\u201cI thought you\u2019d like them,\u201d Richard said defensively.\u201c Like the soldiers we played with when you were a kid. You remember, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
When Billy was five, his father presented him with a bag of plastic soldiers, then left. Billy did the best he could alone, staging battles between the US Army and rocks he\u2019d dug out of the backyard because it would have been unpatriotic to have the soldiers fight each other. He remembered convincing his childhood friend, Dwayne, to bring Dwayne\u2019s samurai soldiers over so his men wouldn\u2019t have to fight rocks.<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Billy ignored his father\u2019s question, instead asking: Why are they carryin\u2019 tools, Richard? Hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work we go?<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n . . .<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Richard?<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Still silence. Though his headache was a seven on its way to an eight, Billy spoke aloud. With exaggerated calm: \u201cRichard?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cYes, Son?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cThis ugly house, the tramps, your cars\u2014all that cost a lotta money, right?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n . . .<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Less calmly: \u201cSo you\u2019re tellin\u2019 me the money you didn\u2019t<\/em> spend on that crap, you spent on these statues? Chrissake, how stupid is that?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Richard stood up from his wheelie stool. \u201cHey! Watch the tone, Buckaroo. Show some respect for the man who attended your baseball games.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cYou came to two, and you were drunk both times.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cThose games were so long<\/em>. And it\u2019s hard to get booze at little league games, I really had to hunt for it.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cYou managed.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cYes, I did. Now, let\u2019s see, didn\u2019t we work on your dirt bike together?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cWrong. That was Dwayne\u2019s dad, Mr. Grady. Try again.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cOkay, what about that brand-new PlayStation I got you for your birthday?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cAuntie J and Uncle Mickey gave it to me\u2014for Christmas. Not you. And it was used.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cWell, Buckaroo, I can\u2019t help it if they\u2019re cheap. Anyway, coulda sworn it was me.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201c<\/em>Mom told me everyone pretended<\/em> it was from you! And they\u2019re poor, Richard, not cheap. Uncle Mickey would give you the shirt off his back.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201c\u2019Shirt off his back?\u2019 Who\u2019d want to wear that ratty old wife-beater?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n On it went, Richard purposefully missing his son\u2019s points, Billy illuminating Richard\u2019s shortcomings\u2014alcoholism, absenteeism, and avarice\u2014in Broadway floods. The mechanics of the old ranch hand pattern were shifting, however. Richard\u2019s whininess hadn\u2019t changed, it was the strength<\/em> of his voice, its unsettling volume, which had been growing ever since the funeral. And his father sounded so lifelike<\/em>\u2014not some phony Hun\u2014and so close, as if sitting in the Corolla\u2019s passenger seat. Was he really hearing him, were Billy\u2019s thoughts still his own?<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cRichard, you a mind reader?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n . . .<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Out loud, it sounded stupid, but BK took the silence as proof of mental confidentiality. This was too small a comfort, however, to offset hearing what his doctor called auditory hallucinations, however. That was the bad news. The good news was the cure: Quetiapine, medication a doctor had prescribed for him a month ago. Within days of the first dose, Richard\u2019s unsolicited commentaries began fading, ceasing by week\u2019s end. Better living through chemistry\u2014not just good news, but great news! The med came with strings, however. The Quetiapine, or \u201cQ\u201d as he called it, shut his father up, but produced energy-sapping nausea which threatened his job. He\u2019d stopped taking it.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Between no Q and seeing these goddamn statues<\/em>, he told himself, no wonder Richard\u2019s workin\u2019 the mic.<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n \u201cOkay, time to break out the sign,\u201d Billy said aloud, then palmed his forehead and looked at the dashboard clock: 12:18 PM. He put the car in PARK, not knowing how long this might take. Drawing a breath, closed his eyes, and went on the defensive, imagining a blue stop sign, just as Dr. Singh had taught him. He struggled at first to maintain this strange image\u2014the sign begged to be red\u2014but soon Richard\u2019s voice started hitching and bucking, so BK kept at it. At 12:25, Dick\u2019s voice climbed to a whine and by 12:26, went inaudible.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n The whole deal took only eight minutes, but they were costly minutes. Billy\u2019s sweat-soaked t-shirt felt clammy, and his eye was still painful despite a pressed palm. Still, holy crap, it worked!<\/em> He had silenced Richard with an imaginary prop! This, the blue stop sign\u2019s first successful field-test, had been very satisfying; until now, he\u2019d only practiced it in Dr. Singh\u2019s office, without his opponent, Mental Richard, present.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n He slowly opened his eyes, focusing on Richard\u2019s army. There were at least a dozen statues spaced about seventy feet apart, standing in a line along the checkerboard wall. Billy thought it a safe bet that the parade of tool-holding men, like the wall, completely encircled the property. They stood facing away from the barrier as if guarding it, all except a strange, three-party greeting committee, about fifty feet up the driveway. This trio stood close to the drive, like tollbooth operators, but were no collectors of fees. The center one was large and imposing, easily eight feet tall\u2014the only statue not holding a tool. It was flanked by two swordsmen and it looked important, like royalty\u2014some sort of emperor or king. The muscular sculpture stared menacingly at Billy, holding its thick arms across its torso as if expecting something. For a moment, BK considered the eight dollars in his wallet, then felt foolish.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n Ain\u2019t payin\u2019 no toll, Hoss<\/em>, he thought. Good luck with that.<\/em><\/p>\r\n <\/p>\r\n <\/p>\r\n