so and he'd be raring to go.
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift. Outside, the squeal of a police siren came and went, while down the hall, he could hear a man cursing and a woman's shrill cries for help. He rolled over on his good shoulder and pulled the pillow over his head. Crazy. The world had gone crazy. Within a few minutes, he was snoring. Sometime later, he began to dream.
"Frankie, go find your brother and tell him supper is ready."
Ten-year-old Frankie Wilson rolled his eyes, then peeked over the kitchen counter to the pies cooling on the rack near the sink.
"Okay, Ma, and can I have seconds on dessert?"
"If you eat good."
"I will," Frankie said, exiting the kitchen on the run.
He jumped off the porch and ran around the holly bushes toward the side of the house where his six-year-old brother, Davie, had been playing. But when he got there, the yard was empty.
"Dumb kid," he muttered, thinking of the dessert awaiting him inside. "Hey, Davie! Supper!"
No one answered and no little kid came running. He began to circle the house, thinking that Davie must have moved to the shade tree in front. But when he got there, his little brother was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, Davie! Davie!"
No answer. He frowned. Frankie Wilson considered himself almost grown, but Davie was just a kid, and he knew better than to leave the yard without permission.
He jogged toward the sidewalk, and as he did he heard the unmistakable cry of someone in pain. A few feet farther, he rounded the lilac bush and saw his little brother sitting on the curb, holding his knee. His bicycle with training wheels was lying on its side in the street.
"Hey, kid, what happened?" Frankie asked, as he knelt in front of Davie.
Davie sniffed loudly, then wiped a dirty hand beneath his nose.
"I fell and skinned my knee," he said.
Frankie looked. Sure enough, the kid was missing a good chunk of skin and bleeding all over his shoes.
"You weren't supposed to be in the street. If Ma finds out, she'll whip your butt."
Davie's eyes widened. Not only had his brother used the B word, but he was right about their mother. She would whip him for riding his bike in the street.
"Don't tell on me, Frankie. I don't want a whipping."
Frankie sighed. Being a big brother carried a lot of responsibilities. He patted Davie on the head and then helped him to his feet.
"Come on, kid. I'll get your bike in the yard and Ma will just think you fell off there, okay?"
Davie nodded. "Okay." Then he smiled through his tears. "Thanks, Frankie, you're the best brother ever."
"Yeah, I know," Frankie said. "Now hurry. Supper is ready and we got cherry pie for dessert."
A car backfired and a motorcycle revved before taking off, leaving a single trail of rubber behind on the L.A.street. Frank jerked in his sleep, but he didn't awake. Instead, the sound shifted his dream from childhood to Vietnam.
David came out of nowhere. The stupid little bastard. He was going to mess everything up. Then Frank's shock turned to panic when he realized the gunrunners were reaching for their weapons.
"Don't!" he yelled. "He's my brother."
"Get rid of him," one of them snapped, "or we'll do it for you."
Before he could react, David stepped between them, yanking the money out of Frank's hands and throwing it on the ground.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Frank yelled.
"Saving your stupid ass," David said. "Now let's get out of here."
"What's going on?" the gunrunner asked.
Frank spun, his eyes blazing with anger. "Leave this to me," he said, and shoved David aside as he reached for the money.
But the kid stepped on his fingers, stopping his intent. After that, everything became a blur. Before he knew it, both of the gunrunners were dead and David was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before.
Time blurred the memories of what came next. All Frank could remember was pointing a gun in his brother's face and then pulling the trigger. After that, he remembered coming to
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift. Outside, the squeal of a police siren came and went, while down the hall, he could hear a man cursing and a woman's shrill cries for help. He rolled over on his good shoulder and pulled the pillow over his head. Crazy. The world had gone crazy. Within a few minutes, he was snoring. Sometime later, he began to dream.
"Frankie, go find your brother and tell him supper is ready."
Ten-year-old Frankie Wilson rolled his eyes, then peeked over the kitchen counter to the pies cooling on the rack near the sink.
"Okay, Ma, and can I have seconds on dessert?"
"If you eat good."
"I will," Frankie said, exiting the kitchen on the run.
He jumped off the porch and ran around the holly bushes toward the side of the house where his six-year-old brother, Davie, had been playing. But when he got there, the yard was empty.
"Dumb kid," he muttered, thinking of the dessert awaiting him inside. "Hey, Davie! Supper!"
No one answered and no little kid came running. He began to circle the house, thinking that Davie must have moved to the shade tree in front. But when he got there, his little brother was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, Davie! Davie!"
No answer. He frowned. Frankie Wilson considered himself almost grown, but Davie was just a kid, and he knew better than to leave the yard without permission.
He jogged toward the sidewalk, and as he did he heard the unmistakable cry of someone in pain. A few feet farther, he rounded the lilac bush and saw his little brother sitting on the curb, holding his knee. His bicycle with training wheels was lying on its side in the street.
"Hey, kid, what happened?" Frankie asked, as he knelt in front of Davie.
Davie sniffed loudly, then wiped a dirty hand beneath his nose.
"I fell and skinned my knee," he said.
Frankie looked. Sure enough, the kid was missing a good chunk of skin and bleeding all over his shoes.
"You weren't supposed to be in the street. If Ma finds out, she'll whip your butt."
Davie's eyes widened. Not only had his brother used the B word, but he was right about their mother. She would whip him for riding his bike in the street.
"Don't tell on me, Frankie. I don't want a whipping."
Frankie sighed. Being a big brother carried a lot of responsibilities. He patted Davie on the head and then helped him to his feet.
"Come on, kid. I'll get your bike in the yard and Ma will just think you fell off there, okay?"
Davie nodded. "Okay." Then he smiled through his tears. "Thanks, Frankie, you're the best brother ever."
"Yeah, I know," Frankie said. "Now hurry. Supper is ready and we got cherry pie for dessert."
A car backfired and a motorcycle revved before taking off, leaving a single trail of rubber behind on the L.A.street. Frank jerked in his sleep, but he didn't awake. Instead, the sound shifted his dream from childhood to Vietnam.
David came out of nowhere. The stupid little bastard. He was going to mess everything up. Then Frank's shock turned to panic when he realized the gunrunners were reaching for their weapons.
"Don't!" he yelled. "He's my brother."
"Get rid of him," one of them snapped, "or we'll do it for you."
Before he could react, David stepped between them, yanking the money out of Frank's hands and throwing it on the ground.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Frank yelled.
"Saving your stupid ass," David said. "Now let's get out of here."
"What's going on?" the gunrunner asked.
Frank spun, his eyes blazing with anger. "Leave this to me," he said, and shoved David aside as he reached for the money.
But the kid stepped on his fingers, stopping his intent. After that, everything became a blur. Before he knew it, both of the gunrunners were dead and David was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before.
Time blurred the memories of what came next. All Frank could remember was pointing a gun in his brother's face and then pulling the trigger. After that, he remembered coming to
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