into the irrigation ditch their father had dug decades ago to feed the garden, and that split second while Davy fought for balance left him wide open for a kick to the groin.
Sean pulled it, not wanting to rupture his brother’s balls.
Davy hooked his legs and jerked him to the ground. “What the fuck was that?” Davy snarled. “You arrogant little shit! You choke on another one of your kicks, and I’ll cave in your skull.”
“And maim the golden gonads?” Sean dug an elbow into Davy’s ribs. “Castrate the great Inseminator? I couldn’t do that to Margot.”
Davy snarled like a wild animal, and they were at it again, grappling and flailing. Davy wrenched him into a hammerlock, gaining ascendancy by dint of sheer muscle mass. Sean had plenty of muscle, but Davy had him beat by twenty pounds. Goddamn buffalo.
Sean struggled for breath, face shoved into the dusty grass. “I mean, the woman was born to breed.” He gasped as Davy yanked his arms higher. “Look up the word fertile in the dictionary, and you’ll find her picture. Just look at her, for Christ’s sake. She’s a walking advertisement for the joys of procreation. Those pillowy tits, those wide hips. Yum. Make way for the next generation.”
Yank. Oh, fuck, that hurt. “I told you to shut up,” Davy said.
“Can’t,” Sean said, spitting out grass and dirt. “It’s not in my nature. Hey, what if she’s pregnant with twins? Doesn’t it run in the family?”
Yank. Agony. He tried not to shriek.
“Bite your tongue, jerkwad,” Davy growled. “Monozygotic twins are a random freak of nature. No hereditary component whatsoever.”
“Huh,” Sean grunted, coughing. “So you can have the other kind of twins. That would keep you too busy to pitch stupid-ass fits like this.”
Davy’s body started to vibrate, racked by silent, helpless shudders. Sean held his breath, and slowly relaxed. The worst was over.
Davy’s grip slackened. Sean wrenched his arms free, and with a heave and a grunt, shoved Davy’s weight off of himself.
Davy rolled over onto his back, covering his face with his hand. Sean discreetly turned his back and waited. God forbid that he inhibit his super-macho idiot brother from working out his bad ju-ju.
When Davy finally sat up, he still wouldn’t look Sean in the face. He just sat there, breathing hard, big shoulders slumped. “Gotta hand it to him,” he muttered. “Can you believe the sheer balls of the guy?”
Sean was baffled. “What guy? Who are you talking about?”
“Dad.” Davy’s voice was barely audible. “Delivering all of Mom’s babies, up here, in the middle of nowhere. All alone. Shitty roads. No phone. Twins, too.” He shuddered. “Just imagine. Sweet holy Jesus.”
Sean made a noncommittal sound as he brushed dirt and grass off his filthy shirt. “Given the choice, I’d rather not imagine it at all.”
Davy mopped sweat off his forehead and stared at the dark mass of mountains, his face stark. “I’d rather have every bone in my body broken one by one than take on that kind of responsibility.”
Sean got up, stretching and rolling his neck around, searching for the sore spots to rub. “Remember two things. One, Dad was nuts. He thought he was protecting Mom from the evil establishment. Two, he was an arrogant prick. He thought he could handle anything.”
“He was wrong,” Davy said bleakly.
“Yeah, he was. But you aren’t nuts. You aren’t an arrogant prick, either. At least, not all the time. And furthermore, Margot can look out for herself. You think the whole world is on your shoulders. It’s not. OK?”
Davy nodded, struggling up onto his feet. “Yeah,” he muttered.
Sean reached over and touched Davy’s shoulder. His brother was hot as a coal, soaked with sweat, and still shaking, but that deadly lethal, thrumming electric charge was gone. “So?” Sean demanded.
Davy shot him a wary glance. “So what?”
“So can you breathe now?”
Davy’s head jerked, in a curt nod.
“Good.” Sean gave his brother a hard shove that made him stumble. “Then go home and fuck your wife. Dickless pussy.”
Davy’s leg swept Sean’s feet out from under him, dumping him on his ass. “We’ll see how well you deal when your turn comes.”
He turned back before climbing into his truck, and gave Sean a steely, squint-eyed look. “If you get in trouble tonight, I’m going to rip off one of your arms and beat the shit out of you with it,” he warned.
Sean grinned. “I love you too, man,” he replied. “Drive carefully.”
He watched his brother’s taillights winding down the switch-backs that led up to the house. We’ll see how well you deal when your turn comes. The thought gave him a tug, around the center of his chest.
Right. Like he was ever going to found a dynasty. With who? A dance club fuckbunny? Someone like Stacey or Kendra?
Besides, Davy and Con were always on his case about his short attention span. The way they talked, he’d be liable to forget his own kid in a basket on the top of the car and drive off onto the express-way. He ought to do his hypothetical kids a favor. Give fatherhood a wide miss.
His two brothers had the preservation of the species well under control. He should probably just go to the doctor and snippity snip himself right out of the gene pool. Make it a non-issue, forever.
For some reason, the idea depressed the living shit out of him.
Chapter 6
From: witchywoman Bware: hi is anybody out there Miles checked the message he’d sent out, in the dialog box in the chat room. No bites yet. He turned to his other computers. He was futzing around in several chat rooms, using different characters and e-mail idents. Nobody interesting had come by, but it was early yet.
He still marveled that he could dick around in cyberspace and actually get paid for it. He was racking up the billable hours as a cyber-consultant in Con’s Geek Eater investigation, pimping his various fantasy personas in chat rooms where nerds and geeks hung out.
Mina, aka witchywoman Bware, was his most succesful lure so far. She got lots of attention. He was hoping for a hit from Mindmeld tonight. He’d been the only one who’d wheedled Mina into a private u2u room and asked about her childhood, under the guise of wanting to know her better. Miles had spoon fed him Mina’s hard luck story in a self-deprecating tone that he was proud of; junkie mom, deadbeat dad, raised by grandma, but Gran was dead, sniff sniff…going to college because of Gran’s inheritance…etc, etc. He might actually turn out to be good at this social engineering stuff. And Mindmeld, who had confessed that his name was Jared, seemed to have a hidden agenda.
Miles could smell it. Like a fart in a car.
He turned away from the monitors, with their soothing blue glow. It was oddly depressing, being
