Page 30 of Bad News Babe

WEST, AKA THE HOMESTEAD HEADSCRATCHER

The homestead is stillawake when I arrive home. My ma and her sisters are over at Queen Meemaw Christine’s house. I hear them taunting each other with various stink insults. I find Tuesday passed out in her bed.

Back outside, I locate the homestead’s men sitting on my uncle’s back patio. A former cop, Donovan is married to Journey. He’s been the Rawkfist Motorcycle Club’s VP since I was a kid.

“Heard you’ve got a crush,” Donovan says and adjusts the ballcap resting on his thick head of brown hair.

I stroll over to where he sits with Pa-Emmett, Val, Uncle Court, and King Peepaw Jared.

“Where’s Ike?” I ask my uncle rather than reply to his taunt.

“Riding around with Otto,” Donovan says of his birth and adopted sons. “They’re looking for a dealer who came up short.”

“Fun stuff.”

Blue eyes bright and wanting to mock me, Val smirks. Before he can, I announce, “I want a house on the homestead. How does one go about making that happen?”

“Why?” Jared asks in his gravelly voice. “Are your parents finally cramping your style?”

“No, they’re cool,” I reply and smile at my pa, who rolls his eyes. “I’m just looking to make a home for Alexis and me.”

Val is out of his chair immediately. “You’ve got to be fricking kidding,” he taunts while circling me. “You’ve known this girl for like two days. The first time you met was five years ago when she shot you down. Now, you’ve decided that means she’s better than all the women who just let you plow their sweet snatches.”

“Val, watch your language,” Pa-Emmett mutters, stroking his beard.

My brother snorts. “Oh, yeah, King Peepaw might keel over from the shock of such naughty words.”

“Fuck yeah, I will,” says the old man as he lovingly molests his still fantastic mustache.

Ignoring their bickering, I remind them, “Way back when I first saw Alexis, I told everyone how she was my dream girl. None of you believed me. Don’t razz my ass just because you were all fricking wrong.”

“How old is this girl?” Court asks, fighting a grin.

“Doesn’t matter,” I reply, refusing to offer them ammo against my big stand. “The point is she’s mine. With me living with my parents and her crashing on a couch, I need to find us a place to live.”

“Toomey trash,” a voice croaks from the darkness.

I flinch, thinking we’re under attack from one of those goblins from the “Troll 2” movie. Instead, my creepy, primeval great-grandfather appears from the shadows and lifts his beer.

“Why was I not informed of the lurking crazy hermit?” I demand.

As the men chuckle, Val explains, “He was taking a piss. We hoped you’d wet yourself at the sight of him.”

“You’re jealous,” I tell my brother, poking his forehead. “No woman loves you.”

“Plenty do.”

“Name one who doesn’t live on the homestead.”

“Rie and Matilda. That’s two, bitch.”

“Name one who isn’t related to us.”

“My pen pal said she loved me.”

“She loves everyone. It’s a Jesus thing.”

“Sons,” our father says in a relaxed voice, “not everything is a competition. You can both be morons.”

---