* * *
Russell turned and watched Pete attempt a jaunty lean against the wall. In his vision’s periphery, Hector loomed in the doorway, facing in, and O’Brien sat in the hallway beyond, hands and feet planted firmly on the floor, an inquisitive expression on his puppy dog face. When Pete swiveled his head to look at Russell, a diagonal beam of sunlight sliced his face in half.
Staring at the musician, Pete asked, "What did you just say, Mike?"
O’Brien repeated himself and raised his body into the crab position. He crawled between Hector’s thick legs. Halfway through, he reached out and pinched Hector’s calf.
"Jesus Christ, Mike!! What are you, some sort of queer now?"
Faintly, from the kitchen, Debbie called out, "Language, Hector!"
O’Brien settled next to Russell’s feet and leaned against a piano leg.
"Hey, Rusty, what do these pedals do?"
Russell spoke to the crown of Mike’s head. "This raccoon you saw, Mike, was it stumbling around, tripping over its legs—that sort of thing?"
"No. He was just walking down the road, kinda off near a ditch. I threw a rock at him. I missed, though, and he got real mad…reared up on his legs and hissed at me." Mike made his hands into claws and hissed. "Silly coon!"
"Was it foaming at the mouth?" Pete asked.
"I…don’t…think so," O’Brien replied, depressing the damper pedal with one hand and pushing Russell’s foot out of the way with the other.
"Good."
"Hey, I know what ya’ll are thinkin’," Hector chimed in. "Rabies. Ya’ll think that coon had rabies. But what Mike saw don’t mean shit. All types of animals have been passin’ through my backyard lately. They come out of the woods at night, looking for water. Don’t mean they’re diseased or whatever. Just means they’re thirsty."
"You don’t sound so sure of yourself," Pete said.
Without warning, Hector belted Pete in the stomach. It was more autonomic jerk, really, a quick rabbit punch to the gut; he didn’t even put his full body into it. But Pete doubled over. Air forcefully belched from his lungs; wire and glass flew from his face.
The spectacles landed on the dingy carpet underneath the piano. O’Brien picked them up and put them on.
Russell knocked over the bench rushing to Pete. He threw his arm around his friend’s bony back and straightened him out. Pete gasped for air; tears streamed down his ruddy cheeks.
Russell shot Hector a furious glare but said nothing.
Hector shrugged. "He’s been asking for it all day. Everything I say is wrong, every idea sucks. Ain’t my fault he’s a pansy. He deserved it."
Now that Pete had his breath back, he was bawling. His cries grew so loud and out of control that Debbie came running into the room.
Glimpsing Pete’s red, wet face, she looked over to her son staring like a savant at Pete and Russell until her prettier, cream-colored face decayed into a mask of despair, then into one of shame.
"Come on, Mike. We’re leaving," Russell said to the kid sitting under the piano. With an arm draped over Pete’s shoulders, Russell led the way out of the house. They exited through the back door and hiked down the porch steps. The heat had abated slightly since they had last been in it, but it was still as muggy as ever. Under the pecan tree, Lola lay in her rotting doghouse, napping in the lazy way of old dogs. In the deep shade, only her nose and flabby jowls were visible to the passers-by.
They trudged over crushed gravel to the carport and driveway. Pete’s dark green Toyota Corolla shone like a jewel in the hard sunlight. Behind the Toyota sat Russell’s white Ford F-150 pickup truck. Russell stopped at Pete’s car and sat Pete down on the hood.
"Pete? Listen to me—stop crying. You gotta stop crying."
"He hit me!"
"I know he did, but you were egging him on. I told you not to do that."
"First he makes me take off my shirt; then he hits me. What the hell’s his problem?"
Russell sighed. "I wish I knew. Can you drive?"
"Yeah, but I need my glasses."
At the edge of the street, Mike walked the curb like a tightrope, holding his long, stick arms out for balance.
"O’Brien!" Russell yelled. "Get over here, ya loon."
Mike removed Pete’s glasses from his face and walked up the driveway. While O’Brien was still out of earshot, Russell whispered, "Ya know, Pete, I think it’s about time we find some new friends to hang around with. I’m getting kind of sick of the ones we have now."
"I couldn’t agree with you more."
"Did Mike ride with you here?"
"Yes."
"I’ll drive him back"
"Thanks."
O’Brien squeezed between the truck and the Corolla and handed Pete his glasses. Then he dropped to both knees, looked up at Pete, and said, "Don’t worry about Hector. He’ll get what’s coming to him some day."
Pete nodded and smiled wanly. "Yeah, karma."
The expression on Mike’s face told them he had no inkling of such a concept. To make up for his befuddlement, Mike rested his hand on Pete’s knobby knee and with all apparent sincerity said, "I love ya, man." He gave the knee a slight shake.
"Okay…" Russell said, grabbing Mike’s shirt collar and yanking him to his feet. "Enough with the weirdness. You’re laying it on mighty thick today, Mike, even by your standards. Come on, you’re riding with me."
As they covered the short distance to the truck, O’Brien said, "I’m still sorry about clonkin’ your head, you know."
"Yeah, Mike, I know."