Litany for Survival

[Caesar]

Twin flame shit huh? Putting these people threw the poverty blender from the get-go.

Pressure makes diamonds

Beau on some good ol boy type shit eh

gonna have them beefing eventually like Jenkins and King

The system was in place long before Beau

[Caesar]

1.3 Day Rate

Saint sat on the edge of the flower bed in Remy's backyard with a plate balanced on his knees, the paper bowing under the weight of ribs, a chicken thigh quarter, mac and cheese, potato salad and rice dressing, the juices from the meat already soaking through the bottom and warming his jeans. He ate with his fingers, pulling the meat off a rib in one long strip, chewing it while he reached for the mac and cheese with a plastic fork in his other hand.

Darryl stood at the grill with two men from his crew flanking him, the smoke rolling off the grate in thick white sheets that climbed straight up in the still air before the wind caught them and pushed them sideways across the yard. One of the men said something about the Cowboys' offensive line and Darryl shook his head, his tongs pointing at the man's chest, his voice carrying the easy authority of someone who had been wrong about this every September for twenty years and planned to be wrong again.

Jolie sat at the patio table with three other women, their chairs pulled close, their voices layered on top of each other, hands moving as they talked. Julien lay in a lounger off to the side with his Switch held up above his face, his thumbs working the buttons, his mouth hanging open. Rene leaned against the fence at the far end of the yard, talking to one of the other couples' daughters, his arm resting on the top rail above her head, his body angled in.

Remy came out the back door carrying two cans of Coke, one in each hand. He crossed the yard to where Saint was sitting, sat down on the flower bed beside him and held one out.

Saint took it, set it on the ground on the other side of him. "Appreciate it."

Remy popped the tab on his own and took a sip. "My mama said to let her know what all you want to take with you. My pops bought extra for you if they eat everything."

Saint nodded, his jaw working through a piece of rib meat. "I will."

"I been trying to get them to make some gumbo for a lil' minute."

Saint snorted a laugh. "You know you ain't getting the ingredients you need for gumbo out here."

"You could get close enough."

"Close enough is how you end up with stew."

Remy shrugged, his Coke resting on his thigh. "Gotta take what you can get."

Saint lifted a rib off the plate and held it up. "That's why I stick to this."

Remy laughed. The sound settled and he looked down at his Coke, turning the can once in his hand, his thumbnail picking at the edge of the tab. He looked back over at Saint.

"You ever think about making a trip back home?"

Saint shook his head as he picked up the leg quarter and bit into it, the skin crackling between his teeth. "Ain't nobody back home I know. They all dead."

"Thought you had some aunts and uncles and cousins out there."

"Might as well be dead then. They ain't checking on me and I ain't worried about them."

Remy nodded. "Fair enough."

Saint pulled another strip of meat off the rib and chewed it. He set the bone down on the edge of the plate.

"Can Brynn use your studio equipment?"

Remy looked over at him. "Yeah, man. She got my number. She could've asked me."

"You know how she is."

"I ain't go—"

"You know how she is."

Remy held his hands up, the Coke tilting in his grip. "Just let me know when then."

Saint nodded and picked up another rib.

The bar sat off the highway in Garden City in a building that looked like it had been a feed store once, the walls paneled in dark wood, the ceiling low, a pool table under a hanging light near the back with the felt worn thin at the break spot. A jukebox played something with a steel guitar in it that nobody was listening to. The lunch crowd was five men spread across the bar and two more at a table near the door, all of them in work clothes, all of them drinking like they had somewhere to be in an hour.

Brynn sat at a table along the far wall with Wes and Dakota, an empty chair between her and Wes, Dakota next to her. The pitcher of beer sat in the center of the table, the glass sweating, the foam gone flat across the top. Wes picked it up and poured into Dakota's glass first, then Brynn's, then his own, filling each one to the same line.

"Y'all not gonna find much better in here so might as well decide you okay with the beer."

Dakota picked up her glass and took a sip, her eyes pinching as the taste hit her tongue. "Then we should've at least gone to Big Spring."

Brynn sipped from hers, pulled the glass away from her mouth and looked down into it. "It tastes like the keg needs to be changed."

"Probably so." Wes set the pitcher back down and looked at Dakota. "Well, I ain't welcome in my favorite bar in Big Spring right now so we here. Ain't too many places gonna look the other way about you two."

Dakota rolled her eyes. "I can charm my way into any bar." She elbowed Brynn in the side. "This one can, too, when she wants to."

"Too bad for you, it ain't often I want to do that."

Wes leaned back in his chair, his arm draped over the back of it, the toothpick turning once between his teeth. "Ain't nothing wrong with making your looks work for you, Brynny Brynn."

Brynn shook her head and took another sip from her glass.

A man walked over to the table and stopped next to Wes, standing close enough that his belt buckle was at Wes's eye level. He looked down at him. He had twenty years and forty pounds on Wes, his arms thick through the forearms, a line of dirt pressed into the creases of his knuckles.

Wes tilted his chair back on two legs and looked up at him. "Can I help you, buddy?"

"Ain't you Wes Cody?"

Wes nodded. "That's what my mama named me. Who asking?"

