'We Don't Pick Our Family'

Ralph Gleason sat behind his fancy big desk in his trophy room glaring at his youngest son. On the wall behind him a picture of himself on one of his many trophy hunts also glared down --- and as usual, Billy-Ray felt the anger and disappointment in both of those relentless stares.

Gleason let the silence stretch out a moment or two longer, then sighed and slowly shook his head --- two familiar gestures that Billy–Ray knew always followed the long, silent stare.

The words his father then spoke were also familiar --- but then they should be, for he'd been hearing them all his life. "So, Billy-Ray --- you've fucked things up once again! More trouble with that psycho drug dealer St. Nick?! I told you to stay clear of 'Bad Santa'! He's a goddamned psycho!"

Anger, hurt and the ever present feeling of being unfairly blamed for other people's mistakes washed over the youth. His body stiffened, his hands balled into fists and he felt like striking out at the old tyrant that ruled his life ---to smash that condescending sneer of disapproval off the old bastard's smirking face! But in the end both his fear and his own voice betrayed him, coming out high and strident --- not deep and manly like his older brother Wade's.

"It had nothing to do with St. Nick! And what did happen was not my fault!" Even to the youth it sounded like a childish whine.

Another disapproving sigh from the stern sheep-killer in the picture. "It's never your fault, Billy-Ray, is it? It's always some other asshole's fault. Never yours!"

"Not this time it wasn't!" the aggrieved son blurted out. "We were just having some fun with some old boatbuilder and he suddenly cut loose with a fucking shotgun!"

"Boatbuilder?!" Gleason demanded "Where the hell were you and what did this boatbuilder look like?!at he look like?!".

"Some long-haired old coot on the Canadian side. Over near Mohawk."

Ralph Gleason's cold eyes narrowed. "You talking about Sam Burnham?"

Billy-Ray shrugged. "Don't know. Just some old fart that builds wooden sailboats."

Gleason went quiet, the sneer gone, his eyes suddenly cold.

"Why?" Billy-Ray asked. "You know this old fucker?!"

"Not personally, but I've heard a few things. Folks say he used to be in the Canadian 'Special Forces' and is not someone to fuck with!"

Billy-Ray did a fair imitation of his father's smirk. "Ya, well, the old fart just got lucky is all! Came at us when we weren't ready! Next time it'll be different!"

Ralph Gleason's weathered face twisted into the 'real thing'. "Next time he'll probably kill you, so you stay well clear of Samuel Burnham!"

Billy-Ray met and held his father's baleful stare. "I told that old fucker that I'd be back and that's what I'm gunna do! I'm not a dumb kid that you can boss around anymore!"

In the past whenever his wayward youngest son defied him Big Ralph had solved the problem with a swift smack to the head --- but ever since surviving 'The Covid' something had changed in Billy-Ray. He'd always been a wild and hard headed boy, but nothing Gleason couldn't frighten into submission --- but now those days were long gone. Now his youngest son seemed like some half mad wild animal that hungered for danger and enjoyed flirting with death. This confrontation with Burnham was just the latest in a long list of dangerous situations Billy-Ray had gotten himself into.

"How old are you now, son?" Gleason asked. "Nineteen? Twenty?"

"I'm nineteen. Be twenty next month --- not that you give a damn."

"And your brother Wade?"

Billy-Ray frowned, not sure where these questions were leading. "He's five years older than me, so you do the math."

Big Ralph's nostalgic moment was nearly eclipsed by anger, but he chose to ignore his son's disrespectful tone and continue on down 'Memory Lane'. "All grown up now, the pair of you. Why, it seems like only yesterday that you were both just snot nosed kids catching frogs down by the river for some big fishing trip you had planned. Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, the pair of you!"

"Who the fuck is 'Huck Finn'?!" Billy-Ray asked.

Gleason actually laughed. "You, son. You are. And your big brother Wade is Tom Sawyer. They're characters from a very famous book. Tom's the one with all the brains."

"Shit," Billy-Ray said, shaking his head. "Thanks a fucking lot, pops! I guess I know where I stand, don't I?!"

"No you don't, son, not at all. Tom's the smart-ass with all the great ideas, but it's Hucklberry that the world loves. He's got all the things that Tom lacks. Just like you do with Wade."

Feeling suddenly that this might not end in the shitter like most of his 'little talks' with 'dear old dad', Billy-Ray actually made an effort to be civil. "Ya? N' what the fuck do I have that my big-brother Wade the Wonderful doesn't?"

Big Ralph prided himself on being a 'tough guy', someone that 'doesn't take no shit from nobody!' Yet there was a softer side to Ralph Tomas Gleason that few beside his late wife Gloria ever saw. A sentimental side that raised family up on a pedestal usually reserved only for kings, country and religion. Ralph Gleason, though a bad man at heart, cared greatly for his late wife and his three remaining offspring --- pieces of various shades of shit though they might be.

