FALSE FRONT Read Free

neighbor as he walks up the driveway. The neighbor drops
the hose, moving in the man’s direction.
    “Hey,
I’m talking to you.”
    He
stops.
    “Vivacity
police should have shut that shit hole down a long time ago. Fucking Marsh is
full of meth heads.”
    He
ignores Tony, who wears a white shirt much too tight for his soft upper body
and popping nipples.
    “Where
do you think you’re going, pal?”
    He
holds his palm out, signaling for Tony to stop coming toward him.
    “Get
away from my neighbor’s house this minute.”
    “Mind
your own business. Trust me,” he says, trying to drop his voice a level deeper.
    “This
is my business. Neighbors stick together, pal. This here is a good block. Get
lost now, or I’ll call the cops.”
    He
ignores Tony and walks toward the front door.
    “I
got a gun, asshole.”
    He
stops at the charcoal floral-carved door.
    “That’s
right. I got no problem shooting one of you Marsh addicts.”
    He
opens the door, steps in, and slams it behind him.
    “You
son of a bitch,” says the neighbor, digging into his periwinkle
upper-thigh-high shorts, yanking out his cell phone and walking up the steps of
his front porch.
    When
he steps back outside he’s yelling at someone about his neighbor’s house being
robbed. He tells her he’s carrying a .12 gauge and he plans on using it.
    Tony
ends the call and starts whispering to himself as he jogs towards his neighbor’s
house, saying, “What? You want Tony to stand here and watch his neighbor’s
house get robbed? Not how Tony rolls. Tony won’t sit here and let it go down
like that. Tony is neighborhood watch.” He spits on the ground. “What kind of
shit does this guy think he’s pulling on Tony’s watch? I’ll show this son of a
bitch who’s boss. Good for nothing Vivacity police.” He racks the .12 gauge. “Go
time, Tony. You’re a fucking brave bear.”
                Tony hunches over, like you would see television cops do when
they’re ready to bust into a house, and darts towards the door. He stops and
presses his ear against the wood. Stepping back from it and then launching
himself forward, he brings his leg up and slams the sole of his white shoe into
the center of the door. He flops back like a sloppy puffer fish out of water,
flailing around on the ground until he gathers himself back to his feet. Frowning
at the still shut door, he reaches out and shakes the handle and twists it. The
door opens, and Tony whispers, “Shit. Come on, Tony.” He takes a few deep calming
breaths before he steps inside.
    “I’ll
shoot,” Tony says, as he roams up the stairs of the split-level home, peeking
up and around every opening. He stops at the top of the dark wooden stairs to
the living room and spots the lawless man sitting next to someone else. He
reverses back down, ducking, twisting, turning, and trying to hide behind the
iron railing. Peeking the barrel of the shotgun through every opening between
bars at the man, he walks back up the last few steps.
    “What
are you doing?” the man says from the chair.
    “Nowhere
to go. All this ends now. I got no issue pumping you full of buck shot,” Tony
says, his voice full of gulp.
    He
chuckles and says, “I don’t think you will.”
    Tony
walks into the living room, glancing behind him down a dark, empty hallway. A
few doors are open on either side. He turns his attention back to the man.
    The
mask clings tightly around the man’s face, cutting into his sharp cheekbones.
His face is ridged, like one seen on a NYC runway show. He sits in a wooden
chair with a person in matching clothes in a matching chair next to him, stiff
and leaning over. The room is filled with soggy ceiling-high stacks of books.
Empty bottles of Wild Turkey are strewed and tipped all over the wooden floor.
One of them still dripping liquor from its open rim. The man lifts a thick
cigar and bottle of Johnny Walker Blue off the ledge of the fireplace behind
him.
    “You’re
fucking with my tale,