Caught
Jack walked into the house. It was Sunday afternoon and he was the only one home.
Lord of the fucking castle, my ass.
Joan, Mrs. Ball and Chain, the Warden, was still at Mass. Claire said she was babysitting today and Brian—well, who ever knew where the Hell he was? Who the Hell cared, the little shit. If Joan had just had that abortion when he’d asked her then they wouldn’t have been trapped with another Goddamned kid, let alone this snotty pain in the ass. Of all his friends down at the union hall, of all the men in the neighborhood and on the block, he was the one stuck with the snottiest, most smart ass jerk off son of the lot.
He’d even tried with the little prick—honest to shit he had. Hadn’t he taken him and that faggy friend of his bowling a couple of times? Didn’t he let the kid play soccer and run track when he should have been working some after school job and making a few bucks to help out? God knew he encouraged Sonnyboy to have some fun with the girls and he sure as shit got enough phone calls from the hot little numbers at school to make any father proud. At least he took after his old man in that—the old Kinney charm, the kid had it in spades when he chose to turn it on. All the girls wanted him, that was for sure and he just let it pass like he didn’t give a damn. Arrogant little prick.
Oh, sure, he was good looking enough. God knew he was better looking that his old man ever was, and he was tall and all those sports gave him a decent build even if he was skinny, but he had that Goddamned attitude that just wouldn’t quit.
He could be beaten like a gong and it would just make him dig his heels in deeper, the little shit. In fact he had been on a few occasions and all it had done was to take whatever it was he was doing and set it in stone. No retreat, no surrender—wasn’t that the expression?
That was Brian in a nut shell.
Snotty little bastard.
And that was another thing.
Sonnyboy sure as Hell didn’t look anything like his dear old Dad. Yeah, yeah, he had the Warden’s eyes, he knew who his mother was, but there wasn’t anything about him that said ‘Kinney’ other than his Mick stubbornness and ability to hold his drink. Even at sixteen, he could drink like a fish.
If you stood the two Kinney men up next to each other, no one would know they were related. They didn’t look alike, they didn’t dress alike and they sure as fuck didn’t think alike.
Like that mattered. Like he would want to spend time with a kid, even if he wasn’t the jerk off he’d managed to have a hand in producing—and that was another thing, Damnit. He knew. He knew damn well that he always used rubbers and they’d always worked just fine until the one night Joanie actually was in the mood and, wouldn’t you know, had a bee in her bonnet about giving Claire a little brother or sister to play with.
The bitch had set him up and that was a fact.
She was the one to make sure the thing tore, the bitch. Sonnyboy was all her doing and she was welcome to him.
Ah, Hell.
Going out to the kitchen he pulled an
About half way through the second quarter and with most of a six pack gone, Jack decided to take a chance and see if Sonnyboy was upstairs doing homework or jerking off or something. The halftime show was going to start soon, they could trade opinions on the cheerleaders.
What the fuck, why not?
Up the stairs to the door that was always kept closed and usually locked.
Little shit liked to be left alone all the time to do what? To whack off by himself, that’s what he was doing, that’s what any self respecting sixteen year old would be doing if he was home alone—oh, sure he could swear till the cows came home that he was doing homework, but Jack knew better.
Homework, my ass.
The door was locked, no surprise, so he actually knocked. He used his Sunday manners and rapped his knuckles on the wood, listened to the scrambling and he thought he heard voices inside and after a minute or so the door was opened by his disheveled looking and slightly out of breath son.
He was right, the little shit was whipping the willy, alright, with the radio on and the window open.
“Halftime is coming on, you wanna watch it with me?”
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
Stupid little shit. “I thought you might enjoy it, that’s why. You coming or aren’t you?”
“No, I’m just out of breath.” The boy was just staring at him with half a smirk on his face. Like he usually had when he was dealing with his parents, even when Jack took the back of his hand to him, he still had that Goddamned smirk.
He hated that half-smile, the way the kid made him feel like he was a loser, like his own Goddamned son was laughing at him.
Little prick.