Just then the 'prettiest shade' sauntered into the room. Alison Gleason was twenty-seven years old, blonde, beautiful, spoilt rotten and totally without fear or scruples. Though still half drunk from an all night party, Alison took in the scene and knew exactly what was taking place, Daddy was reaming Billy-Ray a new one --- again. Marching right over to the fancy mahogany sideboard, she helped herself to three fingers of Daddy's best scotch, downed it in a single go and poured a second.

"A bit early in the day, isn't, it Pumpkin --- even for you?" Though there was a cutting tone of rebuke in his voice, there was also one of pride and admiration, for Alison Gleason was the apple of her father's eye, and though he didn't approve of her reckless, freewheeling lifestyle --- especially when it came to her choice in men --- he saw more of himself in her than any of his other children.

Wade was the tall, silent, overconfident tough guy; Billy-Ray was the cocky little loud mouth fuck-up; Janet, his eldest had been just like his wife --- kind, loving and unbelievably naive. Neither Janet nor his wife had survived the Pandemic. Janet had caught 'The Covid' and died gasping for breath in her mother's arms and his wife was gone a month later. The doctor blamed the Pandemic, but Gleason knew that his wife had died of a broken heart.

"It's never too early for me, Daddy," Alison said, taking a fair size hit of her second scotch. "I've been partying for two days straight, so it always seems like 'happy hour' to me. Besides, abstinence is for those that want to live forever. Me, I can't wait to shuffle off this mortal coil, but it seems that Man Above isn't finished with punishing me yet."

Gleason frowned. "You know I hate it when you talk like that, Pumpkin. No-one is blaming you for anything."

Alison raised her half empty glass in a mock toast. "Maybe you aren't, Daddy --- but I sure as hell am! I'mthe one that was always out partying!" She drained the glass and turned to Billy-Ray. "What about you, baby-brother? You nearly died from that fucking virus that I brought into our home. Janet did die and mom followed her into the grave --- and all I got was a fucking case of the sniffles!"

Billy-Ray and Alison had never really gotten along. Him being five years younger didn't help. She was always his hot teenage sister with the fast car, the big boobs and the bitchy attitude and he was always the snot nosed kid brother with the big mouth and small brain. But ever since he had survived his near death brush with Covid, Billy-Ray had seemed somehow 'cooler'. Still bat-shit crazy, but in a more dangerous, self assured way.

"Don't sweat it, sis. I was a stupid kid back then," Billy-Ray said as he went over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink and splashed some in her empty glass. "Always hanging out with my friends, going to parties, never 'social distancing' or wearing those fucking masks. I could have caught it anywhere. As for Janet, she was always sick with something. Took after mom." He then clinked his glass with hers. "Here's to both of them, wherever the fuck they are --- and here's to us, who are still fucking here!"

He downed his drink, gave a little shudder and turned to his father. "Now, pops, about that old boatbuilder. He shot one of my boys and threatened the rest of us. I told him I'd be back for him and I intend to do just that. You say he used to be 'special forces' so I could use your help --- but with it or without it I'm going back there."

Ralph Gleason looked at his youngest son and for the first time in years was actually pleased with the young man standing before him. A softer man might have teared-up to see his wayward son finally stand on his own two feet, but Ralph Gleason was far from being anywhere close to 'soft' --- still he decided to help his son get his revenge.

"Tell Chuck that I want him and a couple of the boys to go along with you." His grey eyes flicked over to Alison, then back to Billy-Ray. "I'll also have Martin Strongheart and a few of his braves goalong as well."

"I don't want that fucking Indian anywhere near me!" Billy-Ray said. "The last time I saw him he threatened me with that big fucking knife of his!"

"That's because you made some rude comment about my dress," Alison said with a smile. "Tiger's kind of protective of me that way."

"That's because you're banging him every chance you get," Billy-Ray replied with that copy of his father's smirk. "Besides, your tits were hanging out. Also, I was kind of drunk at the time."

Alison smiled and sipped her drink. "Weren't we all."

"Alright, children," Gleason said. "Enough of the childish banter. Billy-Ray, go find Chuck and tell him what you need. I'll get word to Strongheart and get back to you later."

"I can do that for you, Daddy," Alison purred.

"You know where he is?"

"I know where he was few minutes ago. In my bed."

Gleason took a deep, calming breath and tried to pretend that he didn't really care --- and failed completely.

Martin Strongheart was a full blooded Mohawk from the Five Nations Reserve. He was tall, lean and good looking in a dangerous sort of way. He was also a stone cold killer who had been doing Gleason's 'dirty work' since his mid teens.

Since the Pandemic, Gleason's business had gone from 'slightly shady' to full-blown 'Come to the Dark Side, Master Luke', Strongheart and his 'warriors' had kept the wolves at bay while Gleason carried on his illicit dealings in booze, drugs, guns and human trafucing.

Now it seemed that he was also his daughter's lover --- or knowing Alison's sexual proclivity, one of them. Shoving that unsettling thought aside, Gleason knew that though Chuck Hastings ran the 'business side' of his business, Martin Strongheart took care of the real problems, and he was just the man to see that his hot headed son stayed alive --- especially since the young fool was determined to go up against a man like Sam Burnham.

***