The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers. Thomas Mullen

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СКАЧАТЬ finally obeyed. Jason reached into the Pontiac and pulled the gauze and dressing out of the glove compartment, then stepped aside so his brother could sit. No cars passed.

      Whit unbuttoned his shirt as Jason unwound some gauze. He dared to glance at his brother’s chest; fortunately, he could barely see the bullet hole in the dark, could pretend it was just a large bruise. He placed the gauze against it. “Hold this here,” he said, and after Whit’s fingers replaced his he taped down its edges. “All right.”

      Then Jason unbuttoned his own shirt, and this time Whit taped the makeshift bandages onto his brother’s chest. The wounds weren’t bleeding and didn’t hurt at all, so the bandages served no purpose other than to remove these monstrous questions from view.

      “Good as new,” Jason said, patting his brother on the shoulder.

      Then he saw headlights, far away but approaching.

      “C’mon, we have to get going,” Jason said.

      They drove another half mile to the filling station, a tiny glimmer of financial life beside a shuttered general store and a collapsed barn.

      “Lean your head to the side like you’re sleeping,” Jason said. “I don’t want you talking to anyone right now.”

      Whit did as he was told, grumbling something his brother couldn’t hear. A moment later, a gangly teenager in overalls yawned as he walked toward the Pontiac.

      “Evenin’,” Jason said after shutting off the engine. “I’d like two dollars’ worth, please.”

      “All righty.” After the kid grabbed the spigot and fastened it to the Pontiac, he asked if they’d heard the news.

      “What news is that?”

      “They killed the Firefly Brothers, late last night.”

      “That right?”

      “S’all over the radio. Local boys did it, not the feds. Caught ‘em at some farmhouse in Points North. Shot ‘em up real good. Brothers took a cop with ‘em, though.”

      “How ‘bout that.” Jason looked down at the pavement. “Radio say if they killed the brothers’ girls, too?”

      The kid thought for a moment. “I don’t remember. That’d be a shame, though,” and he offered a gawky grin. “They’re real lookers.”

      “They certainly are.”

      “Can’t believe they killed the Firefly Brothers, though. Gonna cost me a two-dollar bet to my own brother—I said they’d never be caught.”

      “They’re always caught eventually. Sorry to hear about your two bucks.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      They were silent as the tap clicked every few seconds. The smell of gasoline seeped through Jason’s window.

      “Two dollars’ worth,” the kid said, placing the handle back on the latch.

      Jason handed the kid a five with his un-inked hand and pocketed the change. Then he looked the kid in the eye and extended his hand again. “And here’s your two bucks.”

      “Huh?”

      “For losing your bet. Pay this to your brother.”

      The kid looked at him strangely. “That’s kind of you, sir, but I’ll be all right.”

      “I don’t like hearing about young lads already in debt. Take it and pay your brother.”

      The kid seemed distracted by the way the bills hung in Jason’s perfectly still hand. Then he was looking at Jason again, his eyes spotlights. Jason’s lips curved into the barest smile.

      “Thank you, sir.”

      “You’re welcome.” Jason turned the ignition. “Night.”

      After they’d pulled onto the road, Whit looked up. “Did the kid look funny at all?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I don’t know, maybe everyone else out here is dead, too. Maybe this is the afterlife.”

      “That explains the hoop floating over his head.”

      “Go to hell.”

      “Maybe we’re there already. Besides, I thought you didn’t believe in an afterlife.”

      Whit scanned the horizon. “Well this is the kind of thing that shakes a man’s unfaith.”

      Jason pulled back onto the highway and the sky flashed, light filling its vast spaces before vanishing again.

      “We have to learn more about what happened,” Whit said.

      “We’ll read the papers tomorrow.”

      “I’m worried about Ronnie, and little Patrick. You don’t suppose…they might have been there, too, maybe in another room?”

      Jason let himself laugh. “I don’t think they have separate women-and-children morgues, Whit.”

      “This isn’t goddamn funny!”

      Jason waited a beat. “Don’t think about it, all right? As soon as we get home we’ll send a telegram to the girls and figure out what’s what.”

      The window was still open and he could smell the rain before the drops started hitting the windshield. The drumming grew louder and the wipers struggled to keep up. Jason left his window rolled down, letting the water soak the sleeve of his stolen shirt, the drops wetting his hair and catching in his eyelashes. The rain was filling his side of the cabin now, the sound almost too loud to be believed.

       II.

      The sun rose grudgingly, as if it would have preferred to stay in hiding. Jason intermittently checked its progress over the familiar, softly sloping landscape of southern Ohio before finally admitting he was awake.

      “Good morning,” Whit said when he noticed his brother rustling.

      Jason grunted in return. He sat up straighter. The feeling of his stolen shirt tugging slightly against the bandages on his chest told him it hadn’t been a dream.

      Though for the first few hours the brothers had felt charged with adrenaline and bewilderment, they had grown tired as their drive unfolded into the night. They chose to sleep in shifts, aiming to make it home as quickly as possible.

      “Home” referred to the Lincoln City house they had grown up in. They hadn’t lived there in years, but nothing had taken its place in terms of either permanence or significance—even though their other brother, who still lived in Lincoln City, made them feel less welcome every time they visited.

      They СКАЧАТЬ