like a snake.”
“No, thanks, man.”
Kirk shrugged and grabbed a beer from the twelve-pack box beside Lenny. It was his fifth. Lenny still nursed his first. Kirk dug in his pocket and pulled out a gun and set it on the bench. He extracted a dirty roll of cash and peeled off a one-hundred-dollar bill, which he dangled in front of Margie’s face.
“You want this?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
“What would you do for it?”
“I don’t know. Like, anything.”
“Would you lick my ass for it?”
The girl hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Here, go fetch.”
Kirk wadded the bill into a ball and threw it toward the riverbank. He laughed as Margie ran to retrieve it. He stretched out on his back on top of the bench, and his long hair draped behind him like a mop. His dirty bare feet dangled off the other end. He pointed his gun at the treetops and squeezed the trigger. The revolver made an empty click. He hadn’t reloaded since their visit to St. Croix.
“It’s like August in March,” Kirk sighed. “Shit, Leno, does it get any better than this? We should be knee-deep in snow right now. Instead, we got seventy holy-shit degrees. I’d jump in the river if I thought I’d ever see my nuts again.” He beat his chest with one hand like a gorilla. “FUKYEAHHHHH!!”
To Lenny Watson, his brother was a god.
He wanted to be just like Kirk, but his mother had played a mean trick on him, popping him out of the same womb like a pasty reflection of his brother. Lenny was sixteen, and Kirk was five years older. Kirk soared over Lenny by six inches and boasted an extra forty pounds of muscle. His older brother had guts, too. No one messed with Kirk. Not sluts like Margie. Not the pussy boys from St. Croix.
Not even Florian Steele.
For three years, it had been just the two of them, Kirk and Lenny, like Batman and Robin. When Lenny was six, their mother got drunk and drove her Grand Am the wrong way down an I-90 ramp into a semi. They could have buried what was left of her in a shoe box. After that, their father used Lenny as a nightly punching bag, until Kirk turned fourteen and bludgeoned the son of a bitch to death with a hammer. Kirk sawed their father’s body into pieces and dropped him bit by bit into the Spirit River, which worked fine until his head rolled ashore near Redwood Falls. The police came calling for him, but Kirk only did two years in juvie. When he was out, Kirk rescued Lenny from a foster family that didn’t give a shit, and since then, they’d been a team.
Lenny would have done anything for Kirk.
“Hey, I got a new package coming,” his brother told him, as he sucked down a beer on top of the bench. “Should be here in a couple of days.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Vietnam this time. I bet we make 10K on this one.”
“Cool.”
Margie returned from the river, shoving the hundred-dollar bill into the tight rear pocket of her shorts. Around them the park was dark and mostly deserted. The bare treetops loomed over their heads, but the cloudy sky wiped out the stars. It was past midnight, and only a handful of Barron teenagers hid in the shadows, making out. Lenny could hear grunts and moans and the rustle of plastic tarpaulins spread over the muddy grass.
Kirk’s girl grabbed a beer as she sat down. “Ten thousand bucks? No shit? For what?”
“For keeping your mouth shut and not asking questions,” Kirk snapped.
“Yeah, but can I get in on it?”
Kirk smirked. “Sure, why not. You like making movies?”
“What kind of movies?”
“Dirty ones.”
“Like porno? That could be cool. How much could I make?”
Kirk stared at her. “What are you, seventeen?”
“Almost eighteen.”
“Too old. You got a little sister?”
“That’s sick.”
His brother laughed hard. “The sickos are the ones who watch,” Kirk said.
Kirk swung his legs on either side of Margie. He pulled the girl’s shoulders so that she was leaning against his bare chest, and he shoved his
“No, thanks, man.”
Kirk shrugged and grabbed a beer from the twelve-pack box beside Lenny. It was his fifth. Lenny still nursed his first. Kirk dug in his pocket and pulled out a gun and set it on the bench. He extracted a dirty roll of cash and peeled off a one-hundred-dollar bill, which he dangled in front of Margie’s face.
“You want this?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
“What would you do for it?”
“I don’t know. Like, anything.”
“Would you lick my ass for it?”
The girl hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Here, go fetch.”
Kirk wadded the bill into a ball and threw it toward the riverbank. He laughed as Margie ran to retrieve it. He stretched out on his back on top of the bench, and his long hair draped behind him like a mop. His dirty bare feet dangled off the other end. He pointed his gun at the treetops and squeezed the trigger. The revolver made an empty click. He hadn’t reloaded since their visit to St. Croix.
“It’s like August in March,” Kirk sighed. “Shit, Leno, does it get any better than this? We should be knee-deep in snow right now. Instead, we got seventy holy-shit degrees. I’d jump in the river if I thought I’d ever see my nuts again.” He beat his chest with one hand like a gorilla. “FUKYEAHHHHH!!”
To Lenny Watson, his brother was a god.
He wanted to be just like Kirk, but his mother had played a mean trick on him, popping him out of the same womb like a pasty reflection of his brother. Lenny was sixteen, and Kirk was five years older. Kirk soared over Lenny by six inches and boasted an extra forty pounds of muscle. His older brother had guts, too. No one messed with Kirk. Not sluts like Margie. Not the pussy boys from St. Croix.
Not even Florian Steele.
For three years, it had been just the two of them, Kirk and Lenny, like Batman and Robin. When Lenny was six, their mother got drunk and drove her Grand Am the wrong way down an I-90 ramp into a semi. They could have buried what was left of her in a shoe box. After that, their father used Lenny as a nightly punching bag, until Kirk turned fourteen and bludgeoned the son of a bitch to death with a hammer. Kirk sawed their father’s body into pieces and dropped him bit by bit into the Spirit River, which worked fine until his head rolled ashore near Redwood Falls. The police came calling for him, but Kirk only did two years in juvie. When he was out, Kirk rescued Lenny from a foster family that didn’t give a shit, and since then, they’d been a team.
Lenny would have done anything for Kirk.
“Hey, I got a new package coming,” his brother told him, as he sucked down a beer on top of the bench. “Should be here in a couple of days.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Vietnam this time. I bet we make 10K on this one.”
“Cool.”
Margie returned from the river, shoving the hundred-dollar bill into the tight rear pocket of her shorts. Around them the park was dark and mostly deserted. The bare treetops loomed over their heads, but the cloudy sky wiped out the stars. It was past midnight, and only a handful of Barron teenagers hid in the shadows, making out. Lenny could hear grunts and moans and the rustle of plastic tarpaulins spread over the muddy grass.
Kirk’s girl grabbed a beer as she sat down. “Ten thousand bucks? No shit? For what?”
“For keeping your mouth shut and not asking questions,” Kirk snapped.
“Yeah, but can I get in on it?”
Kirk smirked. “Sure, why not. You like making movies?”
“What kind of movies?”
“Dirty ones.”
“Like porno? That could be cool. How much could I make?”
Kirk stared at her. “What are you, seventeen?”
“Almost eighteen.”
“Too old. You got a little sister?”
“That’s sick.”
His brother laughed hard. “The sickos are the ones who watch,” Kirk said.
Kirk swung his legs on either side of Margie. He pulled the girl’s shoulders so that she was leaning against his bare chest, and he shoved his
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