Hostage

Dennis pushed out of the chair so quickly that Kevin jumped back. He was sick of dealing with their negativity.

'We're fucked until we think of a way out, asshole. Then we're not fucked, we're rich.'

Dennis stalked around the desk and went to the den. The smell of gasoline was strong there, drifting in from the hall, but he wanted a drink, and he wanted to be in the den. The den was his favorite room. The dark wood paneling and plush leather furniture made Dennis feel rich, like he was in the lobby of a fine hotel. And the bar itself was beautiful: Beaten copper that looked bright and shiny and a thousand years old, bar cabinets inlaid with frosted glass, and stainless steel fixtures gleaming with the overhead light. Dennis selected a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, then found ice in a small refrigerator and glasses on a smoked glass shelf. He poured a short one, then went back around the bar to sit on a stool. Dennis peeled a hundred-dollar bill from the roll in his pocket and tossed it on the bar.

'Keep the change, m'man.'

Dennis drank most of the vodka, loving the way it raked his throat, a stiff belt that pushed its way into his head. He refilled his glass. The clean cold vodka burned his nose and made his eyes water. He rubbed his eyes, but couldn't make the water stop.

They lived in a one-bedroom apartment above an Exxon station, Dennis, age eleven, Kevin, two years younger, and their mother, Flo Rooney. Dennis didn't know her age then or now; their father was long gone, a pothead named Frank Rooney who fixed transmissions and didn't pay child support. Well, fuckit, they weren't married anyway; common-law.

Dennis shoved Kevin toward the bedroom, Kevin with big bug eyes like they were gonna pop from his head, scrambling backwards because he was scared. They were supposed to be sleeping; the world was dark.

'They're doing it.'

'Nuh-uh. Stop saying that.'

'Can't ya hear'm! They're doin' the nasty. Let's go see.'

They had lived in more apartments than Dennis could remember, some for just a week or two, once for almost a year; dingy places with stained ceilings and toilets that ran. Flo Rooney usually worked a job, once she worked two, and more than once she had none. There was never enough money. Flo was a short woman with a body like a bowling ball, Q-Tip legs, and bad skin. She liked her gin and smelled of Noxzema. When she got in her mopes and had too much gin, she would bitch to the boys that she didn't have enough money to keep them, that she would have to put them in a home. Kevin would cry, but Dennis would pray: Please, please, put me in the fuckin' home. It was always about money.

Dennis shoved Kevin toward their mother's bedroom door. Both boys were trying to be quiet because she was with a man she had brought home from the bar. This month she was working as a barmaid, next month it would be something else, but there was always a man. She called them her 'little pleasures.' Dennis called them drunks.

'Don't ya want to see'm doin' it!'

'No!'

'You said you did! Listen to what he's doin' to her!'

'Dennis, stop! I'm scared!'

The scent of sweat and sex hung sharp in the air, and Dennis hated her for it. He was jealous of the time she gave them, and humiliated by what she let them do, and by what she did to them. He was ashamed, but at the same time excited. Her gasping, grunting curses drew him.

He pushed Kevin again, this time more gently.

'Go on. Then you'll know.'

This time Kevin went, creeping to the door. Dennis stayed on their sleeper couch, watching. He wasn't sure why he was pushing Kevin so hard to see; maybe he wanted Kevin to hate her as much as he did. With their father on the bum and Flo working, Dennis usually had to see after his younger brother, making their breakfast and getting them to school, seeing that Kevin got home okay and making dinner. If Dennis had to be Kevin's father and mother, there wasn't room for another. Maybe that was it, or maybe he just wanted to punish her.

Kevin reached the door and peeked inside. Dennis knew that something nasty was going on because he could hear the man telling her what to do. She hadn't even bothered to close the door.

Kevin watched for the longest time, and then he stepped into the door, right out in the open where their mother could see.

Dennis whispered loudly.

'Kev!'

Kevin sobbed, then began to cry.

Inside the room, the man yelled, 'Sonofabitch! Get the hell outta here!'

Kevin stumbled backward as the man came lurching through the door, naked and with a huge glistening erection. He was carrying his jeans.

'I'll teach you to watch, you little shit!'

He was a big man, his body white and arms dark, coarse and hairy with tattoos on his shoulders and a loose flabby gut. His eyes glowed bright red from booze and pot. He stripped a thick leather belt from the jeans, then chased after Kevin, swinging the belt. Its buckle was a great brass oval inlaid with turquoise. The belt came down, cracking across Kevin's back, and Kevin screamed.