"You hustled my brother out of three-fifty."

"I ain't do nothing of the sort. I'm an honest man when it come to betting."

The man pointed at Dakota and Brynn, his finger moving between them. "My brother said you had two young looking girls with you, said they distracted him when y'all were shooting pool."

Dakota tipped her glass back and set it down. "Sound to me like your brother ain't too good if some ass and tits make him lose."

Brynn shook her head.

The man's jaw tightened. "Shut up, girl. This man business."

Wes held his hands up. "I don't want no trouble. Just enjoying a drink with my friends here. But I ain't got no money to give you if that's what you're looking for."

The man reached across the table, picked up Wes' Twister by the crown and held it at his side. "I'm gonna take this here hat as repayment."

Wes shrugged. "Do what you gotta do."

He pushed his chair back from the table, the legs scraping across the floor, and looked at Dakota and Brynn. "I don't think we welcome here right now."

Dakota and Brynn stood up. Dakota went first, stepping wide around the man and heading for the door. Brynn came behind her and the man held his arm out across her path, his forearm at the level of her chest.

She stopped. "Excuse me."

He held there, his arm steady, his eyes on her face. A second passed. Then he dropped his arm, leaving the gap between his body and the edge of the table narrow enough that she had to turn sideways to pass. Her shoulder brushed his chest and her hip caught the table's edge as she squeezed through, her hands pulling in close to her body. She cleared him and kept walking, her stride even, her eyes on Dakota's back ahead of her.

They pushed through the door into the parking lot. The sun hit them hard after the dark of the bar, the highway shimmering beyond the gravel lot, the truck parked at the far end in the only strip of shade a mesquite tree threw.

Wes nodded to the man through the doorway. "Enjoy that hat now."

He walked across the lot and got into the truck. Dakota slid across the bench seat to the middle and Brynn pulled herself in against the passenger door, her hand finding the handle and pulling it shut. Wes started the engine, backed out onto the highway, dropped it into drive and reached for his phone. Music came through the speakers, the bass rattling in the door panels.

They were a quarter mile down the road when Brynn reached into her pocket and pulled out a wallet, brown leather, worn soft at the fold. She held it up where Dakota could see it.

Dakota's smile spread slow across her face. She took it from Brynn's hand and flipped it open. "William Barlowe." She read the name off the license and looked over at Brynn. "How much money did you have, William?"

She opened the money side and pulled the bills out one at a time, counting them flat against her thigh. Four twenties and a five. She set the cash in her lap, went through the rest of the wallet, the cards, the receipts, a gas station punch card, and handed the empty leather back to Brynn.

Brynn took it, rolled the window down and flicked it out into the wind. It tumbled once across the asphalt and disappeared into the brush along the shoulder.

Wes looked over at them and smiled, the toothpick shifting to the other side of his mouth. He looked up at the rearview mirror. The man stood in the highway behind them, his body small and getting smaller, his arm raised, his finger pointed in their direction.

Travis Meeks sat across from his wife in a booth at the back of the restaurant with a steak in front of him and a glass of sweet tea sweating on the table next to his plate. Erika had a salad with the dressing on the side and a glass of white wine she'd been working on since they sat down. The restaurant was half full, the noise level low enough that the country playing through the speakers could be heard between conversations.

Erika set her fork down and leaned back against the booth. "I think we should put a spool in our backyard."

Travis looked up from his steak. "What the fuck is a spool?"

Erika shook her head. "You gotta get with the times, honey. It's a spa pool. One of those little pools like they got at all those fancy hotels."

"Why would you want a little pool?"

"'Cause I ain't doing nothing but working on my tan and taking a little dip. I don't need no Olympic size pool in Odessa. They gonna run us out of town if we use up all the water."

Travis cut into his steak, the knife pressing through the meat into the plate. "They might run us out of town when they find out I let you get a fucking spool like you live in Dallas."

"You know they say happy wife, happy life."

Travis snorted a laugh. He was opening his mouth to say something when two men walked up to the edge of the booth, their bodies blocking the aisle, their hands already coming forward. Joe Rutherford and Derek Vance. Boosters.

Joe held his hand out. "How you doin', coach?"

Travis shook it, then gestured across the table with his fork. "Just enjoying dinner with my wife. What can I do for you, boys?"

Derek nodded to Erika. "Ma'am." He looked back at Travis. "Y'all gotta get that colored boy on defense, Travis."

Travis raised an eyebrow. "And which one is that?"

Joe stepped in closer to the booth, his hand resting on the back of the seat. "That boy from Louisiana. That nigger can run fast but he scared to get hit. Tell Kendrick to put that boy on defense where he can shine and get that boy up out of the JV to run behind Beau." He looked at Derek. "What's his name? That big Mexican boy."

"Jose," Derek said.

"Put Jose in there."

Travis set his fork down. "I think his name's Eduardo."

Derek waved the correction off, his hand turning once in the air. "I just know that boy's two-fifty of tacos and he runs in a straight line."

Travis nodded, then held up his hand. "I appreciate the tips, fellas. We'll take a look at it."

