9
Livia’s Stupid Father
Livia’s stupid fucking father.
Chris grabbed a piece of gum and slid his beer can behind his right leg. He glared into his side mirror as he saw John McHugh step out of his police car. This is the last thing I need at one o’clock in the damn morning.
Chris waited until his electric window was all the way down before he looked at the top of John’s head. Chris loved how the truck made him superior to everyone else. Even the soccer moms’ Suburbans looked wimpy next to The Beast.
John stepped up onto the truck’s running board to be even with Chris’s face.
Chris adjusted his leg in a way that he hoped concealed his beer can. He tried to remember where the hell his hunting rifle was. Did I just throw it in the back or lock it in the truck box?
“Hi, Mr. McHugh.” Chris watched as John shined his flashlight in the truck bed and then carefully took in the contents of his cab.
“It’s Officer McHugh, Chris.”
John’s face was alarmingly close, and Chris tried not to breathe. Fucking pig. What a lame-ass job. Why’d I have to drink beer tonight? Should’ve gone with vodka, can’t smell it on my breath.
“Sorry, sir.” Chris put on his best altar boy face.
“Do you know how fast you were going back there, son?”
Fast enough to get the fuck away from bitchy, skank-ass Hannah.
“I’m sure too fast, Officer McHugh, or you wouldn’t have stopped me.” Chris spoke into his chest so the beer smell wouldn’t get in front of the cinnamon gum. He hoped he seemed remorseful.
“Fifty-six in a thirty-five, Chris. This is a residential area. You need to slow down,” John said.
“Sorry, sir. I have a lot on my mind since Livia dumped me.” Chris tended to get weepy when he drank, and it had never been useful until this moment. He stifled a smile as his eyes filled with tears.
“All right, Chris. You’ve had a tough time. I’ll let you get by with a warning tonight. But it’s the only warning I’ll give you.”
I should give you a warning. Your freaking daughter’s whoring it out to homeless men. “Thank you, Officer McHugh. I’m sorry. I’ll drive slower from now on.” Or just buy a fucking radar detector.
John leaned back a bit and the red and blue lights from the cruiser danced across his face. “Tell Mrs. Grandma and your family I’m wishing them well.” He nodded and stepped down from the truck.
“Thank you, sir,” Chris said. “Can I ask you a question? How’s Livia doing?”
“She seems a little sad, but that was some stunt you pulled in front of my house. Stay away from her, Chris, unless she asks you to come back.”
Chris nodded. He knew not to push Livia’s dad.
He waited for the excruciating amount of time it took John to get back in his car, pull the cruiser away from the curb, and kill the lights. I swear they take a long fucking time just to rattle you. Bastards.
Chris’s phone came to life in the console. He instantly hoped it was Livia calling and wanted to kick himself in the nuts when he saw it was Hannah. He sent her to voice mail and grabbed his now disappointingly warm beer. Chris couldn’t believe how cocky Hannah had gotten since his breakup with Livia. He scratched his scalp through his crackly, gelled hair and grew angry all over again as he remembered his evening with Hannah.
“Chris, I’m not sure I want to go through with this,” she’d pouted.
“Hannah, you and I have been screwing around for four and a half years. You pick now to get shy?” Chris was further frustrated that she’d waited until they were both pants-less to mention her displeasure.
“I don’t know. I think maybe you should get tested—for STDs and worms and maybe lice.” Hannah reached for her discarded panties.
She had fluttered her eyelashes in a way she seemed to think was coy, but she looked like a cow getting branded. “Since Livia’s humping hobos, who knows what you’ve got.” Hannah giggled at her unintentional alliteration.
“Screw you, Hannah.” Chris had suddenly felt very naked.
“Livia’s like Meals on Wheels, except she’s on her feet. And she hands out her pussy instead of meals. She’s Pussy on Feet.” Hannah had to stop buttoning her jeans to laugh.
Chris had felt revulsion wash over him. Hannah had been so much more desirable when she was his piece on the side. “That’s not even funny, you stupid slut.” Chris found his tighty-whiteys and put them on.
The word slut had sobered Hannah and her face clouded over. “You know what, Chris? You’re just not doing it for me anymore. I mean, you lost your fiancée to a homeless man? What kind of catch are you? I wouldn’t screw you now without at least three condoms and a bucketful of Lysol.”
Chris had left Hannah’s apartment through the front door instead of sneaking out the back like he usually did.
And now he sat in the wake of John’s departed police car with no fiancée or piece of ass on the side. There had been a time when Livia needed him so much. How many times did she thank him for keeping track of her cell phone and the oil changes on her car? And yeah, he was young, he wanted his dick to wander free once in a while, but Livia was his. His responsibility. Christ, she didn’t even have a mother—he couldn’t dump her in the past even when he had wanted to because he didn’t want her to melt down.
The phone in Chris’s hand demanded his attention again. Dave.
“Talk at me,” he answered.
“Hey, you stupid bastard. How’s it hanging? Lonely, I bet. Talk about going from hero to zero, man.” Dave delivered his insults under the guise of brotherhood. It was a thin guise. “‘Pulling a Chris Simmer’ is going to be legend for a long time to come. Losing your chick to a homeless man? I think I’d rather find out my girl was into other girls. What are you up to? Want to hang out?”
“No. I’m busy. Fuck off.” Chris seethed. He was about to hang up when Dave said something else.
“So I guess Livia’s new boyfriend’s dead or something,” Dave added.
Chris listened.
“I usually see his crazy ass slumped at the train station on my dinner break.”
Chris took a jab of his own. “You paying for a good butt-fucking, Dave?”
Chris heard a nervous laugh that he liked. It reminded him he was still top dog.
“No, dude. I save up my pennies and go down there with a few of my work buddies. We whip the change at him. Ten points for a headshot and five points for limbs. I’m up to one-eighty. He never even flinches or looks up. I bet he could take a hell of a beating. Anyhow, he hasn’t been there in a while.”
Chris ended the call with Dave still yammering. He liked the idea of a good beating. Why hadn’t he thought of it himself? If any other dude had moved in on Livia, he’d have met him in an alley with The Equalizer. Chris reached under his passenger seat to stroke the miniature baseball bat. Maybe if the hobo met The Equalizer, Livia would come back to him. That would fix everything, really.