This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

 

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

 

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

 

Twenty-one

(Saturday, October 8th)

The furry scent of my father’s crotch is even more exciting than what I’ve sniffed off his used jockstraps. The fuzz on his balls is a little longer than mine; his dark blond pubic hair is graying. I slide my tongue under his scrotum to find his perineum, while spreading his legs somewhat. His groan of delight is muffled by Raph’s mouth sucking his. My own moans gurgle to the surface, as Marty plays with Raph’s juices oozing from my entry.

Joey’s pounding cock tickles my nose as it pulsates through his fuzzy, contracted sack. I flick my tongue, first across the sensitive skin of his scrotum then up along his hard shaft, that very shaft, which somewhere around eighteen years ago shot its wad to produce me.

That thought puts me right at the edge as my tongue reaches his semi-retracted foreskin. His glans, although exactly the same shape and size as my own, is much more slippery through the protection of its folded hood. My saliva adds to his natural lubrication. I pump it with my mouth and pull his skin over my erect tongue to give it added stimulating attention.

Then, having brought him almost to the peak of frenzy, I raise my body to straddle him and Marty’s hands hold Joey’s throbbing cock, so I can slide it into my hot, moist hole. I gasp as I feel Marty’s tongue circling my filled entry, adding his searing spit to the mix. Within the scope of my peripheral vision, Raph is standing next to the bed, lifting Marty’s hips into coital position. As Raph slowly enters, Marty’s low growl of hungry pleasure resonates through Dad’s cock, vibrating up my insides.

Dad groans vociferously as my anal muscles massage his shaft. My hips rock back and forth, performing a belly dance on his mid-section with my sphincter contracting, releasing, contracting, releasing.

The curve of his penis assures that my prostate is in a steady state of stimulation. I increase the rhythm; he grabs me into a deep kiss and rolls us onto my back, where he takes over. My head hangs off the mattress, the edge of which is massaging my neck.

Marty’s left foot is within reach of my mouth; I suck his toes. He screeches and calls my name.

The sweet expression on Joey’s face is telling me that he has been in need of this for a long time; his glazed eyes tell me to get ready for quite a ride. At first, it is casual. His dick is hardly moving until I clamp my sphincter tight. He sputters and looks crazed.

The room is starting to spin; I growl and dare him: “Make me cum, you fucker!” That is all it takes for him to start pounding my ass mercilessly.

The cumulative erotic memory of childhood spankings comes rushing back, making me spurt gush after gush. This is that unique intimacy that can only be shared between father and son and exactly in this combination. If I were fucking him, it couldn’t possibly reach this high an erotic pitch. I circle my ass to make his cock hit all sides of my prostate. My mind clouds, ready for another gush, when I believe to see my mother in the doorway at the foot of the bed carrying an axe.

An abomination. You will pay. I’ll make sure.” Her guttural groans sound frenzied and distant, as she slowly starts to raise the heavy, long-handled, wood-chopping axe with straightened arms. Dad shoots his load inside me, as my hand searches over the edge of the mattress to find Marty’s handgun.

While my senses are still whirling in orgasmic rush, slow motion sets in. Mother is still raising the axe over her head; I release the safety and fire the 9 mm twice in rapid succession with Dad’s dick still up my gut. Raphie and Marty growl and scream in orgasmic ecstasy and horrification with drops of blood flying over their backs and the major part of Mildred’s brain and skull being propelled down the hallway. She falls backwards about three feet from where she had been standing in the door.

Don’t move!” Bottemly’s squeaky voice commands from the top of the stairs, as he stands there, holding a shotgun. I stand, step forward, straddling Marty and Raph and fire again, immediately extinguishing the pinched-faced hatred generated by self-righteousness, jolting Mack Bottemly Senior back down the stairs and through the window on the landing.

I go to the top of the stairs and see Mack Senior lying in Mr. O’Connor’s driveway, motionless on top of broken glass and wood from the window frame and casing. The pressure in my bottom forces me to rush to the toilet, requiring me to step over Mother’s cadaver. Sitting on the commode, I fart long and juicy, as if to comment on Mother’s failed attempt.

