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“Sometimes I think I’m the Ringmaster of a fucking circus with how immature my damn brothers are. Do you have any siblings, Simon?”
“Yeah, an older sister.”
“She give you shit growing up?”
“Yeah, man. I remember Beth baked brownies for me once. Turned out, she covered dirty sponges with chocolate icing and sprinkles. I’d eaten three bites before I realized what she’d done. Then, to top it off, she handed me a tall glass of what I thought was milk, but it was Jell-O. I went blue in the face trying to suck white Jell-O from a damn milk glass.”
Beth still had that damn Polaroid somewhere of me with a beet-red face desperately trying to get the dish-water sponge taste out of my mouth with that glass of Jell-O. She promised to give it back if I told her if the blue sponge looked the same way coming out as it did going in. I never got the picture back because I obviously never told her. What nine-year-old would willingly admit he looked? Not me.
Spoiler Alert: it looked the same.
“Sponges and Jell-O, you say? That’s not a half-bad idea. Come on, let’s get back there before they start throwing punches.” He clapped me on the shoulder again before striding forward to handle whatever nonsense was happening in the backyard.
I matched his strides, then stopped short when I stumbled upon the weird-ass scene. The burly cop stood on the porch with his arms outstretched and a scowl that would scare hardened criminals, while two equally burly men with matching collared shirts stood in front of him like some strange stalemate.
The guys in matching shirts could be twins, and one was wearing one of those front packs you put newborn babies into, but he didn’t have a baby in this front pack. He had a black cat in it, supporting the head like you would an infant. If I hadn’t seen the bright blue eyes turn my way and slow-blink, I wouldn’t have believed this behemoth would have an electric purple front pack strapped to him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Give her back, Miller. You can’t fucking break into my house and take my pet, then bring her to a work site. She could escape. She could catch a cold.”
“Shut-up, Mark,” the guy not wearing the front pack said. He reached into his back pocket and held up something pink, shaking it in the cop’s face. “We brought her sweater. The fresh air’s good for her.”
“What about food? Water? Litter? You imbeciles never think. My fiancé didn’t know what to say when I called her.”
“Again, shut-up, younger brother. Twenty bucks says the only thing Jenna said to you is that you need to find a better hiding spot for the spare key,” Miller said.
“You just love saying the word fiancé,” the front pack guy added.
“See what I mean? I’m a fucking Ringmaster,” Maverick said.
He walked up the stairs, and I followed, loosening my tie and, for once, feeling overdressed. My black loafers looked out of place with the three identical utility boots the guys in matching collared shirts wore, but whatever police-issued boots the cop had on could rival mine for their sheen. That was impressive.
“If you three would quit comparing dick sizes, Addison sent her man-friend, Simon, to make sure you’re not fucking up her listing,” Maverick said, leaning against the porch railing and crossing his arms.
“Simon,” the look-alike brothers said in unison, pushing aside the cop and crowding my space.
“There’s no contest when it comes to dick sizes. My name’s Magnum, after all,” the brother without the front pack said, thrusting his hand into mine and smiling with a mouthful of white teeth.
“Don’t listen to him. Our poor mother felt sorry for him, is all. I’m Miller, and this is our niece, Phoebe,” he said, gesturing to the cat in the pack without removing his hand from her head. “Pay no attention to the grumpy cop behind us. He’s just mad we bested him this morning. And also because his fiancé blew him off last night to spend time with us.”
“Get out of my way, fuckers,” the cop said, pushing his way between Miller and Magnum. “I’m Mark. The youngest and clearly most responsible brother. Now, let me ask you a question.” Mark widened his stance and crossed his arms, making his muscles strain. I mimicked his pose, ready for whatever interrogation was coming. “My fiancé—”
“There’s that word again,” Magnum said.
“Can you tell he just got engaged, Simon?” Miller added.
“Zip it. As I was saying. My fiancé, Jenna, is one of Addison’s closest friends and cares about her immensely. This means, by extension, I do too. From what Jenna’s said, and it hasn’t been much, Addison’s rarely done whatever the two of you are doing.”
He uncrossed one arm and waved it in a circle in front of him. Then started cracking his knuckles, the noise echoing like gunshots off the trees. Miller and Magnum took up similar poses on either side of him but stayed silent, presenting a united front to intimidate the fuck out of Simon. Luckily, I was Robert Kelly’s son and used to threatening tactics. It also helped that I wanted to be her goddamned man-friend or boyfriend or whatever you wanted to call it.
“So, what are the two of you doing?” Mark asked.
Crack.
“And what are your intentions?”
Crack.
“Because if you plan on hurting her in any way…” he continued.
