The Warm Glow of Happy Homes Read online

  “Hola!” Barton smiled. He wasn’t sure he could stop smiling.

  They kept all of their candy right there at the counter. Barton grabbed box after box and sat them on the counter. He wasn’t sure how much it would take but, once the counter was mostly covered, he thought he probably had enough.

  He gestured to it and said, “Un mas soy cuanto poca!”

  The clerk shrugged his shoulders, smiled bemusedly, and said, “Eh, I’m not sure.”

  Because some of the boxes were partially empty, the clerk had to count each piece of candy before entering them into the register. Watching the man’s brown hand move all over the brightly colored little packages made Barton’s stomach heave and he bent over and vomited onto the floor as covertly as he possibly could. He felt a lot better afterward.

  He straightened up, felt the floor shift, managed to find the cash he kept in his pocket, grabbed the bags from the counter, tossed the cash to the clerk, and said, “Buy your family a fucking house.”

  He stepped outside, sat the bags on the ground, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and tweeted: “The sun is raping my eyes,” which wasn’t really true because he was wearing sunglasses and they worked pretty well, but he thought it was an amusing and interesting thing to say anyway. He put his phone in his pocket, struggled not to fall as he bent down to pick up the bags, and began walking toward his car. The driver’s side door was open and music blared out from the speakers that were reasonably good for such a cheap car. He threw the bags in the back seat and slid into the driver’s seat.

  A dog sat in the passenger seat.

  His pulse would have quickened if the drugs coursing through his body allowed that. Instead he just said, “Dog,” and pulled his door shut. His dad would never let him have a dog and he felt bad making it get out in that apocalyptic heat. Actually, he didn’t feel bad so much as he just didn’t feel anything and continued doing what he would normally do if there wasn’t a dog in the car. The worst thing about his dad not letting him have a dog was that he didn’t even give him any kind of legitimate reason for it. He had just told him it wasn’t a good idea like Barton was supposed to know what the fuck that meant. Like Barton had ever known what anything meant. As though he had ever been capable of finding the meaning in anything except his life as some kind of extension of his father’s life, something that had to keep going, barreling forward until Barton could impregnate a woman, not with his child so much as his father’s grandchild, so that thing, whatever it was, could continue to barrel forward long after he and his father were dead.

  “This wig is making it hard to think,” he said to no one or maybe the dog before putting the wig on the dog’s head.

  Barton thought about continuing into town to do some more shopping but he vaguely recalled giving William a list of things to pick up and felt it would probably be unnecessary for him to go out and pick up the same exact things. So he drove back home, half on the state route and half on the grass growing beside it. Halfway there, he finally decided to call Jayne. Despite the brutal nature of their breakup, she answered, and before she could say any more, he launched into his tirade.

  “I can’t believe you would do this to me, Jayne. You’ve left me all alone for the rats and space birds to feast upon. There’s a dog in my car and I’m no longer wearing a wig. I feel so exposed. So fucking exposed. And used and cheap. You can forget about coming to Mexico Frat Funland. Consider yourself uninvited. And this was going to be fucking awesome, too. I got all of Team Klaus to DJ the fucking thing. Not just one of them. All fucking four of them, Jayne. Orange. Pink. Yellow. Blue. They’re all going to be there making it the best and loudest fucking party this town has ever seen. And you’re not going to see it. You’re going to be at home with all of your Facebook friends shoved up in your vagina. Really crammed in there and you’ll see how much they like you then when they’re all covered in your pussy sweat. Do you think they know Mexico? Team Klaus I mean. Do you think they know Mexican music? Fuck this shit.”

  He tossed the phone in the passenger side floorboard.

  The dog was still in the passenger seat.

  A cop had just thrown on its sirens behind him.

  He slowed down and pulled off on the side of the road. Since he was only going fifteen miles per hour and already half off the road, this was something he was able to manage. He rolled the window down, put both hands on the steering wheel, and pulled his lips back, baring his gleaming white, gritted teeth.

  The officer approached the window and Barton handed him his wallet.

  The cop pulled out the license and said, “Mister King. I didn’t realize it was you.” He handed the wallet back to Barton. “Cute dog. Have your dad call me when he gets back into town. I’ll follow you home. Make sure you get there safely.”

  With the cop behind him making sure everything was okay, Barton felt protected and drove much faster. Occasionally he still swerved off the road and this sent the dog into something of a frenzy but he made it safely and didn’t hit anybody head on. That would have been a drag. The cop drove on and tooted his horn when Barton reached the gates to his house which, yes, he’d left open and which the shitty low-powered remote control had not managed to close. He pulled up by the house and grabbed the candy and let the dog out of the car. The dog immediately bounded away, the wig falling off its head, and Barton headed to the bathroom with the candy to stuff that cunt of a maid.

  6.

  Alex lay next to Ibbie, staring at the ceiling. This was the first week they’d been able to sleep with the windows open and a soft breeze blew in and the heat made all the clean smells rise from the bed linens and he could smell the light sweat from Ibbie and the smell of her hair still trapped in his nostrils. He heard her pick up her phone from the nightstand before setting it back down and sighing. He put a hand on her delicious hip through the thin sheet and said, “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “Aunt Carla still hasn’t called me back.”