Quick! Get dressed!” Marty is the first to regain his senses. “Raph wash that blood off your back, first!”

You’ve got blood on yours, too.” Raph replies getting into the bathtub and pulling the yellow ring off the hose to rinse himself off in cold water. Marty holds his butt and back over the edge of the tub; Raph rinses him off and kisses the small of his back.

I fart again. When I climb into the tub with Raph, he washes cum off my stomach and chest and hoses blood off my ass. We towel dry in a hurry, and Joey, fully dressed, is holding our clothes in the doorway. Sirens are audible.

I did the shooting.” Marty commands.

Won’t work.” I hold out my right hand with cordite traces clearly visible. “You had your back to the door, and I grabbed your gun from the shoulder holster. Joey and Raph were in the basement.”

Go for it! That’s the story.” Marty orders; we all move downstairs as the three cop cars are stopping on 23rd. “I’ll call Jennette.” Marty states calmly, reaching for the wall phone in the kitchen.

And I’ll let them in.” I move to the back door, which is standing ajar. I go to the back porch with my hands raised. “There are four of us alive in the house: my father, my brother, our bodyguard and myself.

Our bodyguard has a licensed weapon. One of the dead is my mother and the other, next door in the drive, is Mack Bottemly Senior.”

The policeman, probably about Joey’s age, is smiling friendly. “Okay, Son, put your hands down. But damned good reporting. We don’t hear that precision every day.”

Wow. I feel proud. Hell, I just shot and killed my own mother and the frenzied father of my dead ex-lover, and I feel fucking proud of being praised by a cop. Can’t wait to hear what Joey has to say about that. Shock. He’ll claim that I’m in shock, which I probably am.

Can you tell me what happened?”

Sure thing. Our bodyguard and I were upstairs starting to pack, since my parents are getting a divorce, and Dad is putting the house up for sale and of a sudden my mother appears at the top of the stairs with an axe coming through the door and my bodyguard had his back to her and I grabbed his gun from the holster, released the safety and fired two shots, then Mack Bottemly threatened us and I fired two shots at him sending him through the window in the landing, they were both under restraining orders and...”

My head is actually spinning and the policeman is shaking me by the shoulders. “For Christ’s sake take a breath, Son. Take a deep breath. Wheatly, radio for an ambulance and get forensics over here. Now!”

By this time Joey, Raph and Marty are at my side, all seemingly concerned. The policeman is looking at his colleague who is coming up the stairs to the porch, so I turn my head slightly to the side and wink and raise my eyebrows slightly at them, signaling that I’m okay.

On their way.” His tone is very friendly. “May I?” The older cop steps aside. “Do you take any prescription drugs?” I shake my head, as he tries to shine a penlight into my eyes. “Have you had any intoxicating substances within the last five hours?” I shake my head, wondering if it has been five hours since my breakfast tea. Probably not. But what the Fuck, I’m talking to a cop.

Would you please hold out your arms straight. That’s the way. And I’ll put my hands under yours and when I try to slap your hands, try to pull them away first.” He’s still smiling. Hey, I just fucked my father and killed my mother and this cop wants to play patty-cake.

Okay, I just pulled my hands away five times successfully. Hell, give me half a chance in a dark cellar, and I could show him an entirely new game. My dick jerks.

 “And now,” His smile fades a little. “breathe on my nose slowly.” I exhale. “No apparent alcohol. He seems sober.”

And I feel totally spacey. My head is starting to throb. My shoulders are aching. Marty, Dad and Raphie are still looking worried, and my head spins and everything fades to black.

When I wake up, Joey is mopping my face with one of Mildred’s good tea-towels, which is sopping wet, and the patty-cake cop is holding my socked feet on his lap and massaging the soles. I could get used to this. From the sound of their voices, Marty and Raph are at the other end of the porch talking to more cops.

The first thought that comes to mind is that I want to go home and lie down on that gigantic bed with Raph, Joey and Marty and finish what we’d started earlier. But the foot massage is good, though. I close my eyes to rest them when the sweet cop says: “Try to stay with us.”

