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Novelo Rectangle

Vincent stood next to Lenny’s chair, and Lenny curled his arm around Vincent’s thigh and leaned his head against his body. He gazed up at his older brother with pleading eyes as his hand slowly cupped Vincent’s crotch. “Please, Vincent,” he cooed. “Please can I have it?”&nbsp;Not once had Vincent ever denied Lenny anything. Vincent stared down at Lenny, his eyes hazy with lust and adoration, then turned his focus on Johnny. “Give it to him.”&nbsp;Johnny shook his head and backed away. “No. It’s mine. It’s all I have. He has everything. I’m not giving it to him.” He took another step back and didn’t realize Gary had blocked his retreat until he bumped into him. Gary grabbed his arms and held him as Vincent came toward him. “Let go!” Johnny struggled and kicked but couldn’t get free. Tears formed when Vincent shoved Johnny’s shirt up and he began tugging the buckle loose. “Stop! It’s mine!” Sobs broke in his throat and his foot shot out, kicking Vincent in the shin.&nbsp;“You fucking faggot!” Vincent punched him in the stomach, exploding the air from his lungs.&nbsp;Johnny gasped and cried, fighting Gary’s hold as Vincent yanked on the buckle and whipped the belt loose from Johnny’s belt loops. “Give it back, you fucker!” he screamed, sobbing.&nbsp;Clutching the buckle in his large fist, Vincent punched Johnny in the face. “Quit your crying, you fucking sissy!”&nbsp;Gary released him and he fell to the floor, his cheekbone throbbing and his eye starting to swell. He shook with sobs and lifted his head to see Vincent walk over to Lenny and hand him the buckle. Lenny stood up, fastened the belt around his waist, then wrapped his arms around Vincent’s neck and kissed him hard. He laid his head on Vincent’s shoulder and smiled triumphantly at Johnny. “Thanks for the present, little brother—”&nbsp;The mongrel dog sprang out of nowhere and tackled Lenny to the ground—and ripped the belt from his hands.&nbsp;Johnny crawled to his feet, stunned, and confused.&nbsp;The animal backed away, belt clamped in its jaws, a deep growl rumbling in the dog’s chest.&nbsp;That didn’t happen. There was no dog…&nbsp;The growls deepened, vibrating through Johnny.&nbsp;&nbsp;The young cowboy jerked awake. The mongrel stray stood rigid near the end of the old sofa, facing the entrance door, head lowered, and hackles raised, emitting a steady rumbling growl.&nbsp;The boy slid off the sofa and walked to one of the dirty, cracked windows. Tattered curtains hung limply against the glass, heavy with dust and cobwebs. Drawing the curtain aside, he looked out into the gray, chilled morning.&nbsp;Four teenagers stood in front of the abandoned house. The one in front looked older than the others, maybe seventeen or eighteen. The boy recognized one of the younger teens as Bat Boy who got away back in the woods. The dog must’ve gotten him good because he was still limping.&nbsp;“Hey, kid!” the oldest teen hollered. “We know you’re in there. Come on out. Let’s chat.”&nbsp;Retreating from the window, the boy glanced at the dog. The mongrel didn’t seem convinced that they just wanted to talk, as it held its ground, tense and on-guard. The teenagers were armed with clubs, like before, with no visible firearms. But that didn’t mean they weren’t carrying.&nbsp;Most houses had a backdoor. He could probably escape if he slipped out and ran. He didn’t move. The notion to flee wasn’t present. So, what if he did get away? What then? What was there to run to? Nothing. Not one fucking thing.&nbsp;He grabbed a rusted iron poker from the fireplace and walked out onto the dilapidated porch. He didn’t speak as the oldest teen sized him up with a cool smile. The teen shot a dull look at Bat Boy.&nbsp;“This is the one who took out Wren and Tex? And almost got you, too?” He snorted and shook his head. “That must be embarrassing.”&nbsp;“Hey,” Bat Boy snapped back. “I would’ve taken him out if not for that fuckin’ mutt.”&nbsp;On cue, the dog crept out and stood beside the boy and continued to emit a warning growl.&nbsp;Bat Boy snarled and stepped forward. “That fucker is mine. I get to kill it.”&nbsp;The older guy halted him. “I make the decisions—not you.”&nbsp;“It fucking jumped me—and bit me. It should be mine.”&nbsp;“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” the leader drawled. “But that’s my choice to make. For now, chill your shit.” He looked at the boy. “I have to say, I’m impressed. A little guy like you taking out two of my boys the way you did… that’s some gangsta shit right there.” His eyes sank to the belt buckle. “That’s a gnarly buckle. I can see why you didn’t want to give it up. But seriously, kid… did you have to kill my boys over it? Is it that important to you?”&nbsp;Dipping his head, the boy gripped the iron poker. “Why don’t you come and find out?”&nbsp;“Whoa.” The leader chuckled. “You’ve got a set of balls on you, huh?” He waved his hand. “Take it easy. We’re not here to fight. I just wanted to see with my own eyes the badass kid who destroyed my guys.” He grinned. “I’m not disappointed.” The leader walked forward, and the dog bristled, its growl deepening as its lips rippled. The teen halted. “Easy now, Cujo, I mean no harm to your boy.”&nbsp;“I ain’t his boy. He ain’t my dog.”&nbsp;“Then you won’t mind if I bash its brains in, huh?” Bat Boy barked out.&nbsp;“Shut your hole,” the leader barked back. He smiled at the younger boy. “I’m Leroy. You know, like the song? Bad, bad Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole damn town.” He winked. “That’s me. Trust me, you don’t wanna get on my bad side. And you almost got there when you killed my boys. But hey, what the fuck? Let’s be friends. What’s your name, kid?”&nbsp;The boy stared coldly at the gang leader. I don’t want to be Johnny anymore. Johnny… who cowered from his brothers all his life. Johnny… who fell in love with the sweetest boy on earth. Johnny… who was too weak and scared to save that boy.&nbsp;Someday, grown men will tremble in your presence.&nbsp;He tilted his hat, eyes growing dim, hard.&nbsp;Mark my words, cowboy… you’ll be the biggest, baddest hombre in town.&nbsp;The boy moved to the edge of the porch, his cowboy boots scraping across the faded wooden planks. He stared down Leroy. “Clint,” he muttered low, grabbing the most cowboy name he could think of. “My name… is Clint.”&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

Dark Ages: Clint - The Early Years (A Cowboy Gangster mini-series)

amsnead

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CJ Bishop

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