went back to Cainville each summer vacation to meet his lover and fuck until her body couldn't take no more. With a normal family roles, Devon grew well, still Walter recognized that the lust that the boy has on his half-sister was vicious. It was on the boy's blood, in his own blood, an innate impulse too difficult to restrain. He knew how it feels, and he couldn't fight it any better, so he didn't expected the boy to do so. He allowed Devon to keep Regina just to please his son, perfectly aware that this attachment can become a problem in the future.
Mac on the other hand wasn't like Walter at all. The similarity of the features was undeniable, but the man was unfocused and lack of ambition. He breathed by inertia and his only motif was to satisfy his physical instincts that take place at the moment. As a child he has been fragile, too thin, too short, too weak. Always afraid or crying like a girl. But his biggest fail was that he made him remember the past. A past that Walter had succeeded to bury, long time ago. He committed himself to erase any trace, even if it was at expenses of the child. The most he grew to mirror it, the most Walter had beaten the hell out of him, still he does. Of course Mac had changed, just to resemble the hate that he felt from his former life. He hated it, and so did Mac. But he had stand up and survived. Mac only survived, he wasn't a fighter, just a resilient cockroach that lived from others' waste. A shame, that was what Mac was for Walter.