Dad shakes my jowls. “C’mon, Danny.” I open my eyes. He called me Danny. All I want to do is to fall asleep sucking his cock, Raphie’s cock, Marty’s cock, and he’s keeping me awake, calling me Danny.

I’m with you.” I manage to say and my voice sounds way far away. Then a kindly middle-aged man with thinning hair and a white jacket is peering over the cop’s shoulder. He smiles at me and strokes my face and pulls my lower eyelid down as the cop makes room for him. He lifts my wrist and takes my pulse, while looking at his wristwatch. He smells nice, fresh, as if he’d just come from Joe’s barber shop down on 24th.

He pulls out what looks like an unlabelled soda can. It even has a pop top, which he struggles with, but finally gets open. “Here, drink this.” He holds my head. It tastes sort of like Tang, only much sweeter. So, I take several more big sips. Holy fucking shit. I sit up without any help. My face flushes. My fingers and toes go warm. I may never want to go to sleep ever again.

Whoa, what is that stuff?” I hold out my hand to get the can back for another swig.

It’s caffeine and glucose syrup, and I think you’ve had enough.” He winks at me. “The sugar high will last for about half an hour, then things will get back to normal.” He packs his bag and returns to the ambulance and talks to the driver. When he comes back to me, he’s got a bottle of pills. “These are sleeping pills, in case you need them. Do you have someone to spend the night with you?”

I nod and point to Raphie. “My brother.”

He appears somewhat confused but lets it go. “Here’s my card. If you feel dizzy again during the night or tomorrow call an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital and have them get in touch with me. Okay?”

I pull out my wallet, read the card and insert it. “Thank you, Doctor Reiner. Can I stand up now?”

Sure.” He helps me up, takes my arm and directs me towards where Raph is standing with the cops. Marty and Joey have apparently gone in the house. He hands me over to Raph. “I take it, you’re his brother?”

Yeah, that’s me.” Raph is grinning with relief and notices the good doctor’s inquisitive face. Although no questions have been asked verbally, he adds: “We have different mothers.” The one cop snorts; the doctor giggles.

Dad and Marty reappear, with the older policeman, whose eyes are moist. Marty has his jaw set, like a man does who isn’t about to show any emotion. Raph and I look questioningly. “This man’s son was in our squad back in Nam. He’s the one who found that fucking tripwire.”

Sergeant Rafferty, according to his plastic name tag, wipes his eyes. “Maybe you can tell me whatever happened to your squad leader? He must have been really something.”

Yeah.” Marty forces a laugh. “He and I share a house out near the Art Institute. Do you want me to tell him anything for you?”

I’d just like to have the opportunity to shake his hand some day.” This gentle policeman, Sergeant Rafferty, has a lot of emotional baggage to sort through. “Gerry wrote volumes about him. Apparently, Brown Bear managed to pull your asses out of more than one briar patch.”

That would be rice paddy, Sergeant.” Marty chuckles are forced.

Tell me your last name. So, I can tell my wife I met you.” Marty looks a little confused. “I was just checking the validity of the stamp on your license, and didn’t look at your name. Gettin’ old I guess.”

My name is Martin Bennett.”

You’re Staff Sergeant Martin Bennett? The man who stayed by Gerry’s body and got it back safely to us? You’re the man who took the lethal dose of Agent Orange for him, even though he was already gone?” Police Sergeant Rafferty comes to attention and salutes Marty.

And I can’t help thinking: ‘Yeah, and he’s also the hero whose life pompous bastards like yourself ruined because he’s queer.’

Marty reddens and humbly says: “Thanks.” He’s wheezing slightly.

My sugar high is working overtime. I ponder, should I say it aloud, should I not say it aloud. I opt for not, but still: ‘Thanks for nothing, asshole.’

I hear the front door squeak open, as it does if it hasn’t been used for a couple of hours. I walk to the other end of the back porch and watch a stretcher with a black bag on it being carried down the side terrace to the hearse waiting on 23rd Street. The only thing I can think of is that she deserves all of my hate, but all I can feel is detached indifference.

Joey on my left and Raphie on my right are holding me tight. I sigh heartfelt and snicker. “I want her buried in those khaki sheets and with that fucking steam iron.”

