BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 197 steps to the raised porch, on the left side of the house, as you faced it. <strong>My</strong> Dad was in the yard, fifteen feet away, by a tree close to the sidewalk. That Danny asshole, the one who threw that big hammer at me, was in the driveway on my right, next to the raised porch with railings and vertical slats. Curt had a gun aimed at my old man. A handgun. Son-of-a-bitch! This shit‟s getting serious as hell in a hurry! “Dad, go on home. I‟ve got it.” I started circling Curt as I spoke, moving in front of my old man, in case the guy took a shot before I was ready. Shit, if I started it, I should be the one to take any bullets they fired, right? Danny, who scurried across the length of the porch there in the grassless front yard, got behind Curt, then moved out by the sidewalk. “Dad, get the hell out of here!” I kept circling. Moving closer to the porch at every step. Curt now had the gun aimed at me, so I figured my old man was safe, as long as he got his ass out of there, anyway. However, he‟d been paralyzed with fear since the moment that handgun appeared. He hadn‟t moved an inch. Fuckin‟ wonderful! Now I‟ve got a hostage situation to worry about, and the freakin‟ hostage won‟t even run when I put my ass on the line! Shit! <strong>At</strong> a loss for anything else to do, I followed my street training, and what I‟d learned as a loyal J. W. Sexton student. I pulled out my straight razor. “I‟m gonna cut you bad, asshole, and watch you bleed to death right here.” Evidently, Curt Brown believed me, because he fired a shot. The gun looked like a .22, and I saw the flash when it fired, but didn‟t feel anything. Even drunk as a skunk, I thought I oughta feel something if I‟d been shot, but there was nothing. I was wearing blue jeans and a Madras shirt, something very popular back then, Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 198 the “bleeding Madras”. The colors would change after each washing, which is where they got the name. It was a very blousy shirt, the sides coming out a few inches from my body if not properly tucked in. Because I‟ve always been loath to stop and tuck my shirt in during a street fight, mine was plenty blousy at that moment. Curt‟s bullet went through the shirt, missing my body by an inch or so. I decided, since I‟d felt no wound, it was merely a starter‟s pistol. It made me laugh. “That‟s a fake gun, you motherfucker, but I‟m gonna tell the cops I thought it was real, after I kill you. Ready to die, motherfucker?” I started his way, still fully intent on saving my old man, and regaining my honor, by cutting him the proper four ways: long, deep, wide, and repeatedly. For reasons I couldn‟t fathom, this dumb ass started shooting at me with that goddamned blank gun. Okay, asshole, if you wanna make a lot of noise on your way out, it‟s no skin off my ass. You‟re gonna die, either way. I assumed that Danny asshole had moved closer to my Dad, and it hurt like hell when he kicked me in the left thigh, right about in the middle. “You‟re next, motherfucker, so don‟t go away!” I wanted to get the gimpy armed bastard with the “gun” first, since that was to be my alibi. No sense going down for manslaughter when I could prove I acted in self- defense. I even figured I‟d say I grabbed the razor when I went in the house to get that David thing to help me, so I was gonna look pretty damned slick when the cops got here and asked me about the dead guy. A couple steps later that Danny asshole kicked my left ankle, and that one really hurt! “I‟m gonna punish your ass, motherfucker, in just a few seconds!” Until he started kicking me, all I think I‟d planned to do to that shithead was to beat him senseless. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Post Office Box 567 San L
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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by B
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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