Chapter 61 Part 61
Asher
He was in two minds about what to do next. He knew Jeff Crowley. He was in his mid-forties, had a penchant for whiskey straight up, and his two sons were unruly, rarely listening to anyone.
Asher drove down the winding road toward the dilapidated farmhouse two miles east of Bear Claw’s house. A thick layer of snow lay on the roof of the old truck, and Asher sighed.
He knocked on the door and waited. He knocked again before testing the outer screen door. It was unlocked. Asher opened it, and tried the door. It was unlocked, as well.
The house smelled musty as he stood in the small entryway. He could hear the sounds of a television coming from the living room. To his left was an old parlor, but now, it held an unmade bed and four boxes, with clothes lying on the floor. Asher moved toward the living room.
He walked past the kitchen and saw Jeff Crowley sitting at the table, his arms folded, his head resting on them as he slept at the table. Asher could smell the stench of whiskey emanating from him.
In the living room, both boys were half-lying on the two couches. The television was flashing between a bloody murder scene and nude women dancing. Asher knocked on the doorframe.
Oscar looked up first, and his eyes widened when he saw Asher. “Joel.”
“Can I help you?” Joel was probably around 5’7”, but he was stocky with reddish-brown hair, and startling blue eyes. Oscar was a bit taller, probably 5’8”, but also leaner with the same reddish brown hair, and lighter blue eyes.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Asher Fitzgerald, town golden boy, and war hero,” Joel said. His tone suggested he was bored, which grated on Asher’s nerves.
“What happened to your face?” Joel was sporting a bruise underneath his eye, probably two days old, and Oscar had a split lip.
“Our old man slipped, and his fist hit us in the face,” Joel said, his attitude clear in the set of his jaw. “He’s in the kitchen if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“What’s with all the noise? I told you boys to shut the hell up!” Jeff yelled from the kitchen.
Asher turned and stalked toward the kitchen. He grabbed Jeff by the front of his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. “You raise your hands to those boys?”
“Shoulda drowned them at birth,” Jeff slurred.
“Yeah, instead you drove our momma to kill herself,” Joel spat from behind Asher.
“You’re despicable,” Asher said, driving his fist into the man’s stomach.
He grunted and tried to bend forward, but Asher held him against the wall. “They’re trouble. They always make trouble. Shoulda died with their momma!”
Joel made a sound of disgust, and Asher let Jeff stumble over his own feet, as he let the man go. He turned to look at Joel, then briefly closed his eyes. “Pack your clothes or whatever you want to take.”
“Why?” Joel’s frown was prominent as he looked at Asher.
“I’m not leaving you here. You’re being abused.”
Joel laughed, and shook his head. “He ain’t abusing us. He’s a drunk. Sometimes he gets a lucky punch in.”
“I don’t care. This is no way to live.”
“Fine,” Joel said. The two boys disappeared down the hall.
Asher moved back to the living room. An open pack of cigarettes was on the coffee table, and two beers had been opened, and almost emptied. He had no idea how old the two boys were, but they were already drinking, smoking, and assaulting other people. It was a sure path to prison.
The two boys appeared a few minutes later, each carrying a heavy-duty black bag, presumably with their clothes inside. “This is everything.”
“Let’s go.”
They loaded their black bags into the truck, and Joel got into the front passenger seat next to Asher. Oscar had been quiet the entire time, and Asher glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
Neither of the two boys looked back as Asher drove away from that house. He wasn’t sure what to do with them, but he knew he couldn’t leave them with their father.
Asher parked the truck in front of his house. “This is it.”
Joel and Oscar grabbed their bags and slung them over their shoulders. They stared up at the house, and Asher cleared his throat to get their attention. They followed him into his house, stopping short.
“It’s so clean,” Oscar murmured, and Asher’s heart broke a little.
“For now, you’ll have to share a room. It’s this way,” Asher said. He led them to a door set in the living room wall, and opened it. It had two double beds with two dressers and a large closet. Another door led to a small bathroom.
“Beds,” Oscar whispered, and Joel glared at him.
“We don’t mind sharing a room,” Joel said, putting his black bag on the bed closest to him.
“You can unpack now, or I can show you around,” Asher said.
“We can unpack later,” Joel said.
Asher took them through to the kitchen as the boys looked around in awe. The house they had left hadn’t held much furniture, leaving Asher to wonder what their rooms had looked like.
“There are three bedrooms upstairs, but I don’t want you boys waking Melody during the night if you get up for something,” Asher said.
“Who’s Melody?”
“She’s my daughter,” Asher said. “Are you two hungry?”
“We could eat,” Joel said.
“Help yourselves to whatever’s in the fridge. I need to make a phone call.”
Asher walked back to the living room, then proceeded out to the porch. The boys had rushed toward the fridge, making him wish he’d punched Jeff Crowley harder than he had.
He dialed a number, and pressed the phone against his ear. “Hey, Preston. I need some legal help before I’m arrested again.”
“Ah, hell, Asher. Did you kill anyone this time?”
Asher chuckled. “I took the two Crowley boys. Jeff’s been hitting them, and that house is a dump. It’s no place for two boys.”
“This one I will charge you for. Let me make a few calls. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have answers.”