Raphie sputters, trying his damndest not to laugh, while Mildred is being loaded into the hearse. And from the look on his face, Joey is apparently clueless. “Tell you later. You’ll love the story.”

Our next-door neighbor, Lawrence O’Connor, appears from the front of the house carrying a large piece of plywood. “Heard that youngest kid of yours is one helluva shot.” Whoa, that even takes my breath away. Possibly, he doesn’t know the whole story.

Hiya, Lawrence, what’s the plywood for?” Joey tactfully ignores the remark.

Thought we could use it to board up the inside of your landing window, while you put the storm window on the outside.” Now, that is a good idea. I mentally excuse Lawrence O’Connor for being an ogre.

We’ll get the storm window and the ladder out of the barn, while you and Mr. O’Connor start from the inside.” I inform Joey and move with Raphie and Marty toward the garage. “Where’s the good Sergeant? Still standing at attention?” Raphie gurgles at my inquiry and subdues laughter.

Marty comes to a screeching halt. “You know what I like about you, Daniel Bourke.” I circle with my hand, signaling for him to continue. “You are so fucking irreverent and unapologetic.”

Alright, I’ll show him fucking irreverent and unapologetic. “Yeah, and I owe you four 9-mm rounds. Can I give you a blowjob in lieu of payment, when we get home?” I might be getting close to Lawrence O’Connor in tastelessness.

Christ, Dan,” Raph scoffs. “what was in that shit the doctor gave you?” I shrug off the question.

Not surprisingly, the side door to the garage is standing slightly open. Where else would Mildred have found the axe?

The storm windows are neatly arranged in a wooden rack that Joey built long before I was born. The tall extension ladder hangs on the wall next to the window rack.

When he switches on the light, Marty shouts: “What the Fuck is that?” as he points to our only family heirloom from Ireland.

It’s Joey’s pet.” Raph giggles. “He had it with him, when he got off the boat.”

Above the storm-window rack is where Joey decided to display Mortimer, the taxidermied bat with a wingspan of about three feet and ‘County Mayo, 1917’ printed in yellowing white paint across its chest.

Come to think of it, Mortimer is proof positive that Mildred had actually lost her mind. As long as I can remember, she’d refused to enter the garage, because of the stuffed bat.

You guys take the ladder, and I’ll get the window.” I order as Raph laughs, watching Marty carefully circumvent the bat. “Hey, Marty,” I can’t help myself. “careful who you pick for your lover. The bat goes with the man.”

Marty sighs, obviously resigning himself to his fate. “Okay,” He wheezes. “Mortimer can go in the laundry room.”

Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about a washing machine.” I pick up the medium-sized, wooden-framed storm window and take it out of the garage and wait for them to clear the door with the ladder, before switching off the light. I leave the door open, so I don’t have to get the key, when we return the ladder.

There’s a washer and dryer behind that door to the left of the one leading up to your apartment.” His wheezing diminishes proportionately to the distance between him and Mortimer. I hope we can talk Joey into parting company with his pet bat.

Jennette Volker is talking to Sergeant Rafferty on the front porch. Jennette has assumed her wide, ballsy, bull-dyke lawyer’s stance; the good Sergeant is standing at parade rest. Guess who’s in charge.

Dad and Lawrence have taken out the rest of the window glass and secured the open window with plywood. We hear the electrical drill cum screwdriver buzz in the last two screws.

Marty leans the ladder against the clapboard wall and looks at the window. I show him the side that faces outward and up he goes. We then hand him the window. And voila, as the magician says.

Of course, Dr. Volker, it’s clearly self-defense.” Sergeant Rafferty’s voice wafts over the front porch. “We just want him to stay in town until we can officially close the case.” Marty slaps my shoulder, signaling thumbs up and grinning. Raphie seems relieved and squeezes my hand.

As we round the fence between the two properties on Quincy, we see the familiar VW Beetle sputtering to a halt two doors down. Vicky and Wanda bounce out of their respective sides and storm the beach, so to speak.

