Free Comin' Home to You by Dustin Mcwilliams Page A

scared.
    Taking deep and hoarse breaths, a cocky smile appeared on Scar's face. “Now that...that was worth the $40 you owe me.”
    The girl didn't move a muscle. Her mouth remained sealed tighter than a safe, as semen started to accumulate on her lips.
    Now that her usefulness had been fulfilled, Scar pointed to the door. “Take that shit meth with you and get the fuck out of here.”
    Jenny May grabbed her clothes quickly and raced out of the bedroom. He followed her into the living room and watched the girl wipe her face and neck with the inside of her sweatshirt. Her face, now clean of fluid, looked morose, like her favorite dog died. Quickly putting the dirty top and shorts on, she grabbed the bag of meth and ran out the front door, forgetting her flip-flops in the process. Still naked, Scar picked up his empty glass from the coffee table and carried it with him to the kitchen, where he poured himself a fresh shot of vodka. Immediately shooting it back, a satisfied smile grew on his face.
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    “You fuckin' did what!?” exclaimed a man clad in tattoos, wearing a white V-neck and blue jeans.
    Scar took a drink of his longneck beer. “You heard me.”
    “On her face? Just outta nowhere? Holy shit, man.”
    “The girl shouldn't have came over like that.”
    The tattooed man had a querying look on his face. “Wasn’t my cousin Wayne supposed to be out there on duty tonight?”
    “Believe so.”
    “Man, sorry. I'll talk to my boy. Dumb motherfucker should've been doing his job.”
    Taking a seat on the edge of the pool table, Scar shook his head. “Don't apologize, Nicky. It ain't your fault.”
    Nicky fiercely chalked his cue stick. “I feel like it is, man. That dumbass is someone I thought could do a good job. Seriously, I'm gonna have to whoop that worthless piece of shit's ass. Kid can't do a damn thing right.”
    “I don't think an ass beating is going to help Wayne by itself.”
    “Then what do you got planned, boss?”
    “That old Camaro of his...”
    Knocking in the 6-ball in the corner pocket, Nicky's eyes zoomed in on his next target. “What about it?”
    “Smash it up. Make him watch.”
    “Damn, man,” grimaced Nicky, while scratching the back of his shaved head. “That car is everything to him. Shit, I don't think I could even do that to such a nice car.”
    “It's just a material possession, my friend.”
    “But ain't these material possessions what we strive for? I mean, it's all about the big ass trucks, big ass houses, fancy fuckin' pools...shit like that, right?”
    Scar nodded, finishing his beer in one strong gulp. “That's the irony of it all, brother. It is all about the money and what that money can buy. But those things also tend to lead to our downfall. What we so badly need is also what makes us weak. True power is rising above material shit.”
    Nicky playfully pointed his pool cue at Scar while taking a drink of his beer. “I gotta ask. Is that why you don't ride in style?”
    “You talkin' about why I don't have a nice truck?”
    “I ain't saying your truck isn't nice. It's clean, good engine, love that dark blue color and all that. But the model's...what? A 2007? That's seven years old, man. And it ain't just that. You could afford a two-story house easily, with a state of the art security system, so you wouldn't have people like my dipshit cousin guarding you. Why don't you get nicer things?”
    Pausing for a moment to watch Nicky nail his next shot, Scar thought about it for a second, though he wasn't sure why he wasted his time to ponder such a subject. He had known the answer when it came to him nine years ago.
    “Because...it's not all about me.”
    “Man, I don’t know if I can stand toe to toe with you when you get all philosophical and shit, but you talk about power and being on top a lot, but then you make it seem like you don’t