About an hour later, the police knocked on the door, Shady ran up to the door, barking and acting tough, Greg walked over and answered the door after scooping up the puppy. "Are you Greg Gallagher?" one of the police officers asked, and Greg nodded, "we're constables Smith and Bryce, is it okay if we come in?"
"Of course," Greg stepped aside, "sorry about all the mess, we woke up to find it trashed like this," the constables looked around and the house, while slightly cluttered, was remarkably tidy for having two small children who watched them wide eyed from around the corner of the doorway, "don't worry about the puppy, he thinks he's a lot tougher than he is, and is still working out how to protect the house,"
"He's very cute, can I pat him?" one of the officers asked, attempting to build a rapport.
"Yes, of course, his name is Shady," Greg smiled, closing the door behind them.
"Like Slim?" the officer laughed.
Greg laughed back, "yes, like Slim. We wanted a locally inspired name for him, and figured that Slim Shady was the most famous person from Detroit in the modern era, mind if I put the dog down on the ground?" he smiled and the officers shook their heads, watching the wriggling puppy, and Greg then called over his shoulder, "James, the police are here about the truck," and a man with very long, very dark hair approached the officers with his hand extended, and shook theirs.
"James Gallagher," he introduced himself, as Greg set the kids up on the couch with a Capri-Sun each, a bag of chips to share and switched the television on to Nickelodeon, instructing them both to stay there while Daddy and Papa were talking to the policemen; "do you want to come sit down in the kitchen?" James led them through as he chain-bolted the door, "sorry, our little girl is an escape artist," he chuckled, "would you like something to eat? Drink?" the officers shook their heads and the interview began. "I have a late model Chevy Silverado 2500 that we're positive that my uncle-in-law has taken, Robert Gallagher. It's dark green, the number plate…"
Greg stuck his head out to check on the kids, who were still entranced by the television and turned around and walked back in the kitchen, where James had just finished discussing the truck's details; "we're actually really concerned about my uncle… everything was going really well until my aunt died unexpectedly some time ago and he's progressively gone further and further downhill. Unfortunately, while we've legally adopted and taken full legal custody of the kids, who are his grandchildren, he owns the house, and we don't inherit it until he dies. So, we can't keep him out of the house. We're really concerned about his alcohol consumption; he always liked a drink, but lately it's become ridiculous, and frankly, very dangerous. He's bringing back people who we're worried about being around the kids, and what influence it's all potentially having on them. We just want to get him some help," Greg added, "before it's too late. While he doesn't have custody of the kids anymore, we'd like him to be able to have a positive role in their lives, but as it stands; he can't be around them unsupervised at the moment because we never know what he's going to be like,"
"We understand," the officers added, "and we'll be on the lookout for your truck, Mr. Gallagher, if your uncle has stolen your truck, we will need to arrest him however, but should it go to court, then he might need to attend mandated AA meetings,"
"We're a bit nervous about angering him, he doesn't understand the issue that's going on," Greg added nervously, "is there any way to force him into getting some treatment without pressing charges? It feels a little bit excessive,"
"What the fuck!" a slurred yell came from the front door followed by incessant pounding, "kids, come let your granddad in! I'm home! Greg, James, I know you're in there, you fucking ungrateful bastards! Wait until I give you a piece of my mind for all that fucking stink you kicked up about me bringing home a fucking hooker last night! Taking those kids away like I'm some kind of fucking freak! You paranoid fucking bastard, Greg! I ain't your fucking daddy, Greg, I don't fiddle with little kids!"
Constable Bryce opened the door, to find a man leaning against the door who staggered inside before falling to his hands and knees, "who the fuck are you? What, you two fucking bastards called the fucking cops on me, did you? You fucking cowards! What the fuck are you looking at?" he turned his attention to Charlie who ran and hid behind James.
"You trashed the house and stole our truck! Of course we called the police!" Greg barked back, "and don't you dare talk to my children that way, Rob! You need some fucking help that we can't give you,"
"Gallaghers never call the fucking cops, especially not on our own fucking blood! You're not a Gallagher; you're a fucking House! You lying, conniving, backstabbing cunt!" Rob yelled from the ground, "can someone please get me somewhere to lie down,"
"You can't stay here, Rob, stealing the truck was the final straw. You need to get your drinking under control," Greg shook his head, "look at you, you're terrifying your own grandchildren! You need help,"
"So what? I borrowed your fucking truck! I was borrowing it! You borrow Josie's car all the time! Josie's dead, Greg! I have nothing left of her except for that SUV!" Rob yelled, shakily trying to stand up, and needed both police officers to help him up.