Wanda is in the more huggy mood. She’s holding on to me for dear life, making Marty nervous. Vicky does the talking. “Are we relieved to see you guys alive. We heard the bulletin on the police radio that there had been a fatal shooting at 23rd and Quincy.” She sees her cousin talking to the policeman, and squeals under her breath: “It was at your house! What happened?”

First of all, Marty, this is Wanda, my fiancée, and Vicky, Jennette’s cousin and Raph’s girlfriend. They’re safe in every meaning of the word. And Wanda, Vicky, this is Martin Bennett, our bodyguard.”

Oh, shit, bodyguard, oh, shit, shit, shit, oh, shit!” Vicky is flapping with her wrists and about to go over the emotional edge. “I knew those fucking Baptists would try something.”

Wanda, by far the calmer of the two, wants to know what exactly happened.

Marty takes over. “Not much less than two hours ago. Dan and I were starting to pack in his room. His father and Raph were in the basement. Mrs. Bourke and Mr. Bottemly gained entry to the premises and attacked Dan and me with a long-handled axe and a shotgun, respectively.

I had my back turned to the door of the room, but Dan saw his mother raise the axe, and he took my weapon from its holster and fired two shots through Mrs. Bourke’s head and two shots through Mr. Bottemly’s thorax, propelling him out the window on the landing.” He points to the boarded-up window and the glass and blood in the driveway.

Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit, shit, shit!” Vicky keeps repeating, clearly more in shock than I am.

Wanda just looks at me in horror. Her voice enunciates very slowly. “Your own mother tried to axe you to death?”

The residual sugar high is still enough to feed my sarcasm. “Sort of redefines white trash, doesn’t it?”

Wanda and Vicky just look at me, stupefied, that I would say something like that. And Raph is nodding slightly in agreement, while Marty blushes.

Silence is the mood of choice as we walk slowly back to the garage to replace the ladder. Vicky and Wanda are sticking close. I seriously doubt that either one has ever been confronted so closely with death, other than Mack Junior’s, who had been more or less a casual acquaintance of Vicky’s. I don’t think Wanda knew him all that well.

We enter the house from the back and forensics is clearing out through the front. Dad, Lawrence and Jennette are talking in the living room, so we hang around in the dining room. I get an ashtray out of the kitchen and light up. Joey glances at me and smiles, neither approvingly nor disapprovingly; he’s just telling me that he’s there. Which means a lot, since the glucose and caffeine are wearing off. Jennette sees Wanda and Vicky and comes into the dining room.

She hugs Wanda first. “Guess you heard over the police band, huh?” They nod but seem unable to speak. “The best thing to do right now is for you to go home. I’ll keep you posted, if that’s alright with Dan and Raph.” We nod, since silence prevails.

I flip the ash into Mildred’s best Waterford crystal ashtray. She would be mortified that I’m actually using it as an ashtray. But then again, she has undergone the ultimate mortification, so, I couldn’t give a shit.

Vicky and Wanda are distributing perfunctory hugs; they even give one to Marty, as Jennette sees them to the front door. We hear her explain from the front hall: “No, they’ve got an unlisted number. I’ll keep you informed.”

Then Dad’s voice blankets Jennette’s. “Are you absolutely sure, Lawrence?”

I think twenty-five thousand is a good price, and I’ll rent out the other house.” Apparently, Mr. O’Connor is going to buy this place, which will probably mean that Mortimer can stay where he is along with a lot of other crap, that Joey let Mildred collect.

Then Dad can’t believe it himself. “Aw, don’t be talkin’ now, Lawrence. What on Earth would ya be wantin’ with that shite?”

Then I can rent out the other place furnished.” I guess that seals the fate of Mortimer. Joey now has a lot less to deal with.

I venture into the living room to make sure. “Can Mortimer stay where he is?” Mr. O’Connor seems puzzled and Dad laughs out loud.

I wouldn’t be thinkin’ yus can get him out, if yus wanted to.” Joey the yobbo is back, probably because he likes to remind Mr. O’Connor of Ireland. He feels obliged to feed the Americans’ fantasy of an Ireland that most likely never existed. Romanticism always clouds reality. Hopefully, Joey’ll be back to normal, when we get him home.

Mortimer?” Mr. O’Connor still hasn’t sussed it.

