“How the fuck d’you get here?” She yanked a corner of the rebel flag away from the window. The cigarette hanging from between two fingers came close to touching the dirty fabric that covered an equally dirty window. He didn’t warn her since it would be for the best if this place burnt to the ground.
“Your asshole father ain’t here, is he?” She peered out, and jerked her chin up at the LeMans. “Whose car is that?”
“Mine.”
She let the flag drop and turned on him. “You ain’t old enough to own a car.” Her brow furrowed and she used a cracked fingernail to scratch the corner of her mouth, then took another long drag on her cigarette. The ash hanging off the end had to now be an inch long. “You even old enough to drive yet?”
“You don’t know?”
She didn’t answer, which was his answer. She didn’t even know how old her sons were anymore. Or didn’t care. Most likely never did.
She’d forgotten about them both the second she walked out their front door with her shit packed in garbage bags.
The ash finally fell off the end of the Pall Mall and landed at Bebe’s feet. Of course, she paid it no mind.
His mother should’ve stuffed herself into one of those black garbage bags because she was absolute trash, too. She hadn’t been like this when she was with Dutch. She hadn’t been mother of the year material then, either, but from what Randy remembered, Dutch always rode her ass about the house and taking care of his sons. He would also get on her about her appearance. Randy didn’t think she listened to his dad, but the way she had spiraled down since leaving, proved he was wrong.
Dutch and Bebe would get into some nasty fights. Both Randy and his brother had learned some really good curse words that way. It wasn’t the only thing they learned during their spats.
Their parents would fight, sometimes even come to blows, then fuck. Didn’t matter where they were at the time.
Kitchen, living room, bedroom... Even on the front porch one night when she locked Dutch out of the house, accusing him of banging some other woman.
He made her come out of the house and get on her knees to sniff his dick to prove he didn’t, then Dutch bent her right over the porch railing. It had been rough, loud and angry for both of them. It had been like two snarling tom cats fighting.
He and Chris, who were nine and five at the time, watched from the front window while the neighbors watched from theirs.
When Dutch was done fucking her, he forced her to her knees and made her suck his dick clean. Then he locked her ass out of the house for being a bitch.
Someone had called the damn pigs and both of them ended up spending the night in jail to dry out and for a shitload of minor charges. One of the women from the club had come over to stay with them that night. She slept in their parents’ bed with one of Dutch’s club brothers and they made a racket, too. Lots of squeaky springs, headboard slamming and screams of “fuck me harder!”
“So, why you here, boy?”
He mentally shook away that memory. “Why does Dad have your address?”
She only stared at him with those dull blue, empty eyes.
He came here for fucking answers and he was going to get fucking answers. “Why does Dutch have your fuckin’ address since you left us all behind? Why would he need your fuckin’ address?” He was trying not to shout but by the end, he was shouting.
That made Bebe scowl at him.
Too fucking bad.
“That ain’t your business, boy.”
“Don’t call me boy.”
“You’re my boy, I can call you what I want.”
“You gave up that right the second you walked out on us.”
She took one last drag on her cigarette and ground it out in mountain of butts in the nearest overflowing ashtray.
“Dutch told you I walked out on you?” She glanced around, spotted an open pack of Pall Malls, slide another one out of the pack and tucked it between her lips.
“He didn’t have to tell us that. We watched it, remember? You had me carry the garbage bags out to your fuckin’ car.”
“Shouldn’t be cursin’.”
“A little too late to try parentin’, Bebe.”
She frowned as she lit the cigarette with a Bic lighter. “Still your mother, still older than you. I can knock you into next week if I want.”
She could try. Randy doubted she’d succeed.
“Want the truth?” she asked.
“What I came here for.”
“Thought you knew someone in the neighborhood.”
Randy planted his hands on his hips, dropped his head and shook it. No wonder Dutch was always yelling at him for doing stupid shit. He got his lack of smarts from his birth receptacle.
“Your father forced me to leave.”
Randy’s head snapped up. “No he didn’t.”
“The fuck he didn’t.”
His thumping heart was so loud he had to yell over it. “You asked if I wanted the truth. I want the fuckin’ truth!”
“That’s the truth, boy.”
He frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Ain’t for you to get.”
“I’m your fuckin’ son. I should know why you left.”
“I left because he paid me to.”
Randy’s pounding heart seized and his ears began to ring. “You’re lyin’. Why would he do that?”
“’Cause we fuckin’ hated each other. ‘Cause he forced me to have you two rug rats. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna be tied down to you brats. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna suck his dick anymore. That’s why.”
He thought she left because she’d had enough of the club after all the shit that went down. The fighting, the killing, the—
“And ‘cause I got knocked up from Tinny.”
She did what?
He knew they weren’t faithful to each other. From the moment he could remember. He saw them both doing shit with other people. At the warehouse, at the house, in the garage. In their bed.
But...
Randy glanced around the living room again for some signs of a young kid. “I got another brother?”
Bebe shook her head and put the cigarette to her lips again. “Fuck no.”
“A sister?” When she turned away, he asked, “What d’you do with him?” Or her. His half-brother or sister. Did she keep the new one and dump the old ones?
“Used some of the scratch Dutch gave me to suck that leech outta me soon’s I could.”
Randy blinked as he watched his mother pick up open beer cans around the room and shake them. It took her a few tries, but she finally found one that sloshed and she chugged the remainder down.
She kept her back to him as she admitted, “Woulda done that with you two if he woulda let me.”
Randy was having a hard time breathing. It wasn’t from the stink in the house or the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke, but the fact the woman standing in front of him was supposed to be his mother. She’d never been one. Not once that he could remember. So anything she said shouldn’t surprise him.
He never should’ve come here.
She was a piece of shit Dutch scraped off his boot for good reason.
Dutch might not be perfect but at least he wanted his sons. He took care of them. Randy just wished he would’ve picked a better cum dumpster to grow his sperm in. Not the cunt on the hunt for another can with a backwash of beer.