Page 83 of Plum

Damn my chest hurts. It’s like I got kicked by a mule.

I guess how I’m feelin’ shows on my face, ‘cause Forty drains his beer, sets it down, and asks, “You need me to beat anyone’s ass?”

“Danielle owes me twenty bucks.”

“I ain’t steppin’ to that woman. I like full use of my arms.” We both try to smile, and if mine is as sorry as his, we’re a sad-looking pair.

“You done?” I grab his empty and stand. “I’ll get you another.”

“Get two.” Forty goes to rack up the balls and the moment’s over.

“Look forward to talkin’ to you again next year.”

Forty snorts, already lining up a shot, and I wander off toward the kitchen. Maybe I’ll make some eggs for the brothers who’re now stumbling out of their bunks, scratching their junk and tryin’ to find their cigarettes.

As the day goes on, my feet get heavy. I keep myself busy, first making breakfast and then cleaning out the kitchen fridge. I help Crista stock the bar, and I volunteer to take her dog, Frances, out to take a piss. The boys go out for a run and come back hungry, so I pick up sandwiches. It’s a normal Sunday, except for how I can’t seem to suck down a whole breath. It’s like my hurting heart is crowding out my lungs.

Around three, I collapse on a couch and watch Wall and Heavy play darts. It’s like two giants throwing tiny, feathered pins. Like something out of that movie,Gulliver’s Travels.

I’m curled up, my fist clutched to my stomach ‘cause for some reason the pressure eases the ache, and I’m kind of out of it, so I don’t notice at first when the mood in the place changes.

Then I hear my name, and it registers. The scraping of chairs. The raised voices.

I sit up. The ruckus is coming from the front.

“I want to see Jo-Beth. Jo-Beth!”

My heart leaps, and I rise to my feet. It’s Adam, and Creech has him by one arm and a prospect, Boom, has him by the other. Adam’s struggling, and Creech ain’t exactly built, so Adam’s making headway. Every time Adam shakes loose, though, Creech comes back. The other brothers ain’t making a move, happy to hoot and holler. Probably makin’ bets.

He’s gonna get his fool self killed.

“You lose something?” Heavy’s eyes glitter under thick, black eyebrows.

I grimace.

“Best get your boy.”

My cheeks flush hot, and I pick my way through a bunch of drunk idiots toward what’s become a full-blown fight. Creech must have thrown a punch ‘cause Adam’s got his hands up in front of his face. Adam’s only blocking, though, occasionally throwing a jab to ward Creech off. The prospect seems content to let Creech make a fool of himself.

Creech ain’t exactly feared for his fists. More for the STDs.

I come to a halt behind the ring of onlookers. My brain’s all numb, and I can’t do what my body wants—run to him, which is stupid, stupid—so I watch him, and the half of the club that isn’t watching the fight watches me.

It’s a pretty sorry fight, and it’s abundantly clear that if Adam took a real shot, it’d be over, but then Creech wheels back to throw a haymaker, and he plants a fist in Pig Iron’s face instead. I swear, Pig Iron’s whole cheek swings like the jowls of a bulldog. Everyone holds their breath.

“Mother. Fucker.” Pig Iron pulls back, and he probably hasn’t gone a round in years, but I guess it’s like riding a bike. Creech kind of runs into Pig Iron’s punch, his neck snaps back, and he sprawls into a cluster of sweetbutts.

At this point, Boom must figure he needs to tap in ‘cause he goes after Adam, and at the same time, Hobs and Bucky, who’re Creech’s boys from way back, jump into the fray. Both are dumbasses, so they can’t seem to figure out if they need to go after Adam or Pig Iron, so they kind of throw punches at whatever target opens up. The old timers don’t like this none. Grinder elbows in, and Big George grabs a chair and starts swinging.

There is so much hollering and hooting and cussing, the rafters shake. Bullet shouts that he’ll take ten-to-one bets on the “dumb fuck who got lost,” which is Adam.

And then from the corner of my eye, I see Gus leap over the bar and come out with Pig Iron’s shot gun. I duck a good few seconds before he racks the slide and fires a shot into the ceiling, blowing a hole the size of a golf ball into the metal roof and letting the sunlight in. As soon as the boom echoes through the clubhouse, everyone except Heavy, Forty, Gus, and Adam are on the floor with me.

“That’s my kid. Leave him the fuck alone.” Gus racks another one. Heavy and Forty throw their heads back and bawl, shoulders shaking.

“You gonna plug that hole, Gus?” Heavy manages to wheeze out. People are getting to their feet, me included, and Adam is shaking out his arms. His jacket’s been yanked down, and his blue sweater, tight across his chest, is torn at the neck. It looks like cashmere.

“Yeah. Ima plug those holes in Creech’s ears while I’m at it, he don’t lay off my son.”

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