If Only We'd Known

The waitress walked up at that point with Malcolm's beers, sweetly saying. "Here you go, honey." Turning to Claire, the bar maid asked, "What can I get for you?" Her voice was definitely flatter as she spoke to Claire.

Claire turned a hateful eye toward the unsuspecting waitress, "Nothing, you bitc-"

Malcolm quickly interrupted his sister-in-law before she got them both thrown out, by saying, "She can have one of my beers. Just bring me another, please." With that, he gave the waitress a twenty, telling her to keep the change.

With a raised eyebrow, the waitress took the money, smiled at Malcolm, stating she would return soon with his other beer.

"I don't want your-" said Claire, but Malcolm spoke up.

"Sit down, Claire. Mind your manners before you get us thrown out. And, drink the goddamn beer." ordered Malcolm, reaching for his own beer.

Following his own command, Malcolm took a healthy swallow before looking at Claire. "Well? Are you just going to stand there? If you look around, you'll see everyone is looking this way. I guess they're waiting for another one of your outbursts."

Claire had noticed the room's silence and slightly embarrassed at the unwanted attention, she sat, but didn't reach for the bottle of beer.

Seeing his expectant look, Claire curtly said, "I'm not going to drink with you."

Shrugging, Malcolm said, "Suit yourself."

After a minute of uneasy silence, calming down, or more accurately, resigned to his fate, Malcolm asked, "Okay, so, speak. What did you want to say earlier?"

Claire scowled at him, saying incredulously, "Now you want to talk?"

"Talk, or don't talk, Claire. I don't care one way or another." Malcolm said lightly, while taking another drink of beer. When Claire still hadn't responded, Malcolm explained, "I didn't know what happened to you. The only thing Jesse said about it was that you'd decided to go off on your own, eventually to live with some aunt. I believed her. So either you're lying, or Jesse and your folks have lied all these years. Which is it?"

"Go fuck yourself!" hissed Claire between tightly clenched teeth.

"My, my, what a dirty mouth you have. Is that supposed to have some effect on me?" asked Malcolm idly. "This is your last chance to talk, Claire. As soon as I finish this beer, I'm gone." So saying, he tipped the bottle back and drank until only a small portion remained.

The silence continued until Malcolm picked up the bottle and finished off its contents. Setting the bottle down gently, he scooted his chair back and made to stand.

"Wait!" Claire had barely spoken loud enough to be heard by Malcolm. "I think you need to know something."

He sat back down, "Okay. I'm all ears."

Claire peered around the room, then grabbed her beer and sipped at it. "I don't know how to sugar coat it, so I'll just say it. Jesse is cheating on you."

Malcolm sat there, eyes blinking rapidly, as his sister-in-law's words rattled around in his head. "Okay."

Claire's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that all you have to say? Okay?"

"What else should have I said?"

"I don't know, but something more than, okay! Don't you care?"

The waitress whizzed by at that time, deposited the beer in front of him, and left to head back to the bar. It was evident by her silence and quick departure that she didn't want to be included in whatever argument the two were having.

Grabbing the bottle, Malcolm took a loud gulp. "Do I care? I guess so. One thing, I have only your word that she's cheating. Got any proof?"

Claire looked at Malcolm a moment before replying, "No, I don't." Claire still had the beer in hand, and without breaking eye contact with her brother-in-law she took another sip. "Only her word for it."

"What? You mean Jesse told you she's cheating? Just like that?"

Nodding, Claire said, "She did."

Sitting back in his chair, Malcolm slowly shook his head as if trying to clear it of what he'd just heard. "When did you talk with Jesse? When did she tell you she was cheating?"

Sipping at the beer, Claire frowned a bit in thought before answering. "A couple of weeks ago. I don't remember the exact day. It might have been Monday or Tuesday. We had lunch and I could tell something was up with her. After all she is my sister. So I pushed her until she caved. Before you ask for details, she didn't tell me much. Just that she was having an affair."

Grunting like he'd been punched, Malcolm stared bleakly at Claire.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? I told you because I thought you should know. She's my sister, but I'm not taking the fall again."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Malcolm in a flat voice.

"What do I mean by what?" asked Claire with a tone of impatience.

"That you're not taking the fall... again? Has she cheated on me before?"

