Cyrus: Swamp Heads by Esther E. Schmidt

Chapter 01
     
    ***Cyrus***
     
    My blasted shoes are ruined. Ruined. Voila merde . And the way my life is going right now? The sticky, thick mud covering my four hundred dollar shoes might as well be the cherry on the shitty pie.
    I slam the car door of my newly modified Beemer and start towards the house. My foot freezes in mid-air, the second the sound of a shotgun blast rings out and impacts the dirt right in front of my foot.
    “Stop shooting, connard …” My voice bounces off the trees that surround the house.
    “Shut your yapper, boy.” The cracking voice I hear is one I immediately recognize as my old man’s.
    Pa is sitting on the porch in his rocking chair. My brother stumbles out of the house with his pants half way to his ankles. “Why are ya shooting?”
    He looks around and his eyes find mine. “Cyrus? That you?” He looks back at our father. “What the hell are you shooting at Cyrus for?”
    “No son of mine has a city haircut. How the hell would I know that’s my boy, Cyrus? High cotton…are you sick, boy?”
    Making my way to the house, I step up on the porch. “How’ve you been, Pa?” 
    “A lot better than the way you look.” He spits beside him on the porch.
    I watch as the tobacco juice almost lands on Chester’s bare foot. Thank Christ he pulled his pants up.
    “Didn’t we tell ya to stop chewing that disgusting tobacco?” Annoyance tinges Chester’s voice a little, yet his face is resigned that his words will hit deaf man’s ears anyway.
    Pa waves his hand dismissively and places the shotgun on the table next to his rocking chair. Shoving one hand into the waist of his pants, Al Bundy Style, while his other hand grabs a beer.
    “How long are ya stayin’, Cyrus?” my brother asks.
    I run a hand through my dark hair. It’s longer on top but the sides have been shaved down to less than an inch. The full beard might be the only thing I have left from when I used to live here, and even that’s neatly groomed. Contemplating for a second, I decide I might as well tell them the truth. I’m here to stay. For a while, at least.
    “I bought a house a few miles down the road. Bobby Waymonds’ place. So I’ll be here a while.”
    My brother saunters towards me. “I had no idea Bobby wanted to sell his place. I mean… Bertie stays there sometimes too, did you close the deal with Bobby himself or with Wilbur?”
    I shrug my shoulders since I don’t effin know. “Dunno. My assistant drove up here two weeks ago; she got the papers and shit signed. Everything is legit so that’s all that matters.”
    “Holy Mary-Mother of Jesus, is that legal? Just sign a paper and get a house in return?” Chester’s voice is filled with awe. Blasted idiot.
    I resist smacking him upside the head, ‘cause Pa might have done that a few times too many already throughout the years.
    “You idiot. After they signed the papers, they got cash. I bought the effin place. Or I damn well hope so… Merde . They’re gone, right? I mean, the house is supposed to be empty.”
    Chester shakes his head. “I saw Bertie sweeping the porch last night, so I reckon they’re still there. Why?”
    Why? Dagnammit . His brain isn’t even worth two cents. “’Cause I bought the effin place and need to crash there tonight, that’s why. I’ve got a truck coming in a few hours with some basic stuff. The hell with this, I’m going over… wanna come with?”
    Chester nods and we head to the car. When he climbs in the seat next to me I look down and see he’s still barefoot. Yeah, that’s my big brother… Never heard the word shoes.
    Backing up, I pop it into first and pull out onto the road to drive the few miles over to my new place. Well… new is an understatement but it was the best house around these parts so I had my assistant arrange the whole thing. Papers were signed last week and the money was transferred. I really hope the old owners are gone because I don’t want to deal with them. All I want is an