Still, Gun fought back, punching and kicking, ignoring the flames searing his flesh. Eventually, he ripped off his burning white shirt and tried to use that as a weapon. Annie jumped to her feet and hurled the pitcher of water at her brothers, but it glanced off Gun’s back and exploded against the wall. Edie burst from the kitchen and slammed Gun onto the floor. She kicked her toe under his shoulder and jerked him up, rolling him against the still damp shag carpet. That put out the fire.
She whirled and slapped both of the attacking brothers at the same time. They backed into the kitchen without a word. Then she got herself a handful of Gun’s hair and lifted him off the floor and threw him at the kitchen door. He landed on the linoleum floor and slid into the stove with a crash.
Edie turned and said, “My deepest, sincere apologies. I knew it was a mistake to give him a job lighting candles. Should’ve never given him a lighter. You have my word, Horace, that this will never happen again.” She vanished into the kitchen and slammed the door.
* * * * *
The house was quiet except for the muffled slaps and cries from the kitchen. The rest of the brothers had vanished into the shag carpet. Annie stood. “If you gentlemen will excuse me. I’ll be right back. In the meantime,” she snapped her fingers and two brothers reluctantly appeared. They quickly poured two whiskies and threw the glasses in front of Frank and Sturm.
Annie followed her family into the kitchen. “Stupid goddamn French fry licking—fucking morons—you too—” The door shut, reducing Annie’s voice to hisses and barks.
“Well,” Alice said. “My goodness. The boys, they like to roughhouse. Um, cheers.” She lifted her glass at Sturm and Frank.
Sturm took his whisky, saluted Alice, and threw it back.
Frank decided it would be okay to drink. So he took a solid sip. It left a clean, pure burning path down his throat and rekindled the embers lying dormant in his stomach. His mood improved instantly.
Sturm waved his glass in the general direction of the brothers flanking the front door. They leaped to life and immediately refilled it.
Ignoring Alice, Sturm asked, “How’re my girls?”
“They’ve been worse.”
Sturm snorted into his whiskey. “Hell yes, son. I know that. Are they going to be ready to hunt?”
Frank took another sip and let it sit in his mouth for a moment, feeling the smooth sizzle of the amber liquid. He swallowed and nodded. “They’ll be ready.”
“That’s all I ask.” Sturm finished the rest of the glass and thumped it on the table. “Miss Glouck, this evening has been quite satisfactory. Well done. Give my compliments to the chef. Unfortunately, it is time for me to remove myself. I have a very full day tomorrow, as do we all.” He gave Frank a meaningful look.
“Yeah.” Frank emptied his glass, set it gently on the table.
Alice fought to rise quickly in her tight dress, as if she was afraid Sturm or Frank might stand first. “Well, thank you gentlemen for gracing us with your presence. It was lovely.”
Sturm stood and nodded, “Of course.”
“So…we will be waiting to hear from you,” Alice said.
Sturm patted his pockets to reassure himself that the contract and his wallet were still there. “Soon as we get the tents set up, I’ll let you know.”
Frank stood as well, eyeing the kitchen door, but Annie didn’t appear. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.” He meant it.
Alice gave him a smile, a genuine one this time, unselfconscious, one that pulled her chin back in tight to her throat and exposed her crooked bottom teeth. It made Frank feel even warmer, fueling the whiskey fire. He felt almost safe. Alice stared right at him. “You come back anytime you want. You got a place at this table anytime, understand? You helped Petunia.”
“That’s his job,” Sturm said. “He fixes animals that are broken.” One of the brothers brought his hat. “Thank you again for a lovely meal.” Settling the black Stetson on his white, bald head, he said, “Let’s go.”
Frank nodded, almost bowed, at Alice. “Thanks. Tell Annie I said goodnight,” he said and followed Sturm out the front door. They walked through the deep shadow of the satellite dish eclipsing the streetlight. Sturm paused long enough to light a cigar. “That haircut. That’s a whole lot better. Cleaner.” Sturm said, popping his cheeks to draw air through the cigar. “Bet it feels better in this goddamn heat.”
“How’s the wound?”
“Frank!” It was Annie, silhouetted in the front door. Then, more calm, more composed, as she slowly came down the steps. “Running off without saying goodbye?”
Sturm grinned at Frank under the cigar smoke.
“Hold on, okay?” Annie said. “Just hold on. Don’t go running off. Got someone here who wants to say hello.” She went around the side of the house, and a few moments later, Petunia came bounding out, claws digging into the bare dirt, tail wagging furiously. She slammed into Frank and nearly knocked him down. Her tongue was all over his hands and she bounced like a kangaroo, trying to reach his face. Frank grabbed her wide head and bent over, crinkling his eyes shut and curling his lips inward, allowing the dog’s wet leathery tongue to lick his cheeks, nose, and forehead.
Annie followed Petunia at a leisurely pace. “I think she’s got the hots for you, you know.”
“She’s just a good dog, aren’t you?” Frank said. “Yes. That’s right. A goddamn good dog. Yes.” Petunia seemed to agree, wiggling even harder.
“You in a hurry?” Annie asked.
“No. Suppose not,” Frank said, scratching behind Petunia’s ears.
“Then let’s take Petunia for a swim.”
Frank caught himself looking at Sturm for permission. Sturm just grinned back, puffing furiously on his cigar. Frank stood, and patted Petunia’s skull. “Where?”
“Up at the reservoir. That okay with you, Mr. Sturm?” She’d caught Frank’s look, and this seemed to be more to fuel Frank’s embarrassment than Sturm’s okay.
Sturm waved his cigar, smoke streaming in the orange light from the streetlight. “You kids go have fun.” He walked back over and shook Frank’s hand. “Don’t worry. Go have fun. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Frank saw the hint of a wink, and felt something flat and stiff in his palm, left from the handshake. He casually tilted his hand and saw a twenty-dollar bill, crisply folded in thirds, tucked into his palm. Sturm walked back to his pickup. “Tomorrow.” He awkwardly stepped up into his pickup, like handicapped child clambering into a playground spaceship, and roared off.
* * * * *
Frank started the car and turned the air conditioning on while Annie folded the front seat down whistled for Petunia to get in the back seat. Frank thought of the quiet gentlemen’s reactions to a dog in the back seat and smiled. And not just any dog, either; Petunia smelled like she’d swam across a few of the sewage treatment plant ponds to get home. Hell, if he could, he’d get Petunia to take a dump on the front seat before he got rid of the car.
Annie rode in the front seat and pointed directions while talking nonstop about her brothers. “Stupid goddamn fuckheads. They can’t stop jerking off for fifteen minutes to settle on anything but sex—and if they can’t get that—which of course they fucking aren’t—then it gets to anger right fucking quick.” She killed the AC and rolled down her window.
Frank hit a highway going up into the hills and stepped on the gas.
Annie lit a cigarette like she was shooting a gun into the wind. Petunia curled up in the back seat and went to sleep. “When they get into it, fighting, they’re like goddamn dogs, all that frustration where they don’t know whether to fight or fuck, so you just gotta treat ’em like dogs. Hose ’em off with cold water. Most of the time, that works. Most of the time.” Annie inhaled the cigarette in six savage bites and lit another with the filter of the first one. “Turn here.”