“You’re on private property,” he said.
“Hey,” Abatangelo said. “I was invited.”
“No one here invited you.”
“Wrong. Sorry, I don’t mean to differ, but wrong. I got explicit directions.” He gestured toward the one pointing his rifle. Middle child, he thought. No surprise he’d be the one most attached to his weapon. “Could you tell Sergeant York over there to chill? I’m not here to hassle anybody.”
“Too late for that,” the oldest said, and spat. “We’re already hassled.”
“Not by me.”
“He says he’s got a friend,” the kid interjected from behind. He’d been chewing his thumbnail. “Says they met at The Wagon Wheel.”
“You haven’t got any friends here,” the oldest one said, checking the inside of the car.
“That’s not my understanding,” Abatangelo said. He gestured to the one training his shotgun on him. “Come on, lighten up. What’s with you guys?”
“We’ve had poachers out here, if it’s any of your business. Squatters. Thieves.”
“Aha,” Abatangelo said. That’d be the story if the cops found his body out here. “Even so. All this- ”
“You don’t like it, turn around.”
Abatangelo took a sip from his beer. In the distance ahead, about a half mile away, he could see the glow of houselights crowning the first hill. He wondered if Shel was there.
“Like the young one said, I’m here to meet a friend.”
“Give me his name.”
Abatangelo considered the matter. He was getting nowhere. Time to risk a little. Calling to mind the name Shel had mentioned in her letter, he said, “Hank,” and took another sip of beer.
“You mean Frank,” the kid said.
Bingo.
“Do I?” Abatangelo offered an addled smile. “It was a wild night. Good thing I jotted the directions down or I would’ve fucked them up, too.”
The oldest one reached for the door handle, opened the door and said, “That’s it. Out.”
“Hey- ”
“Get your ass out of the car,” he shouted. He raised his own gun now, a reckless fury in his eyes.
Abatangelo lifted his hands away from his body. “Careful, friend.” He eased out from behind the wheel, set his feet onto the gravel, still showing his hands. “Let’s not overreact.”
The oldest, using the gun for a prod, forced Abatangelo to his knees, hands spread out to each side against the car. The shotgun barrel pressed against his neck. The middle child came around, muttering, “Sergeant York, huh? Fucking Sergeant York?” In the background, the youngest protested, saying, “Goddamn, Roy, no need to make a federal case. Let him get back in the car, get the fuck outta here.”
“Shut up,” the one called Roy said. Reaching inside the car, he removed the keys from the ignition, tossed them to the middle brother and said, “Check the car, Lyle.” Turning back to Abatangelo, he pressed the shotgun barrel harder into his neck. “Came out to pick up your stuff, right?”
“Listen,” Abatangelo began.
“The stuff old Frankie went and stole for you tonight.”
Abatangelo closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the side of the car. Good God, he thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The middle brother, the one called Lyle, was rifling the car. Scouring the glove compartment, he found only road maps, a tire pressure gauge, an old magnetized statue of St. Christopher and the registration. He removed the registration from its envelope, puzzled over it briefly, and called out, “Car belongs to a guy named…” He stared at the small piece of paper as though it were written in code.
“Dominic Napolitano,” Abatangelo said.
“That you?” Roy asked.
“No. A friend. Car’s borrowed.”
Roy gestured for Lyle to go on searching. Lyle tucked the registration in his pocket then went around back to check the trunk, lifting the spare to peer beneath it and rummaging through a box of rags.
“Nothing,” he shouted, slamming the trunk closed.
He came around front again. As Roy eased back with the gun, Lyle rifled Abatangelo’s pockets and came up with nothing but what was left of his kickout money. He counted it, showed it to Roy, then stuffed it in his pocket with the registration.
“Chump change,” Abatangelo said over his shoulder, grateful to have the gun barrel off his neck. “If I’m here to pick up something worth making this kind of noise over, how come all I’m carrying is chump change?”
“I can name a dozen reasons,” Roy said. “How come no ID? How come no wallet, even?”
Abatangelo made a point to meet Roy’s eye. It was clear now he’d be the one to decide things. “I tell you the truth,” Abatangelo said, “you’ll just jump to conclusions.”
“Will I now?”
“Look, I don’t know what Frank may have been up to, that’s the truth. I met him once, that’s it, at the Wagon Wheel. We shot the breeze.”
“Horseshit,” Lyle said.
Roy said, “About what?”
“About being in the joint.” Abatangelo turned a little further. “I’m fresh out. That’s why I don’t have ID.”
Roy thought it over a moment. “Frank offer you a job?”
“Not in so many words.”
“He’s lying,” Lyle said.
Addressing Roy, Abatangelo said, “You’re so bent about thievery, tell your brother to give me back my money.”
“Fat chance, liar,” Lyle said.
“How come you know he’s my brother?” Roy said.
“Oh, come on.”
“You’re just some stranger, met Frank at the goddamn Wagon Wheel, how come you know shit about me or anybody else standing here?”
“A mentally retarded rock could peg you three for brothers,” Abatangelo said. “I’m tired of being on my knees. I’m standing up.”
“You stay put.” It was Lyle, shouting. “Come on, Roy, snap to. Fuck this fool. Him and his goddamn mouth.”
Abatangelo turned his head around to where he could meet Roy’s eye. “I’m standing up,” he said again, and began to rise.
“Fuck you will,” Lyle said, and he charged forward.
Roy cut him off. “We got a problem here, Lyle?”
“What the fuck’s gone wrong with you?”
Lyle shoved Roy, Roy shoved back, neither blow enough to do anything but get the other brother’s attention. Maybe that was why the younger one didn’t step in. He just stood there, blank-eyed, no stake in the winner. Lyle, sensing he was being stared at, looked away from Roy just long enough to say, “You see something funny, Snuff?”
Abatangelo reached his feet and brushed the knees to his suit pants. Roy, Lyle, and, of all things, Snuff. Brothers, oh yeah.
“This is Frank’s handoff,” Lyle shouted at Roy. “Hell’s bells, you’re the one who brought it up.”
“If I was a handoff,” Abatangelo interjected, sitting down behind the wheel, facing out, “I’d make Frank bring his stuff to me, wouldn’t I? If he made me come out here looking for it, I’d come with a gun. Think about it, thief.”
Lyle took a lunge toward Abatangelo. “I’ve about had it with you.”
“Knock it off,” Roy shouted, collaring Lyle and throwing him back. They glared at each other, weapons ready. The young one, Snuff, remained frozen to the spot, looking utterly lost.
“You want a beer?” Abatangelo asked.
Snuff didn’t answer, but he did shoot back a look that said, Don’t joke. Shortly, whatever was meant to pass between the older brothers ended. Roy made a gimme gesture, Lyle handed him Abatangelo’s car keys, then Roy turned back to Abatangelo and said, “Get the fuck off my property. I see you again out here, there won’t be time to talk me out of it.”
“I want my money back,” Abatangelo said. He nodded toward Lyle. “And the registration. Admit it, I haven’t done anything to you.”
“You want your money,” Lyle said, “get up off your ass and claim it.”
“Put the gun down,” Abatangelo said, “make it a fair fight, I’ll claim a lot more than my money. Right here. Your brothers can watch.”