"I always ask before I ever have to use it! And this isn't the first time that you've taken James' truck without asking. You need to get help, Rob, and not the kind of help that James and I can help you with alone. You're an addict, and you're not only hurting me and James, you're hurting the kids. They're terrified of you now Rob, I just want my old Uncle back… I know you're hurting from Josie passing away, but we're all hurting, Rob," Greg tried to placate.
"Keep Josie's name out of your cock sucking fucking mouth!" Rob roared, and then broke free and punched Greg in the eye, to which he crumpled to the ground.
"Daddy!" the cops noticed the kids screaming and crying, but too terrified to get any closer, still hiding behind James, as Greg groggily sat up, holding his face.
"Mr Gallagher, we're going to need to arrest you," detective Bryce walked around and handcuffed Rob, "Mr Robert Gallagher, you are under arrest for aggravated domestic assault, and under suspicion of driving under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol and under suspicion of solicitation of prostitution. You have the right to remain silent, you are being recorded via body cameras right now, anything you say or do can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the state of Michigan. Let's get you up on your feet, Mr Gallagher, do you have anything on your person which could cause harm to yourself or others?" Rob shook his head as Constables Bryce and Smith put on gloves and Constable Smith went to pat Rob down, "what's this? A business card for an escort service?" which he handed to Constable Bryce who bagged it in an evidence bag as Constable Smith continued patting down Rob's pockets before taking the car keys and Rob's wallet out, "we'll need these as potential evidence if he has in fact driven the vehicle," Constable Smith added, as he also removed Rob's cell phone from his pocket and put both the phone, wallet, and keys into separate evidence bags.
"That's fine," James mumbled, feeling empty inside, "we've got a second key,"
"You fucking pigs! You're arresting an old man in my own home for having a few drinks! You better let me fucking go! You have no fucking clue who you're dealing with!" Rob screamed, slurring his speech as he spat onto one of the officers.
"That's fine, we'll find out if you did indeed do these things and we'll test your blood for illicit drugs and alcohol if you were in fact behind the wheel of Mr Gallagher's vehicle," Constable Bryce continued as he dragged a swearing and furious Rob out to the police car.
"Mr Gallagher, is it okay if you send us some time and date stamped photos of your injury to us when you can?" Constable Smith asked and Greg nodded numbly.
"Thanks for your help," Greg muttered, struggling to stand up, James came over to help Greg up, and Constable Smith came around the other side and helped pull him to his feet, "sorry, I have a physical disability that affects my right leg, it jarred a bit when I went down, sorry about having to help me up," Greg mumbled.
"It's absolutely fine," Constable Smith comforted, "here's my card, please send through those photos, make sure that they're date and time stamped,"
"Of course, thank you officer," as the policeman left the house and the family stood around in shock and horror.
"Man, why do we seem like magnets of bad luck?" Greg grumbled, sitting at the table holding a bag of frozen peas and corn over his eye and bridge of his nose.
"Maybe it's karma from a past life or something," James joked, bringing over a glass of lemonade, "the kids are watching a movie,"
"Hmm, well it's targeting the wrong side of the family, it's my father's side of the family that were the racist, incredibly rich Southerners who lived on a big farm in south Alabama in the 1800s. I don't know why I'm the one who has to suffer for what they did," Greg groaned.
"Wait, your father's family were from Alabama?" James asked.
"Originally and then moved on to Texas, I don't know, sometime in the 1930s or something. You didn't pick up on that heavy Southern accent all of them had? Also, I can hear that Alabama joke sitting on the tip of your tongue, I'm seriously not in the mood right now to hear jokes about incest or my dad and uncle raping me as a kid, James. I swear, if you start singing 'sweet home Alabama to me' I'm walking out of this room," Greg growled.
"I wouldn't dream of it," James sat down, "wait, so you're insinuating that they-"
"Owned a plantation and owned and mistreated slaves, to put it lightly? Yep. Lots of them apparently. They were very, very powerful and rich people. So much so that they didn't lose all their money in the Great Depression. Still very rich to this day, if the fact that they own that massive mansion and property in South Dakota wasn't another clue," Greg added, "money was about the only thing I didn't have to worry about growing up. We were never without money,"
"Yet, they still prostituted out their own son and nephew?" James questioned.