Claire took a swig of the beer before looking at Malcolm. Shrugging, she replied, "Don't you know? Why do you think I was forced to leave? It wasn't just your complaints. It was also Jessica who urged my folks to send me away. She was afraid I'd spill the beans." Pausing to take another drink. "I thought you had figured it out by now."

Shaking his head, Malcolm asked, "What are you going on about now? What was I supposed to figure out?"

Wide eyed, Claire could only stare for a few seconds. "Oh, my, God! You really don't get it. You didn't know!"

"You're not making any sense. Just answer me, did Jess cheat on me before now?"

Suddenly, Claire's eyes softened and in a low voice said, "I'm sorry, Malcolm. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." Grabbing her purse, she stood. "I better go."

Malcolm looked at Claire's retreating figure as she threaded her way through the bar's crowd.

Standing, Malcolm followed after his sister-in-law just as she made her way out the door.

"Claire!" shouted Malcolm as he rushed to catch up with the curvaceous buxom brunette that was his sister-in-law. "Hold up!"

She ignored Malcolm's demand, pressing her car fob, as she reached her car. She was trying to get away. She didn't know what she was doing at the bar. She shouldn't have tried to talk with Malcolm. She'd truly thought Malcolm had been conscious of the tomfoolery that his wife had committed all these years.

Before she could enter the car a hand like a steel vise closed on her arm.

"Wait a minute, Claire. You can't feed me some line about Jesse and just walk away. You never answered my question. What's going on?" harshly demanded Malcolm.

"Let go of me. I've got to go." pleaded Claire.

"Not until you tell me what's going on. If Jess has cheated on me before, I need to know. I have a right to know!"

Claire looked at Malcolm hesitantly before making her decision. With a vengeance of years of pent up emotion, she exploded.

"Fine! You want both barrels? I'll give it to you straight. Yes, she has! She cheated on you that day at the family gathering, and continued to cheat on you until Ian moved away. Whose idea do you think it was to sneak away? I went along with it because she promised me I could have Ian's friend. When you caught us, that's exactly what I was doing!"

Taken aback by the brutality of his sister-in-law's words, Malcolm could only gape at her in rank astonishment.

Hardly having time to catch her breath, Claire continued, unable to stop. Baring the putrid truth of which she'd held to herself for too long.

"You want more? There's a good chance that your children aren't yours! Does that sate your curiosity? Does that fill that righteous need of yours?"

"You're lying! You're just jealous of your sister!" retaliated Malcolm loudly, unable to believe what Claire claimed. Yet, he felt a hurt, deep inside him, as Malcolm's suspicions gained purchase, slowly fanned from a bare ember to a flickering flame. He didn't want to believe. He couldn't believe what Claire had said. To do so was to acknowledge something he couldn't face. That he didn't want to face.

Seeing the abrupt change in his eyes, despite his words, Claire felt a sudden sorrow for the man she didn't know well, but had for years envisioned and relished this very encounter. The satisfaction she would have otherwise felt at his pain, was greatly tempered by the fact that he was as much a victim of her sister's whims, as she was.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. I didn't mean- I have to go." With a surge of hysterical strength she wrenched herself free of his grasp, and jumped into her car. As she drove away, she saw him standing, looking after her, a slack look on his face. No, not so much slack, as it was the lost look, of a little boy, who'd been abandoned in a strange place to strange people.

Barely audible, Claire whispered, "I'm sorry." She wasn't sure if the apology was for herself, or to Malcolm, or for both of them.

~N~

Malcolm became aware of his surroundings, or rather, he knew where he was, how he'd gotten where he was, but until that moment, he hadn't cared. Not that he cared all that much even now, but his brain made an effort to at least create some concern.

It was the seedier side of town. It was filled with empty dilapidated homes, boarded up buildings, cracked sidewalks, and detritus strewn roads. Where small groups of people huddled here and there along the darkened stretches of once busy streets. There were a few stouter hearted individuals that soloed from place to place, and no doubt those moving about were suitably armed. Overall, the atmosphere was dingy squalor, intimately marked by a foreboding desolation, and subliminally darker than that warranted by nightfall.

Without a thought to his well being, Malcolm slowed his truck and parked along a crumbling curb. Engine running, Malcolm rested his head on the steering wheel, trying to reign in his restless whirling thoughts and soothe his wounded heart.

Was Claire telling the truth? Had Jess been cheating all those years? Were Trisha and Jackson someone else's children?

Each torrid question and more, tumbled endlessly, falling into the sullen depths of his tortured soul only to rise and fill his bewildered mind again and again. Nothing came forth to answer his call for truth. There came slight remembrances, that individually had no bearing, but when clumped together, increasingly raised his suspicions to greater levels of surety.

Did his so-called friends know anything? If they did, would they admit to it? Would they answer his questions, or side step it, looking shamefaced and guilty?

Who could he turn to? Over the years, Malcolm had depended on his friends, as they had depended on him, but could they now be trusted? No, he couldn't trust his friends, which came as a unexpected revelation to Malcolm. One that left him more at a loss, with a deeper sadness and a greater bitterness than ever he'd felt.

His mind kept returning to his business partner, Eric.

Could he talk to Eric about this? And more so, would Eric know anything? Normally, Malcolm wouldn't bring any personal issues into the business, and because of the association, that included Eric.

Still, Malcolm had no choice. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to know if his friends had known all along.

Before he could put the transmission into Drive, a loud brittle rap sounded in his left ear. Turning to see what had tapped the door's window glass, he saw three young black men. They wore dark clothing but with the sort of style that was popular these days. Their oddly misshapen caps were skewed and turned to the side. They all wore similar colors, which alerted Malcolm that this men might be part of a gang.

He noticed they all clutched, seemingly too large, automatic pistols, hanging loosely by their sides. Perfect! They'd sneaked up on him as he sat lost in his thoughts.

Malcolm should have felt fear, he knew his life was in danger, and forfeit at the whim of these strangers. Yet, he felt strangely exhilarated. The electric tingle of adrenaline rushing into his veins, quickly spread throughout his body. His racing mind slowed the unfolding tableau to a slow motion reality.

He felt his right arm move and his hand reach for and grasp his own automatic pistol. He drew it and lifted it in one smooth rapid motion. Even as he was reaching for his weapon, his other hand touched the driver's door window switch, which automatically lowered the window rather quickly.

He really wasn't sure what he was going to do, as his body and mind were acting of their own accord. As the whine of the window motor died away, his pistol came up and within sight of all three individuals.

"Hello, fellas. I've had a really really bad night. I need to blow off steam. A lot of steam. Y'all will do the trick. What's it gonna be?"

Their surprise was utter and complete. They'd expected some scared helpless cracker, instead they got a armed and pissed off red neck.

"Muthafucka! I gonna cap ya honky ass!" exclaimed the closest young man, with, what seemed to Malcolm, false bravado, while beginning to raise his pistol.

"Please! Let's do it!" replied Malcolm with a eerie but calm pleasantness.

"Yo, Dreydell. He's serious, dude. I seen that look in some brothers eyes. He's crazy! Lets get the fuck outta here!"

"Fuck you, nigga! Dreydell don't run from no mofo, especially some old cracker!" screamed Dreydell.

The deafening sound of a automatic pistol firing punctuated Dreydell's shout.

The pistol, the young black man called Dreydell, had held, went flying past the other two men, to land skidding on the street. Dreydell's arm was moved jerkily by the impact of the heavy bullet. A dark spray of fine droplets sprinkled the other two men, staining their faces and clothing with a warm liquid very familiar to them.

"Aw, fuck! Ya hand, dude!" shouted one of Dreydell's associates, pointing to what he meant. "I told ya he's mofo crazy!"

Dreydells' arm hurt from being wrenched so suddenly and so violently. But, he raised it anyway. What he saw made him scream with something far more than physical pain. He had one finger left. All the others had been blown off, along with his thumb. Even his hand -what was left of it- didn't look right, but in his current state, Dreydell, couldn't place what else was wrong with it.

"Dreydell, is it? I'm not one to give second chances, so if you value any part of your life, then do as your friend says and leave. The next shot will be a kill shot."

"MUTHAFUCKA! I'm gonna kill ya cracker ass! I'll kill ya family! Make ya wife and daughters my bitches before I fuck em up!"

The look in Malcolm's eyes altered abruptly, they went cold as liquid helium, his face became suffused with rage. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Come on, nigga! He's gonna kill ya! Let's go!"

The fright evident in his friend's voice had Dreydell looking up. The old white dude had changed and Dreydell knew that he was no longer the calm and retarded white asshole. All Dreydell saw was venomous hate and barely pent fury etched into the cracker's face, and the horrifyingly large pistol bore that pointed unwaveringly at his head.

Without complaint Dreydell allowed his friends to pull him back, away from the old white man. He continued to look back, fully expecting the pistol to flare up at any moment. Dreydell, not fully aware of what his body was doing, felt a gushing stream of warm wetness soak his pants. At first, Dreydell thought he'd been shot again, and he was bleeding out, but he quickly realized that his bladder had given way to the terror that gripped it.

As his two friends dragged Dreydell across the street and into the shadows, he thought of shouting to the old man, a threat, a deadly promise, but one look quenched that desire. The white man's face was now a burning intensity of hatred, and the pistol had not moved, shook or wavered. It was still steadily pointed at Dreydell.

Dreydell didn't know who the old dude was, but he was going to find out, and then, pay him a visit.

Almost as if his friend could read his thoughts, he exclaimed, "Drey! Leave that old cracker alone! He's gonna put you in the ground if you don't. I saw his look. He ain't playing. Whatever pissed him off, we came at the wrong time and he's not going to forget us." Pleaded his friend. "That cracker ain't right."

~N~

When he heard the chimes of the door bell, and a few seconds later a loud incessant banging on his front door, Eric jumped out of bed, grabbed his 9mm automatic pistol and warily approached the door. Peering through the peep hole, he saw his business partner and friend standing there, then his caution turned to annoyance. But, simultaneously, he knew Malcolm wouldn't be trying to knock down his door unless it was something very important.

"Mal? What are you doing here at this hour? Everything okay? Something happen to Jessica?", asked a now decidedly worried Eric.

"Did something happen to Jessica? You could say that. Do you mind if I come in?"

"Sorry. Sure! Enter."

"What's going on, Mal?"

"Do you have something to drink? A beer would be fine." asked Malcolm hopefully, ignoring Eric's questioning.

Critically eyeing Mal for a moment and deciding his friend was not drunk, Eric nodded. "I think so. Come on, lets go to the kitchen. Maybe you prefer coffee?"

Remembering how Eric made his coffee, Malcolm quickly declined the offer, "Thanks, but no. The beer will be fine."

"Suite yourself."

After settling in at the kitchen table, with beer in hand, Malcolm looked around the kitchen. "I've never really noticed before, but you have a nice looking kitchen."

"Thanks. Now, cut the bullshit. What's going on? Are you and Jessica having problems? Did she throw you out?"

Taking a pull of the beer -a rather refined beer, one that Malcolm had never tried before, it tasted better than he expected- he explained what Claire had told him. Before Eric could express his dismay, Malcolm added something else.

"One more thing, I shot some guy tonight."

"YOU DID WHAT?" shouted Eric in complete surprise. "You shot someone? Why? Is he the guy that-"

"No. It ain't him that Jess is messing around with. At least, I don't think he is."

At Eric's strong urging, Malcolm related what had happened.

"Damn! Are you sure he ain't dead?" asked Eric with a curiously eager tone, but also with a worried look on his face.

"He wasn't the last time I saw him. He'll be forking his food with the other hand, but he won't die. Unless, the fool lets his hand get infected."

"Damn, Mal. What if the guy goes to the police? I'm sure they got the tag number off that big truck of yours."

Taking the last sip of the fine brew, Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think he'll go to the cops. He doesn't seem like the type to want the police involved."

Eric stood up and walked to the frig to get another two bottles. "Well, that might be, but what if he comes looking for you?"

"Eric, as long as you've known me, have you ever known me to be scared of anything like that?"

"No, but that's exactly my point. What if he comes after you-" began Eric before Malcolm interjected, "Then I'll kill the bastard!"

"-and you end up killing him?", finished Eric on the heels of Malcolm's threat. "You could be facing years of prison time."

"Yeah. Maybe so." agreed Malcolm in a offhanded tone. Drawing a breath he said contemplatively, "You know what? I think I'll pass on that second beer. I'm heading home and to bed. Thanks for listening. You're a good bud."

As Malcolm stood up, Eric had a thought, "Hey man, why don't you crash out here. It's a long drive to your house and man, you look done in. What do you say?"

Malcolm looked at his friend. Yes, he was tired, and he probably had a bit to much to drink to be under the legal limit. The offer was tempting, but no, he would feel better if he was in his own home.

"Thanks for the offer, Eric. I appreciate it. But, I need to get home. I'll see you tomorrow."