Big Jack Is Dead Read Free Page A

music on the other side was louder now, reverberating through the house. Jack pushed against the door with both hands, palms splayed against the thin wood as he kicked with the rubber toe of his sneaker.
    The door swung open, revealing his mother and Daryl in the bed a few feet away. Jack's mother was on her back and Daryl was on top of her. They were both under the covers, but Ramona's knees stuck out, framing his body. Daryl grunted and snorted out explosive breaths as his hips rose and fell, his face contorted with effort. As the doorknob hit the wall, Daryl and Ramona jolted, snapping their faces toward Jack. Daryl continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, causing the bed to shake and creak.
    “Daddy's here,” Jack whined, holding the doorframe.
    Daryl's eyes popped wide with recognition. He flew up out of bed, sending the tattered quilt flying. His penis swung wildly, swiveling from his mass of pubic hair. In the same instant, Jack saw the pallid flesh of his mother's thighs, the ruddiness between her legs and the damp patch of hair beneath her bellybutton. Her breasts undulated like jellyfish hanging from her chest, soft and white.
    In seconds, Daryl struggled into his jeans and scooped up the remainder of his clothing. Still naked, Ramona helped him out the sliding glass door leading into the back yard. Jack watched Daryl as he fled, hopping and hobbling around the wreckage of a collapsed shed. He disappeared behind an unkempt growth of aloe vera plants just as Jack's father slammed the truck door out front.
    As soon as the sliding glass door was closed, Ramona slipped into her blouse and cutoffs with the agility of an escape artist. Still standing in the doorway, Jack's eyes were fixed on the puff of her hair as it vanished into her cutoffs.
    Working the zipper with spidery fingers, Ramona hissed at him, “Go sit in the living room. Tell your daddy we was playin'.”
    He darted into the other room just as Big Jack tried the front door, cursing and fumbling with his keys. When the door opened, Big Jack struggled inside carrying his plastic lunch box in one hand, holding his keys and a cigarette in the other. The screen door snapped shut at his back. His first words were directed at Jack, standing in front of the coffee table. “Did you lock that fucking door?”
    Jack shook his head. “No, sir.”
    Big Jack stood without moving in the doorway. He roared out his next question. “Ramona, why in the hell have you got this door locked?” His eyes were still pinned to Jack's.
    Ramona stomped into the room, holding a cigarette in one hand and yelling back. “You want me to get raped by some Mexican or something while you ain't here?”
    Big Jack smoldered at her across the room. He deliberated and reached a verdict. “No.” At the coffee table, he dropped his lunch box and truck keys on top of Jack's drawings. He dumped a handful of change onto the table, one of the rituals he performed upon coming home. The coins rained down in a scattered pile that Jack knew never to touch.
    Big Jack straightened up. “What the fuck is that smell?”
    Jack stood paralyzed. Ramona tucked some of her tangled hair behind one ear, confused, but wary.
    Big Jack took six steps in his tiny, nearly shredded work boots and was lost from sight around the kitchen doorway. “Boy, goddammit! What did I tell you about this toast?”
    The words echoed through the house and Jack shrank into himself, cold terror rising in his chest.
     
    After eating an early dinner and watching an hour of television, Big Jack stubbed out his cigarette, stood up and headed for the bedroom. A plate and an ashtray sat side by side next to his recliner. The plate was splattered with drying spaghetti sauce and the ashtray was so full that it formed a miniature mountain made of ash and butts.
    As he passed Ramona, Big Jack said, “Come on. Let's take a little nap.”
    Jack sat on the living room floor running his Matchbox cars along the grooves in the oval