volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

Meanwhile, far across the kitchen, almost on the other side of
the world, Rick glares. It is a glare born from hatred, sired by
meanness, and nourished on beer.
One of the Chinese takeout containers sits close to the
table’s edge. Rick slides a white-socked foot until it touches the
container. The container that contains the remainder of sweet
and sour chicken.
It requires 33 joints, 107 ligaments, 19 muscles and an untold
number of tendons to move the human foot. Rick uses all of
these and more to push the Chinese takeout container off the
table’s edge.
plop
“Uh-oh. Widdle brother made a big mess.”
Without turning, Roy says,
“I’ll clean it up.”
Rick drops the front two legs of his chair onto the white floor
with a bang.
bang
He uncurls his body and stands.
If one can be said to speak with a sneer, then this is what he
sneers:
“Fuckin’ A you will.”
He walks to where big brother rinses a zucchini.
“Who the fuck you think y’ar, waltzin’ in like that? An’ don’t
hand me any of that bein’ brothers crap and that makes us family
shit. Do I see your name on the lease? Do I? No, your name’s
not on the lease. And you wanna know why, McFly? It’s not
on the lease because you don’t fucking live here. And since you don’t
fucking live here, you don’t fucking walk in on people—unnerstand?”
Rick circles his brother like a bee sizing up a flower.
Roy doesn’t take the bait; instead, he unwraps the pork.
Rick bares stained, skyline teeth.
“Hear you got a new crib somewhere, bro. Bet you saved up
all your dough this summer, dint you? Just bet. Don’t drink,
don’t smoke. Fuckin’ virgin. Reg’lar saint. So—where you
keep your cash, saint Roy? Not in a bank. Not you. Bet your
mattress is stuffed with hundred dollar bills.”
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY