Dirty by H.J. Bellus Page A

Grandpa hollers from his wheelchair.
    He’s already over by the section of broken fence with his blue blanket placed over his lap. He’s even sporting a smile this morning. It’s evident he’s come to terms with his decision. It’s going to take me a hell of a lot longer. I wish like hell it was Monday already and not Sunday; I’d march my ass in and pay off the remaining bills.
    I set down my tools next to the wrecked posts and smile back at him. It’s the third time this month that some asshole has decided to take out the fence. They’d been getting the mailbox too until Rhett and I put an end to that. It cost me a couple cases of beer, but he and I cemented the fucker down with some left over decorative rocks from a job site.
    It seems some local teenage punks have nothing better to do or it could be a pissed off husband that found out their wife has been paying me for sex. Either way, it’s not okay and will never be and if I find the assholes I’ll beat the fuck out of them.
    “I’m not dumb, Zane.”
    I freeze with a piece of barbwire strung out tight between my hands.
    “I know what you’ve been doing.” Grandpa bends over to the bag next to him and pulls out two ice-cold beers and hands me one.
    “Nancy went back into the house and we’re going to have this conversation right now.” He pops open the tab on his can and takes a long drink.
    “I don’t think you should be drinking that poison, old man.” I try to ease my message when in reality I want to rip the beer from his hand and dump it.
    “I’m pretty sure I’m old enough and have more years under my belt than you, Zane.” The defiant little shit takes another long drink.
    Instead of arguing with him, I continue stringing the barbwire on the new, solid posts and listen to him between his long pulls from the beer. Mine lays on its side in the dirt while I work.
    He doesn’t drop the subject. “Now, I know money doesn’t fall from the sky and to rake in as much as you do it’s probably not legal.”
    I string the third and final piece of barbwire and cinch it down with one final twist.
    “I don’t know if you’re selling drugs or what, but it needs to stop.”
    “It’s not drugs,” I grunt out and push on the new post to make sure the fence line is sturdy and will do damage to the next car that thinks they’re tough enough to blow through.
    “God damnit, Zane look at me.” It’s the strongest I’ve heard his voice in months and one of the rare times he’s cussed at me.
    It takes me a few moments before I turn and face him. My ass hits the ground and I pop open a beer and let it flow over from being tossed to the ground. When I look up to him, he’s staring me down waiting for an answer, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to give him the truth.
    “I know I wasn’t the best person to raise you. Hell, I was still partying and bringing women into the house while you grew up, but by damn if I’m going to leave this Earth knowing that you’re following in your parents’ footsteps.”
    “I’m not selling drugs,” I repeat.
    “Then what in hell is it, Zane?” His hand quivers holding the beer can. “No man your age can bring in thousands at a time. Before you know it, I’ll be getting the call you robbed a house and ended up…”
    “Do you really have that little faith in me?” I kick up a pile of dirt lying at my feet.
    “What in the hell else am I suppose to think when you’re bringing in thousands and gone at all hours of the night?”
    “I’m not a fucking drug dealer.” The fact I have to defend myself to this disgusts me.
    “Then what are you, Zane?” He swallows the last few drops of his beer and tosses the hollow can to the ground. “Gone at all hours of the night. Working your hands to the bone during the day, all for what?”
    “For you,” I holler back. Everything I’ve kept built up since he was diagnosed with cancer explodes inside me. Hell, everything I’ve kept in my heart since my