Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Three
Page 9

Kevin watched the trailer as if the goings on inside were being projected onto the door and he could see it all going down. I realized then that although his eyes were wide, it wasn’t in horror.
It was in fascination.
Score one for baby bro.
“Looks like you passed the first test. For a second there I was worried how you might react,” I said. Just then Jake pounded on the door, three quick raps from within.
We stepped out of the way and let the door fall back down to the ground. Kevin on one side and me on the other.
When Jake appeared again he wasn’t wearing a shirt. A black rubber apron was tied around his neck and waist. It was so long it covered the tops of his boots. You wouldn’t know the shiny liquid splattered on it was blood unless you looked past Jake and into the scene he’d left behind in the trailer. Different shades of red were dripping from every surface and was splattered across every wall and tool.
“You see, civilians have this thing about death. I think it’s all the blood, guts, and gore that bothers them.” I waved my cigarette in the air. “Things that hatred and revenge have a tendency to wash away with time. Things like a sense of right and wrong. Guilt. All that bullshit.”
Kevin squared his shoulders. “I’m not a civilian,” he argued.
“Oh yeah?” I cocked my head to the side. “Then what exactly are you?”
He shrugged then looked as if he was thinking. His eyes met mine. “I’m a Clearwater.”
I couldn’t come up with a response because for some reason his words rendered me stupid. Thankfully Jake interrupted by stomping down the door. Lighting a cigarette, he rolled his shoulders. His neck cracked with an audible pop. He pointed to the cooler at his feet. “All yours,” he said with a faint hint of a smile.
“You want to take a ride with us man?” I asked, Kevin picked up one side of the cooler and set it right back down when he realized how heavy it was.
Jake’s eyes lit up with amusement. He shook his head. “Can’t. My kids got a ballet recital at four.”
“Got ya. Mine wants to sign up for MMA,” I told Jake. I couldn’t help but to smile as I remembered how Bo had pointed from the fight on the TV and then to himself about a thousand times while jumping up and down. Jake looked at me as if I’d sprouted a dick on the middle of my forehead. “Long story. I’ll tell you all about it over a body sometime.”
I used to not get how Jake could go from virtual serial-killer type by day to doting family man at night. That was until I had a family of my own and now I respected the hell out of him for it.
Growing up Grace had always told me that you can be a bad boy and still be a good man. I think I was finally understanding what that meant.
Jake turned on a hose and started to wash out the interior of the trailer. Red tinged water sloshed into the drain and over the back of the truck in a mini bloody waterfall. He whistled-as-he-worked like a fucked up eighth dwarf.
Kevin’s cheeks turned pink and then red, straining under the weight of the cooler as I helped take it over to the van and set it inside on garbage bags I’d already had laid out.
I slid the door shut. “Now what?” Kevin asked.
I smiled. “Now? Now we have some fucking fun.”
Twenty minutes later we were on Billy’s old airboat, flying through the swamp. I switched my theme song from “Leave the Pieces” to “Piece of Me” by Britney Spears.
I had a little bit of a theme going on that day.
We stopped at my favorite spot. Well, my favorite spot for the kind of activity we were doing. It was a clearing next to a sand bar behind a wall of trees where the swamp met the river. Right behind an island King and I had dubbed Motherfucker Island back when we were kids.
Kevin was helping me feed pieces of whoever had been in the bag (The MC’s deal, not mine) to the alligators surrounding the boat. “Well, kid. You wanted in,” I said. “Now you’re in.”
Kevin sent a chunk of what I think was a knee sailing into the brush. A splash of commotion erupted as the gators fought over their dinner of human flesh and cartilage. Kevin laughed and set his feet on the edge of the airboat. The sun began to set. “Thanks, Preppy,” he said, wiping his hands on his shorts.
I nodded and tipped over the cooler, letting any excess blood drip into the water. I set it back down and clapped a hand over Kevin’s shoulder. I smiled brightly. “Welcome to the motherfucking family business, kid.”
“Speaking of family,” I said. “We haven’t exactly got around to talking about that. You ever gonna tell me how exactly you think I’m your brother?”
“Not much to tell,” Kevin said, sitting on the edge of the boat with his back to the gator infested waters. “I was born up North. A little town outside Daytona to the same woman who pushed you out.”
“So she told you about me?” I asked. “‘Cause I find it hard to believe that the woman who left me behind like a couch she didn’t want to bother moving actually spoke my name after she bolted.”
Kevin shook his head. “Nah, never uttered a word about you. I actually don’t remember her speaking at all. A cop found me wandering around the highway in my diaper when I was just a toddler. They handed me over to social services. I grew up in the system.”
“Believe it or not that makes you the luckier one of the two of us,” I said.
Kevin blew out a breath and rolled his eyes. He paused his beer inches from his lips. “Sure, if you call getting beat by your foster parents lucky. Or not getting fed because I wasn’t one of their ‘real kids’ or maybe lucky was that time I was so desperate I let a trucker jack me off outside of a diner in exchange for a hot meal.”
I felt for the kid. I really did but I couldn’t help the way my thoughts worked or the burst of laughter that bubbled up and erupted from my mouth.
“You think that’s fucking funny?” Kevin said, standing up and rocking the boat from one side to the other.
“Yeah, actually I do.”
“Why?” Kevin asked, looking horrified and extremely pissed off. His fists balled at his sides.
“Sit down,” I ordered. Kevin huffed as he took a seat, his arms crossed protectively over his chest.
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “You want to know why I think it’s funny?” I asked, no trace of jokes for this conversation.