  “Are you really that worried?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. She was the only one working there today.”

  Alex forced a laugh, tried to breathe some humor into the situation. “So maybe she just went out to try and forget about it.”

  “She always answers her phone.”

  “Maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she didn’t want to call you back and bother you. Do you think he’d really hurt one of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean here. Or there. Whatever. In his own house?”

  Ibbie had told Alex a lot about Barton King. He believed everything she said. Ibbie was probably the only woman he would believe unequivocally. He looked into her eyes and he could just tell. They’d been together for nearly a year and had lied to each other enough and seen through those lies enough that they didn’t even bother doing it anymore. There wasn’t a point. They were connected on that plane so few people are connected on. Alex liked it. He loved it. He loved her. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  So he knew what the Kings did. More specifically, he knew what Barton King did. And he didn’t really think there was anything he wasn’t capable of, but he also knew rich people and knew that most of them exercised a weird conservative streak in their own homes.

  “I mean,” he said, “it’s like the whole thing about not shitting where you sleep.”

  “I don’t think he knows where he sleeps.”

  Alex lay there and chewed on his lip. He wanted to smoke again but if Ibbie wanted him to go out then he didn’t want to be wasted. Joe was already asleep on their couch and therefore completely useless.

  The Kings owned a number of factories in Mexico. Ciudad Juarez. Most of them specializing in clothing manufacturing. Barton was usually sent down when his parents were tired of dealing with him or just wanted the place to themselves. He had some kind of creepy handler named William. Ibbie thought Barton raped and murdered women on his trips. She had no reason to lie, but admitted she didn’t have proof. She also believed he brought them back ac
ross the border. Either dumped them somewhere in the states or possibly even on the grounds of their expansive estate. When Alex thought about the amount of sod they’d laid down on the King estate, he was pretty sure what she said was true.

  But he still couldn’t see that stupid, drug addled rich kid killing someone who worked for them.

  “If you’re sure about this, we’ll go over there.”

  Ibbie checked her phone and sighed and put the phone back down. “Just tell me I’m being stupid,” she said.

  He rubbed his hand along her thigh and said, “You’re just concerned.”

  “Is that stupid?”

  “Maybe.” But he didn’t know if he believed that or not.

  7.

  Barton shoved as much candy as he could down the maid’s throat, in her ass, and up her cunt, but he still had like half a bag of candy left so he went to the kitchen to get a knife and wondered if he had a needle and thread, decided he didn’t because that was what tailors were for so he got some duct tape instead.

  He rolled the maid over onto her back and sliced her from the middle of her ribcage down to her hips. He had to squint his eyes. He expected blood to come pouring out but it was something like sunshine instead. It oozed out and stained her formerly light blue uniform a yellowish orange. And it glowed, radiating around the bathroom. Barton stood up and turned off the lights. He’d taken his sunglasses off and now put them back on. He looked at the bag of candy and then back at the maid. He felt inspired. He went back into his bedroom and hooked his laptop up to his super stereo system. He clicked on Team Klaus’s mix called No Bad Dreams in Sunshineland and cranked the volume, felt the warm bass hum through his lungs.

  He went back into the bathroom and finished stuffing the maid.

  Taping her shut took the edge off some of the sunshine but the stuff that had stained her clothes was still glowing.

  He still felt really good. He stripped off the maid’s uniform and took it into his bedroom, turned off the lights, and slapped the uniform on the walls until they were pulsing with that light. Then he texted his friend Ben: “Dude U gotta get over here!”

  Only a few seconds later, Ben texted back: “I’ve been in Canada for the past 3 months!”

  Barton texted back: “U little bitch!” and wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.

  Ben never answered him so he stripped off his clothes and danced around the room by himself.

  Things got really hazy. After hitting his wet bar and taking the fun dose of his pills, he tried to fuck the maid again but he couldn’t get it up and couldn’t get it in and quit. The music just kept going and it seemed like it was getting louder and developing colors or turning into clouds that floated around the room or something and at first it was soothing but then it became aggressive and almost violent and Barton tried to turn his laptop off but his hands were way too big and stiff so he had to rip the auxiliary jack out but that put a loud buzzing into his head and he couldn’t get it to stop until he ripped the powerfully mounted Alain Silberstein clock from his wall and bashed the stereo with it and when he stood over the pile of shards in the middle of the room he realized the lights had faded from the walls and he was standing in complete and total darkness. The buzzing gave way to the tearing paper sounds. This time it was quick and furious and sounded just like it came from the middle of Barton’s head. He needed to find out who was doing that. He needed to bash them with this clock. But he couldn’t tonight. He vomited over the pile of stereo and managed to stagger over to his bed where he collapsed on top of the covers, thought the air conditioning was making it way too cold, and waited for the rats to come swarming out of the pipes and climb into bed with him and cover him up with their gross heat. He was disgusted and terrified but he couldn’t move. These things had been in the toilet, in the pipes leading from the kitchen sink, below the bathtub. They were covered in shit and piss and blood and come and dead skin and dirt and human hair. Barton thought about taking a shower when he woke up.