The bat.” I explain, and Lawrence O’Connor smiles and nods.

The phone rings once, twice, so I return his compliment from earlier today. “Hey, Dad, wake up and answer yer feckin’ phone, would ya?”

He slaps me on the ass as he walks by. We’re going to have to look into taking that to a new level.

Uh, Marty, could ya come to the phone? I think ya can explain things better yerself.” Joey the yobbo returns to the dining room, where Jennette is taking notes to draft up the sales contract. Busby won’t know whether to shit or go blind.

Which reminds me: “Uh, Mr. O’Connor, you’d better change all the locks. You really do not want Busby nosing about in your house. And ‘I wouldn’t be thinkin ya can get him out, if ya wanted to either.” What Joey the yobbo can do, so can Danny the prol.

Again Joey swats me on the ass and grins. We are definitely going to add this to our new relationship. But we’re going to have to sit down, all of us, and establish some ground rules.

***

The brand new Oldsmobile 98 pulls up on 23rd Street. We don’t notice it until the rotund mass of Busby emerges from the driver’s side.

Jennette is on the back porch, before the rest of us can think. “Counselor, you have been served with a restraining order issued by the Circuit Court of Jackson County, and there are individuals present from whom...”

Busby brushes by her. “Fuck you!” Busby bursts through the back door, as if he had every right.

Marty has his weapon drawn and ready. “Halt, or I’ll shoot!” Marty warns him. Marty aims for Busby’s right upper arm

Busby, arrogance personified, ignores him, and, after the deafening pop of a gunshot in close confines, he drops.

The next one will be lethal!” That keeps Busby on the kitchen floor. For the time being, bleeding and moaning.

Jennette is on the phone. “The police and an ambulance are on their way.” She addresses everybody but Busby in particular. “Since you have chosen to disregard a valid restraining order, Counselor, I shall file a disbarment request against you.”

Busby ignores the information. “Where’s Mother. Is she alright?”

She chose to disregard her restraining order, as well, Busby.” My head becomes light again, but this time from adrenalin, and my ears are ringing from the shot. “But she wasn’t as lucky as you.”

So, where is she?” he demands in a whiney, childlike voice.

This is it. I have had enough of his belittling arrogance, his self-centeredness, his being a middle-aged mamma’s boy. It’s time for him to grow up, so I go for his jugulars. “Since I blew her fucking head off, my guess is at the morgue.” I see Jennette shaking her head to indicate that I shouldn’t be talking to Busby about this.

Lawrence O’Donnell is looking at Joey in disbelief; Joey is nodding in confirmation; Raph moves in to put his arm around my waist; Marty is holding a bead on Busby; Busby starts whimpering, and I have to laugh when he blubbers: “You killed my mamma?”

Adrenalin, residual caffeine and glucose syrup make a super combination for clear thinking. Within a split second of his saying that, I realize that I’m not even related, at least not emotionally, to Mildred, Busby, Maggie and Sally and her kids. These people are alien to me; the only feeling I have ever had for any of them is indifference. They neither belong to me, nor I to them. Basically, I am Raphie’s and Jordan’s brother; Jose, el ratoncito blanco, Vievie and Morrie are my parents, whom I dearly love and highly respect.

Wow, I just saw the light.” From everyone’s reaction, I must look slightly deranged.

Joey shakes his head in a mixture of disgust and concern. “Aw, fer Fuck’s sake, Dan, don’t go bleedin’ religious on us.” Raph snorts in delight, knowing how highly unlikely that is. And Jennette goes to the back door to let the police and ambulance crew in.

No, Joey, I just realized who the members of my real family are; they’re you, Vievie, Morrie, Raph, Jordan, Marty and Bob.” I look at Marty, who, still holding his aim, is glancing between Busby and me. “Busby isn’t my brother; Raph and Jordan are. Busby is an imposter. He hatched from a cuckoo’s egg, Mildred smuggled into your nest.”

