House of Ash by Hope Cook

Author:Hope Cook
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2016-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

24

Curtis

Curtis’s stomach was a bubbling pit as they jerked to a stop in front of the bar. He jumped out of the truck and heard his father bellowing.

He wrenched the door open and his heart dropped out.

His father was standing in the center of the dark-red-lit room, overturned tables and chairs all around him. People were standing in clusters at the edges of the dingy space, some laughing, some putting the pool table and slot machines more firmly between them and the crazy guy. Angela was behind the bar, her tough-as-nails face down-lit by the little hanging lights along the bar, and she gave Curtis this soft pitying look that made him want to throw up.

“I know what you all want!” his father yelled, shaking a bar stool in the air with one fist. His face was red and flushed and there were little droplets of spit at the corners of his mouth. “You’re all in on it!”

“DAD.” Curtis moved in, but then something stopped him. Frank was sitting at the bar, his hands pressed a little too hard against the counter, his eyes wide. The man was afraid.

Curtis reached out for his father’s arm and got a quick backhand to the face. He felt cartilage crunch and tasted blood in the back of his throat. His father turned and looked at him as if surprised to see him there.

“I’ve got proof now, Son,” Tom said excitedly. “He said it right here in front of all these witnesses.” Tom waved his hand to indicate Frank and the crowd of people.

The VLT in the corner was blinking its red lights in time with the ’70s rock, and Curtis thought it was just too cruel that his world was about to come apart while a cheap-ass jukebox screamed “Highway to Hell.” Someone took a picture with their phone and Curtis turned, ready to smash the thing, but then he heard the sound he dreaded more than anything.

Sirens.

Red and blue lights strobed through the windows and Curtis turned in a near-panic, knowing what came next.

“I—I just want to help,” Frank said.

A sound came from Tom’s throat, like a blood-drunk warrior rallying his raiding party, and as the two police officers came through the door, he charged Frank like a mad bull.

“Highway to hell . . .”

The brothers were the same height and build, but Tom slammed into Frank with an impact that sent Curtis’s uncle flying backward into the wall. He hit with a thump and the sound of cracking paneling, and then Tom was on top of him, bellowing at the top of his lungs, hands around Frank’s throat.

“DAD, NO!” Curtis yelled, sprinting forward. He grabbed the metal napkin holder off the nearest table and slammed it into the back of his father’s skull. Tom didn’t even react. The cops were there, trying to pull Tom off of Frank. Tom let go of his brother’s throat long enough to send one cop reeling with a wild punch, then turned back to his prize.

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