Joe tapped the back of the booth with his knuckles. "You do that. I'd hate to see something happen to Beau and then you got a nigger back there doing a two step while the defense hang him up."

Derek nodded to Erika again. "Ma'am."

The two of them walked off toward the front of the restaurant, Joe clapping a hand on someone's shoulder at another table as they passed.

Erika picked up her wine and took a sip, her eyes following them over the rim of the glass. "They always got such a way with words around here."

Travis picked his fork back up and cut another piece of steak. "They ain't wrong that Saint needs to stop dancing in the backfield."

"Ain't that what they call a change of pace back, coach?"

Travis shook his head, chewing. "I think I'm the one coaching the offense, bae."

Erika shrugged, her wine glass tilting in her hand. "I might do it better." She smiled at him across the table, the smile holding for a beat before she set the glass down. "So about that spool?"

The house was full and loud, the bass coming through the walls from a speaker somewhere in the living room, bodies packed into the kitchen and the hallway and spilling out through the back door into the yard. Red cups on every surface, a folding table set up for beer pong near the sliding glass door, the overhead light turned off and a string of Christmas lights taped along the ceiling throwing everything in a dim, uneven glow.

Beau stood in the kitchen with a beer in his hand, punctured at the bottom, the can tilted up above his mouth. He drained it in one pull, crushed it and threw it on the floor. He grabbed another from the counter, pulled his key from his pocket, stabbed the can near the base, put his mouth over the hole, popped the tab and drained that one too. The beer ran down his chin and into the collar of his shirt. He crushed it, threw it, grabbed a third. The same motion. Stab, mouth, tab, drain. He threw the third can down on top of the other two and raised both arms above his head.

"Fuck yeah! We're getting fucking drunk tonight, boys!"

Saint snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at Cruz. Cruz cracked open his own beer and took a sip from it, his eyes still on Beau.

Beau turned away from two guys trying to talk to him and threw his arms around Saint and Cruz's shoulders, pulling them in, the weight of him hanging between them, his breath hot and sour with beer.

"Boys, let's go find some pussy." He looked over at Saint then nodded toward Cruz. "We know he ain't got none since Jessica stopped fucking with him."

Saint laughed. "I'm going to hope he fucked Tiffany."

Beau tilted his head, his lips pushed out, considering. He turned to Cruz. "You fucked your Pepette, bro?"

Cruz sucked his teeth. "She talking about she's trying to save herself for marriage."

Beau's eyebrows pulled together. "Then why the fuck would she want to be a Pepette?"

"That's what I'm fucking saying."

Beau shoved both of them forward, his palms flat against their backs, then grabbed two more beers off the counter, one in each hand, and slid between them. He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house, his shoulders turning sideways to fit through the bodies, his voice calling out to people as he passed.

Saint and Cruz followed him toward the back door. Addison stepped into Saint's path before he reached it, her hand landing on his chest, her body close enough that he could smell the vanilla in whatever she was wearing. Her eyes stayed on his face.

Behind them Beau turned in the doorway, a beer in each hand, and pointed one at Saint. "Fuck her in the ass, Saint!" He disappeared through the door. Cruz shook his head and followed him out.

Addison kept her eyes on Saint. She pressed in closer, her hand still flat against his chest.

"You been hiding from me, Saint?"

Saint shook his head. "I just got here like twenty minutes ago."

She smiled. "Well, I'm glad you came. I was beginning to think you didn't like me."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you've never asked me to come over."

Saint shrugged, his beer hanging at his side. "My mama don't really like white girls coming to her house."

Addison raised an eyebrow. "Oh, she's one of those mamas."

"Yep, one of those. And I don't want to find out what she gonna do if she catch you there."

"I guess you'll just have to come over to mine."

"Guess so."

Addison looked around the room, her eyes scanning the crowd, then looked back at Saint and nodded toward a hallway leading to another part of the house. "You want to make up for that then?"

"Yeah, we can do that."

Her smile widened. She reached down and took his hand, her fingers lacing through his, and pulled him forward through the crowd toward the hallway.

[Captain Canada]

Oh damn, Saint REALLY gonna fuck her in the ass huh.

[redsox907]

wait I thought Saint was with Brynn? not even three chapters in and you've had two mains cheat on their ladies

wouldn't be a Caesar production without it, I suppose

sounds like Brynn had something happen to her in the system, eh?

[Caesar]

Oh damn, Saint REALLY gonna fuck her in the ass huh.

She seems open to the possibility.

wait I thought Saint was with Brynn? not even three chapters in and you've had two mains cheat on their ladies

wouldn't be a Caesar production without it, I suppose

sounds like Brynn had something happen to her in the system, eh?

Did he cheat? The specifics of their relationship will be revealed in due time, but the chaotic nature of their lives (i.e. potentially being placed somewhere else with little to no notice) surely would make it difficult to fully commit to a typical relationship

Beau definitely did, though, but it's the #culture. Paisley's his Pepette. Can't be breaking tradition. (The same logic could be applied to Saint in that he's just participating in the culture to fit in since Addison's his Pepette and we see how Cruz was mocked for not cracking his, but we'll just leave that thread out.) Gracie understands tradition!

The system's a dangerous place for young girls.