From the back door we hear the voice of Sergeant Rafferty. “God damn, Sergeant Bennett, you sure do good work.” He kneels to look at Busby’s wound, which has stopped bleeding, at least the puddle of blood has stopped spreading. “Damned good work. Clean as a whistle. Didn’t hit a bone, but burns like Hell. As it should.” Sergeant Rafferty searches his pockets and pulls out a laminated card, then he finds his reading glasses. “Now, Mr. Bourke, even though you are a lawyer, my boss requires me to give you this new-fangled warning: You have the right to remain silent...”

I wonder how Sergeant Rafferty knows Busby. But I let the thought go, since I’m sure that many cops would know him.

While the gentle-spoken policeman reads Busby his rights, Marty holsters his weapon and gives Raph and me a huge hug from behind. “Did you mean that about family?”

My mouth isn’t quite open. “Of course, he did. My Dan doesn’t talk trash.” Raph whispers as not to interrupt the policeman and tightens his grip around my waist.

Mr. O’Connor comes over to us with an extremely apologetic look etched into his face. “Uh...”

It’s okay, Mr. O’Connor, you didn’t know that I’d shot Mildred, too.” I extend my hand, which he takes with both of his. “Will we be seeing you tomorrow?”

If you’ll let me come over again.” The poor guy is truly embarrassed. If anyone can appreciate how it feels when a wise crack backfires, it’s me.

Hell, Mr. O’Connor, it’s your house now. All we’re going to do is help you patch up all the bullet holes we left behind.”

He laughs halfheartedly; I glance at Dad, who comes over as quickly as if I’d shouted for help. He shows Lawrence O’Connor to the front door.

Sergeant Rafferty, overseeing Busby’s removal, makes an aside to us, while all six of his men are trying to lift Busby onto the stretcher: “Please, no more shootouts for the rest of the evening.”

I hear the old latch on the front door being bolted, and Dad returns to the dining room, switching off lights. “C’mon, let’s go.” When he gets to Jennette, he softens his gruff tone. “Would you like to come to Winstead’s with us? My treat.”

Jennette politely declines, and uses that she has to get started on all the paperwork as her excuse. Joey tries to look disappointed, but his attempt comes across basically looking as if he has indigestion. She waves vaguely to all, and walks to her car. As soon as she is out of earshot, Joey turns to Marty.

What did Bob say?” Joey seems much more interested in this than whether Jennette would come to the diner with us.

He’s glad that none of us was hurt, but thinks that we should all get counseling.” Marty’s scowl and tone exhibited what he thinks of the idea.

Bob’s right, Marty.” They get a faint grin from me; I feel very weak, when I remember that I’ve had virtually nothing to eat today. “I’ll give Don a call, when we get home?”

Is he good?” Dad wants to know.

Is he qualified?” Marty wants to know.

Is he queer?” Raphaël wants to know.

Affirmative on all counts. Come on, I have to get something in my stomach, before I keel over again.” Wow, the reaction is magic. I’ll have to remember that line. Seldom, have I had so much attention all at once.

Within seconds, the house is secured. Joey and Raph push me onto the backseat; Marty gets in next to me. And we’re off, driving down 23rd to Van Brunt. Once on Van Brunt, Marty asks meekly: “If I’m a member of your family, Dan, what am I, if Raph and Jordan are your brothers?” This man doesn’t miss a thing.

I take hold of his hand and squeeze to make sure that he knows it’s a joke. “Uh, well, since you my father’s partner, that would make you my step-mother wouldn’t it?”

Raph and Marty moan at the bad joke. And Joey comments: “Are ya feckin’ nuts, Dan, insultin’ him like that? The man’s armed.” But Marty squeezes my hand back.

I have to clear my throat. “No, seriously, Marty, you’re my big brother; you’re Raph’s big brother. In the few hours, we’ve known you, you’ve become everything to us that Busby never was, never could be.” I see his jaw set; moisture drops onto my hand. “You have earned our respect and admiration, Marty; Busby never even fucking tried.”

You were an only child, weren’t ya?” Joey poses his question more as a statement, perhaps for our benefit. He probably already knows.

Hmm.” He grunts, unable to speak just yet.

You’re not anymore.” Raph adds, reaching into the back to pat his knee. And the long drive down Brush Creek Boulevard continues in silence.