My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,31
stories I could tell you about her. In my opinion, that definitely trumps a desk full of boogers.”
“She’s got you there, Hank,” Nick agrees. “Holy shit.”
“What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever seen, Nick?” she asks. I can practically see him push his shoulders back because she’s called him out. He grins goofily as he lets the bomb drop.
“I once saw this guy with his brains blown out the back of his head. Gray matter everywhere, and tons of blood. And this…crater missing from his head.”
He creeps me out with how he says this with a smile on his face.
“Oh man, that’s sick.” I wave my hands as if that will make the image disappear.
“Did your dad kill him?” Peyton asks without batting an eye.
Nick snorts. “What?”
“Your dad. Did he kill him?”
I start to feel nervous. No one says that kind of stuff to Nick. At least not to his face. I can’t believe she just asked him that point-blank.
“Why would you think my dad killed him?” Nick’s tone is dead serious.
Peyton licks her lips and narrows her eyes, then says, “People talk at school. They say your dad is…a hit man or something.”
“My dad is in waste management,” Nick replies and swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down like a fishing lure in his throat.
“As in a garbageman?” I ask, hoping to clarify.
Nick’s mouth hangs open as Peyton shrugs and says, “Whatever you want to call it. It makes perfect sense, actually. Such an easy way to get rid of the evidence. It’s cool if he is, you know. I honestly don’t care. I was just curious. My mom once dated this guy who worked at a funeral home and sidelined at a real estate agency. Folks would kick the bucket, and then while the family was grieving and vulnerable, he’d get the listing for their rent-controlled apartment. People do all sorts of messed-up shit, and they all have their reasons why. Who am I to judge?”
Nobody says anything for a few minutes. I mean, what can you say in those circumstances? A comment like that is sort of a conversation stopper. Instead we watch cars driving by, the cracks in the sidewalk, the street sweeper blowing up a mini dust storm.
Nick kicks at a rock on the sidewalk, and it goes skittering into the road. “My dad’s a great guy. He’s honorable. He stands up for what he believes in. He loves his family, his friends, and his community. He goes to church.”
So did the Sopranos.
“Hey, like I said, I don’t care if he takes out the garbage or he ‘takes out the garbage.’” Peyton uses air quotes to drive her point home. “I’m just saying that who our parents are doesn’t have to define who we are. At least not to me.”
“So what’s the deal with the guy with his brains blown out?” I ask as we walk toward Main Street. Nick looks visibly relieved by the change in topic.
“It’s some video I saw once on YouTube,” he says. “You can see all sorts of weird shit like that on the Internet. Mutilated bodies, people having sex with animals: you name it.”
We end up at Metropolis Comics. Victor doesn’t even bat an eye that I’m showing up before the end of a school day. He greets me by name as if I’m a regular at the local bar. He grabs his cane and gets to his feet.
Victor has one wooden leg. His real one got shot off in the war a long time ago. Sometimes he says he can still feel it, like it’s still there. They call it phantom pain. I get that sometimes too. Stuff will happen and I’ll want to tell Mom or Mickey. And then I remember they’re not here anymore either.
“This must be Nerdvana for you,” Peyton says, taking in all the posters on the walls and the display cases of back issues and collectible figurines.
“I like to come here. Victor doesn’t mind if I sit and read in the back. He’s awesome,” I tell her as Nick pushes past us to look at a Spider-Man anthology that’s grabbed his attention.
“Hey, Hank. I got something that I think you’re gonna want to see,” Victor tells me with a knowing smile. He tilts his head, summoning me to the counter.
“New Avengers?” I ask him. Sometimes if he gets in an issue early, he’ll let me check it out even though he’s not supposed to put it on display yet. He used to do