It was a home she had lived in for thirty-five years. Her husband, Des, worked as a truck driver and had kept his shop, lawn, and house clean and well maintained. Eddie and Des had gotten along well, but two years back Des had had a heart attack and passed on. The old woman fell apart after that and her only daughter, Connie, moved in with Russell and Curtis.
The kitchen was nothing but dirty dishes, pans, and garbage. In the living room, clothes were thrown about everywhere and the TV was on. An Xbox sat on a small coffee table next to soda cans, candy-bar wrappers, and fast-food bags.
The old woman sat in her room in a recliner reading a book with the help of a magnifier. She was frail for seventy years old. She had long gray hair that came down to her chest. She wore a bathrobe and slippers. The room was stale and hot and smelled of urine. Both the windows in the room were closed. There was a hot plate with a teapot on it and a stack of Cup-a-Soups on her dresser.
“How you been?” he asked.
“Hello, Eddie,” she said.
“What are you reading?”
“A murder mystery.”
“Are you still watching Days of Our Lives?”
The old woman shook her head.
“No Bo and Hope?”
“I don’t like going outside my room.”
“Because of Curtis?”
“Curtis and Connie.”
“Curtis’s not around?”
She shook her head.
“You eating enough?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.”
“It’s hot in here. Do you want your windows open?”
She nodded.
Eddie went to them. They were both old weighted windows. It took him a while but he got them open and fresh air came into the room.
Houston was in his underwear when Eddie beat on his door two hours later. He was drinking off a forty-ounce bottle of Olde English and came to the door carrying it.
“I thought you said nine?”
“It’s eight forty-five,” Eddie said. “I don’t see how you can drink that shit.”
“I like malt liquor.”
“Get dressed and let’s go.”
“And you say you’re buying?”
Eddie nodded and lit a cigarette. He went to Houston’s fridge, took a can of Coors from it, opened it, and sat down on the couch and waited for him to dress.
They drove to a strip bar called the Little Fox where a half dozen men watched a woman dancing naked. Behind them were five men playing video poker machines and two more sitting at the bar. The bartender was a sixty-year-old black woman and Eddie bought two beers from her, got ten singles, and handed the money and a beer to Houston. Houston went to the front and sat while Eddie stood in the back at the bar. He watched the woman dance to two more songs, ordered another beer, and then Connie came to the stage.
She was a forty-year-old alcoholic with dyed-red hair and large sagging breasts. Even from where he stood, he could see her body was beginning to go. She danced three songs and toward the end of the third, Eddie went to the front and sat. He placed a five-dollar bill down and when the song finished and she went to take it, he said, “You got a minute to talk?”
She nodded and told him she’d come out and find him.
Another woman came onstage and Eddie grabbed Houston and they sat at a small table in the back of the bar.
“Just remember what she says,” Eddie said. “She’s enough trouble that I don’t want to have a conversation with her when I’m alone.”
Houston had his eyes on the woman dancing. “You’ll buy another round, won’t you?”
“I’ll buy you a six-pack on the way home. We’re gonna get out of here the second she and I quit talking.”
Houston rubbed his hands together and smiled. “But I’ll need another beer if I’m gonna just sit here and listen.”
Eddie took five dollars from his wallet and gave it to him. Houston got another beer and then Connie came out in an Asian robe and black high-heeled shoes.
“What’s going on?” she asked and sat at the table.
Eddie told her about the batteries, about Russell’s chest and the beatings that Curtis had been giving him.
“I can’t control him,” she said hopelessly. “How do you think I feel? No one ever asks how I feel living with him. His father won’t do a goddamn thing and hasn’t paid child support since he was three.”
Eddie lit a cigarette. “I know you got a tough deal. I just want to let you know that if he steals any more of my stuff, I’m gonna call the cops on him.”
“You shouldn’t be leaving your stuff out there,” she said and looked out to the stage.
“What about Russell?” he asked.
“What about him?”
“He’s getting the shit beat out of him by his brother.”
“Who didn’t get the shit beat out of them as a kid? And why you spend so much time with him anyway? What’s in it for you?”
Eddie finished his beer and stood. “I’ll tell you this: If Curtis steals anything more from me I’ll call the cops and I’ll press charges. And you let him know if he beats up Russell anymore, I’ll go to Child Services and I’ll fuck up both your lives.”