It happened as it usually did, without warning and without thought. One minute he was just standing there looking at his son, the next his hand stung and the boy’s smirk had turned to hatred. His mask dropped and he let his real feelings out right where anyone could see them.
Then, just as quick, the mask would be back and he’d be superior again because Jack had lost it and Brian hadn’t. Nothing would make that wall come down, not for more than a second or two and that was one of the things about the boy that pissed him off the most.
…The fact that he couldn’t get through the wall no matter how hard he tried.
The little shit.
“I have homework.”
“Do whatever the fuck you want and don’t be coming down here for dinner. You’re in your fucking room til school tomorrow.”
A shrug to show distain, a roll of his eyes and Brian closed the door on his father, the lock turning as he walked away.
About two months later Jack came back from an afternoon get together with the Eastway Kings. There had been a challenge thrown down on Tuesday night over at the union hall and pride was at stake. The fucking carpenters thought that they’d have a chance against the electricians but they’d had their heads up their asses, as usual, come Friday and the drinks had been on the woodcutters.
So he was home and realized that he was dry, cotton mouthed, for Christ’s sake and the fridge was empty. Well, there were a couple of cases right out in the garage. He could bring one in. Sure he could. In fact, that’s what he was going to do.
He opened the door from the kitchen, pissed off to see that the light was on out there probably left on from last night or something. Christ, everyone thought money just grew on trees around that place. Fucking money trees, that’s what they needed. He went over to where three cases of Iron City were stacked by the tool bench, picked one up and hefted it back inside to the kitchen, turning out the light as he went.
Fucking family, didn’t care that he worked his nuts off to bring in a decent paycheck—and where the Hell were they all, anyway?
Miss Holy Roller was probably down at the damn church again, either praying or playing the perfect house wife roll she had going for the benefit of the other cows down there. Claire was probably out getting laid with that pimply boyfriend of hers and Brian was off doing whatever the fuck Brian was off doing this time.
Hell, he was probably out getting laid, too. Come to think of it in fact, he’d been getting more calls than usual from the girls at school—hardly a night went by without the phone ringing and there being another girl asking if Brian was home and could they please speak to him.
That’s it, that’s where he was—he was out getting some.
Jack hoisted the can in honor of his son carrying on a fine family tradition.
That was another thing that Jack had noticed after he’d caught on to the fact that Brian was a ladies man around the school—it was almost always different girls who called. OK, some of them would call several times and Brian would come to the phone, answer whatever their questions were, their excuses to get him talking to them—the math homework or the English essay or something and then he’d hang up, go up to his room again and that was that. As far as Jack could tell, he never called them and he never made any mention that he had a date or that he’d be going over to some girl’s house.
Once Jack had asked the boy how many girls he had on the string and all he got was a snotty, “You jealous?”
That kid really burned his ass. Christ he did. The little punk was a smart ass from the word go and he put that together with a superior attitude that left no doubt as to where you ranked in his world.
Well, screw him. He’d get his. High school ended for him in a year and a half and then he could go scratch for his food and a place to hang his hat, the fucker. Eighteen years and then he was out of the Goddamned nest, and that was a fact. He knew it, too—Jack hadn’t made any secret about his feelings and the Warden didn’t have the spine to stand up to him. The snot had better have given some thought to what he would be doing or he’d be on the damn dole.
Fuck him.
By now Jack was sitting on the living room sofa with the last couple of
innings of the Pirates on the tube—they were up
“Hey, Sonnyboy, come talk to your old man.”
With obvious reluctance Brian made his way over to where his father was sprawled on the couch. “Yes?”
“Sit down, tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Remaining standing, Brian gave him the barest he could get away with. “I went to a movie with a friend.” Taking a good look in the semi dark room, Jack saw the bruising on the boy’s neck and throat and broke into a smile.
“Good for you. So you got some, did you? That’s my Sonnyboy.”
“…Right.”
He didn’t want to let it go. “You nailed her.” He was laughing to himself. “At least one of us got some tonight.” He turned serious. “You don’t go knocking up some little high school whore—you hear me? You be careful.”