Greg lowered the bag off his face and glared, irritated, back at James, "yes, I think my dad got off on it and that was the driving force behind it, like some kind paedophilic cuckhold situation. Can we drop talking about the staggering number of men who stuck it up me when I was a kid and my dad jerking off to watching me being gang raped, participating in them, and filming it, please? I feel like shit enough already,"
"Maybe that's why Foreman hated you," James joked, trying to change the subject, "maybe your family owned his family,"
"Foreman was an asshole, so I treated him like an asshole. Remember Zachary Johnson, before Foreman? He was an asshole too and so pale he was nearly translucent, so I treated him like the asshole he was too. I'm an equal opportunity asshole employer,"
"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about him. He almost looked like an albino. You used to call him 'asshole Albie'," James laughed.
Greg chuckled too, "'Asshole Albie' I'd forgotten about that nickname. Far out, I really was a HR nightmare. But hey, at least I'm not racist or a paedophile unlike most of my father's side of the family dating back who knows how long, which is why I don't understand why I'm the one being spited,"
"Maybe you were Hitler in your previous life?" James joked, "or a Nazi. And your people tried to exterminate all of my people,"
"The only thing I'm exterminating of the Jewish population is taking your loads up my rectum or down my throat," Greg joked back, "but seriously, I'm about as much of a non-bigot as they come. I'm half Irish, raising two adopted mixed race kids one three quarters white and a quarter black, and the other quarter black, one quarter white and half Indian, with my Jewish homosexual husband, out of our four closest friends Andre is dark skinned African American and Ryan is Asian, while we live in a predominately black suburb. My slave owning ancestors are rolling in their graves. Maybe they're the ones putting a hex on me from the bowels of hell,"
"Your mom's side of the family are Irish?" James questioned.
Greg lowered the bag of frozen vegetables again and gave James a look of are you stupid, or just dense? "Ignoring the fact that there are Catholic crucifixes in just about every room of this house and that both our kids were baptised before we got them… where do you think the surname 'Gallagher' comes from, James? What country does that sound like most likely originates from?"
"Fair point, it does sound pretty Irish now I think about it," James admitted, gently pulling the bag from Greg's face, and taking a more detailed look at his face, "that was a really nasty hit you took there, Greg, your face is so swollen,"
"Yeah, it's pretty painful," he mumbled, "Rob can really throw his weight around, and God knows he has enough of it," Greg tried to joke while James looked at him with a gentle frown.
"This isn't funny or a joke, Greg, he could've really hurt you, don't you see that? And imagine if he'd hit one of the kids, how badly they'd be hurt?" James muttered, as he took photos on his phone of the swelling and bruising.
"Rob wouldn't hurt the kids," Greg whispered, "he wouldn't. He was just… out of it, it wasn't him,"
"You know you sound like a battered wife right now, right? And yeah, he absolutely would hit them if they were in your place. He was a nice guy, Greg, but the alcohol… it's changed him. He needs to change a lot and prove it before I'll consider him to be safe around my kids again," James whispered back, "and even then, I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust him again completely. He needs a lot of help, he needs help that neither of us are able to give him,"
"Daddy? Papa?" Charlie interrupted softly, standing in the kitchen doorway with her doll hanging down from her hand, "when is granddad coming home? I miss him,"
Greg and James exchanged glances, before James beckoned her over and lifted Charlie onto his lap, "I don't know, baby girl, granddad is not very well at the moment and he's made some bad choices, so he's in grown up time out at the moment. We don't know when he'll be back home,"
"I miss him," Charlie's lip began to quiver, and James wrapped her in a big hug.
"I know you do, baby girl, I know you do. He'll be back as soon as he can," James promised, "how about we do something else? Do you… want to take Shady for a walk with us?" and Charlie nodded enthusiastically, "go get dressed then," and Charlie scampered off. "Come on, Greg, put your boots and coat on and come for a walk with us," James encouraged.
"I don't think so," Greg shook his head, "I think I'll stay here, you take the kids out,"
"Why?" James frowned.
"Why? Look at my face, James! People are going to make assumptions, and assume the worst. Unconsciously apply Occam's Razor, the simplest explanation with the least amount of assumptions is generally the right one. And that explanation is that my partner, you, are beating me to a pulp. I think it's best for everyone if I stay home or at least don't go out in public with you until my face heals," Greg announced, and James sighed and nodded and told him okay, and that he loved him and would see him soon, they wouldn't be gone for long. Greg smiled back sadly; "I love you too, James, forever and ever; don't forget that. Please don't hate me, or let the kids think that anything that ever happens is their fault, okay?" as he gave Charlie a hug, and James gave Greg a confused and suspicious glance, but put it down to Greg just feeling out of sorts with the stressors of the last few days. "Goodbye, James," Greg wrapped his arms around James as tightly as possible, and his kiss lingered a little longer than it usually would have; and with that James grabbed the kids, leashed Shady, and headed out the door.