  8.

  Alex stared at Joe until he woke up.

  “Jesus, thought you were going to sleep all fucking day. Here. Put this shit on.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s like two.”

  “So thirsty.”

  “Fucking lightweight.”

  “Why are you wearing that?”

  Alex wore a wig and sunglasses, a wife beater and obscenely cut off shorts.

  “You’re going to be wearing it too.”

  “Why?”

  “Change of plans.”

  “Let me piss first.”

  Joe slowly got up from the couch and wandered toward the bathroom. The sound of his pissing filled the small apartment. It sounded like it lasted an hour. He came out carrying a dirty glass filled with dirty water. Sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette.

  “So, change of plans?”

  “Yep.”

  “So we’re, uh, going to a costume party instead of breaking, entering, and robbing?”

  “Nope. Still doing that. Although I don’t think we’ll really have to break in.”

  “Okay.”

  “It was Ibbie’s day to work there today. Normally when the kid’s home by himself she doesn’t go. But her Aunt Carla wouldn’t answer her phone last night and Ibbie wanted to make sure she was okay so she went in today.”

  “And ...?”

  “Still not sure about her aunt but Ibbie said this Barton guy’s completely out of his head. She’s been hiding around the estate. She sent me some pictures of him. He pretty much looks like this. Meaning I think we can probably just walk into his house and take what we want. As long as we’re not on camera at the same time outside of his house, we won’t even have to really sneak too much.”

  “So if there’s a safe in his house and he’s having people over for a party, wouldn’t it stand to reason that the safe is going to be locked?”

  “Maybe and maybe not. Like I said, this guy’s out of his head. Apparently the reason for the safe of cash is that his parents won’t give him any credit cards. They probably don’t want anything he does to be traced. People are going to be coming and going all afternoon and night. People who King is going to have to pay. Caterers. DJs. Drug dealers, probably. When Ibbie got there this morning, he’d left the front gates to his property wide open. So I’d say the chances of him leaving the safe open are pretty good. Man, this is going to be so easy and so untraceable.”

  “I think you’re being naive.”

  “Naive? How so?”

  “Well, the only thing rich people care about is money. That’s how they got that way. If a bunch of money ends up missing, somebody is going to want to know where it went. And if we take all this guy’s cash, how’s he going to pay those other people?”

  Alex laughed. “You’re not seriously concerned about that, are you?”

  “Yeah. If me and you did a job for somebody and we didn’t get paid, I’d be pissed. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Okay, here’s what happens if he doesn’t have the cash to pay them ... Are you ready for this? It’s fucking groundbreaking. They send him a fucking bill and whoever does the books pays them. It’s that fucking simple.”

  “And this is all hinged on the hope that he’s just leaving the safe wide open.”

  “Well, we have a backup plan.”

  Joe crushed out his cigarette. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  Alex hissed out a breath. “Man, it’s going to sound like I’m whoring her out or something. But you have to know how much I love Ibbie. If anything happened to her ...”

  “Yeah, man, I know.” Joe reached out and patted Alex on the shoulder. “I like Ibbie too. You guys are great together. I’m looking out for her too. But I gotta know what’s going on.”

  “Okay. So Ibbie took a nice change of clothes with her. She’s assuming if she’s not wearing her uniform and puts on some make-up and fixes her hair or something King won’t even recognize her. So if it’s getting late into the night and the
safe still hasn’t been left open, she’s going to come around and tell him she’d be willing to do some stuff for some cash.”

  “Jesus, that’s a bad idea.”

  “She’s not going to do anything. But he’ll have to open the safe to get money and then she’ll try and distract him and we’ll move in. Or one of us will. If we’re both supposed to be him then we probably shouldn’t be seen together.”

  “So we just walk in and go to the safe and take all the cash and your girlfriend might, just might have to prostitute herself. And we’ll be dressed like fucking retarded assclowns?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Best plan in the world. And I say that without a trace of sarcasm. I really do think this is the best plan in the world. It’s not going to work. It sounds like something a twelve-year-old who’s seen too many bank heist movies would come up with but, as far as like really lazy, easy things that have no foot or stake in reality go, it’s really fucking good.”

  “I think it’ll work. And look, if it’s a disaster we’ll probably know right away and then we’ll get the fuck out. No harm done. If nothing’s missing, no one’s going to review the camera footage afterward. That’s the way things work. They only record that stuff to review in the case of an incident. It’s not a mall. There isn’t some frustrated ex-cop in a booth watching this shit in between donuts, okay? Oh, and get this, we’ll be wearing sombreros too.”

  Joe lowered his head into his hands. “Do I need to ask why?”

  “Because all these parties have themes, right? Like all rich people want to do is reenact the prom or something and the theme of this one is, get this, ‘Mexico Frat Funland’.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Yeah, man, Ibbie saw it on his Facebook page. Aside from the Mexico part, it’s everything we love. Fraternities, huh? Khaki shorts and date rape. You can’t go wrong with that. And funland? Fuck. Who wouldn’t like a funland? It’s a land of fun filled with fun loving, attractive, plastic people. There isn’t even any room for argument. It is funland.”