Brian seemed to find that funny. “Yeah, don’t worry about it, Pop.”
“I mean that, Damnit. That’s all they want, they get pregnant and then you’re trapped for life. You listen to me, boy. I know all about that.” Jack was fading again, slipping down on the cushions. “You listen to your old man.”
With a look of disgust, Brian walked up the stairs to his room. At least he wouldn’t bother him for a couple of days now, he never did when he was majorly hung.
The next day at what passed for dinner in the Kinney home, the parents were sitting at the kitchen table alone together after their children had made the earliest possible escape after the meal was consumed. Joan handed Jack a cup of coffee, black with too much sugar. “You know your son is out whoring at night, don’t you? Do you think it would be too much to ask of you to speak to him about it?”
“I did. I told him not to get her pregnant.”
“…A help, as always. You wouldn’t happen to know who this slut is, do you?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. He’s your son, you ask him.”
“He seems to take after your side of the family in that area.” She fixed her husband with the glare he’d learned to ignore years ago. “I’d appreciate it if you would go upstairs and ground him.”
“You’re so worried about it, you do it.”
Realizing that she’s lost another round, Joan resignedly climbed the stairs up to her son’s room. The hall phone cord disappeared under the closed door and she could hear Brian’s voice.
“Yeah, I know. Last night was awesome…I guess so, when?…” There was a low and Joan blushed to hear, a seductive laugh, then, “I’d like that, too…Later.”
Obviously the boy had made arrangements to meet one of the sluts who were servicing him on a regular basis. Quickly she made the sign of the cross and walked away.
A month later, with neither of his parents having spoken to him, Brian made his first trip to Liberty avenue, finding his way to a bar named ‘BoyToy’ where he was introduced to the back room and the various pleasures to be had there. He had gone alone, not telling anyone where he was going and had been lucky enough to have encountered only reasonably kind partners. Deciding that he liked the atmosphere, he became a regular. He was quickly popular, looking as he did, and it wasn’t long before he had a reputation as one of the best times on the street. He also had a reputation as not taking any shit from anyone and that if any of his personal lines of conduct were crossed was known to simply walk away.
His parents still thought that he was seeing the girls in his high school class. His father was proud, his mother worried.
One night Joan was leaving the fellowship room of St. Catherine’s where she had been working with the usual group of Church women making up baskets for some of the more needy families in the parish. As she was cutting through the nearby park, she was startled to see two young men half hidden behind some bushes and lying on a blanket. It was apparent what they were doing, despite being fully clothed and she was even more startled to think that she’d recognized Brian’s Varsity jacket, the one with the slight tear in the hem.
Walking quickly on, she knew she had to be mistaken.
Sinner thought he most certainly was, Brian fornicated with young women. She was sure of that.
It was some other young man, some sodomite.
It wasn’t Brian.
In June of that year Jack, on a Thursday evening, Jack was angry and not yet drunk. Brian, his worthless asshole of a son, was supposed to take the garbage out for Friday morning pickup. He knew this; in fact he had known this for five years. Once again, it was garbage night and there was no sign of the jackass and so once again he was doing his damn son’s work for him.
He carried the damn cans out to the curb, stopping for a couple of minutes for a smoke.
He noticed the car parked about fifty feet up the street. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was getting there. It was still light enough for him to see that there was some heavy action going on in the front seat and—Holy fuck—one of the players was his own Sonnyboy.
Smiling, Jack was inclined to be lenient, this time. Sure the boy should have taken out the damn trash, but he evidently had some other fish to fry and what the Hell. It wasn’t like Jack hadn’t ever played a little slap and tickle in a parked car in his day.
He stood there watching for a bit as it got darker, unable to see who was underneath his son. Finally the single shape separated into two bodies and Brian uncurled himself from the car. Jack heard the one word, “Later” as the door slammed, and Brian was coming down the sidewalk toward him as the car pulled a u-turn and disappeared.
Coming even with his father, Brian asked, “Enjoy the show?”
“Who was she?”
Laughing, Brian didn’t answer as he went into the house.
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