Bad Games - By Jeff Menapace Page 0,3

done. What do you want me to do about it?”

She said nothing.

“Okay then, maybe the guy’s just got a little dick and he’s compensating by flashing around wads of cash.”

Amy slapped his leg and Patrick jumped. Carrie, their six-year-old, leaned forward after witnessing her mother’s reprimand of her father. “What did Daddy say?” she asked.

“Nothing. Daddy’s just being a dummy.”

Carrie giggled and flopped back into her seat.

“That’s nice, honey. Give our children a nice heaping bowl of respect for their father.”

“Yes, well if their father would watch his mouth around his children—”

Patrick grabbed his wife’s thigh and she screeched. A rapid-fire assault of noisy smooches followed. Amy squirmed away from her husband’s probing lips, her laughter rising into playful screams. “Stop! Stop!”

One final obnoxious kiss and Patrick returned upright into his seat, more than a little pleased with himself. Amy laughed, straightened herself up, slapped her husband on the shoulder, then laughed again. Patrick turned to his kids in the backseat and flashed a silly grin. They grinned back, each one seemingly revolted yet delightfully entertained at their parents’ public display of affection.

Patrick faced front again. “Okay, we’re off.”

* * *

Arty pulled his white Pontiac to the side of an isolated road not far from the station. He got out and opened one of the back doors.

“Come on, boys,” he said, reaching in and snatching the blankets off his twin sons. He grabbed the children each by a leg and dragged them out of their car seats. Walking off the gravel road, Arty headed up a small hill towards a stretch of woods about twenty yards from where he’d parked. The boys dangled by their ankles in his grip.

Arriving at the most condensed border of the wooded area, he held the boy in his right hand up to his mouth, kissed him softly on the bottom, and punted the child deep into the woods.

The second boy got the same treatment, landing further back into the mass of green and brown than his brother. Arty raised both hands in the air like a referee confirming a touchdown.

“Take care, boys,” he said to the two plastic dolls he had just booted. And then, softly, smiling, “You served your daddy well.”

Arty strolled back to the Pontiac. He opened the driver’s door but did not enter right away. He stood there, eyes closed, breathing in one deep breath of autumn air until his chest could hold no more. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tingle radiate throughout his entire body.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed.

The start of a new one. The exquisite foreplay. So good.

Arty settled into the driver’s seat. Gunning the engine, he cranked the wheel hard to the left, gravel spitting out from beneath the tires as the car fishtailed before righting itself. Before too long he was back on the main road heading west. He smirked and occasionally giggled the entire drive.

2

“Daddy, Caleb said he was hungry. How much further?”

“No I didn’t!” Caleb took a swipe at his sister that missed.

Patrick glanced at his wife. “You think we should stop somewhere? We’ve still got about a half hour to go.”

Amy looked at the clock on the dashboard then double-checked it with her watch. It was twelve-thirty. They hadn’t eaten since seven. “Yeah, maybe we should. Where though?”

“I’m sure we’ll come across something soon,” he said. “People around here like to eat.”

“Probably because it’s the only thing there is to do around here.”

“Well that’s the whole point, right?”

“To eat?”

“No—to have absolutely nothing to do. Eat, drink, s-e-x, and eat and drink some more. We’re going caveman-style, baby.”

“Just as long as you don’t start dragging me around by my hair.”

“No hair-pulling? I thought you liked that?”

Amy opted for the pinch to the arm instead of the slap to the leg this time. “Would you stop?”

Patrick jerked away from the pinch. “Ouch.” He rubbed his arm. “They won’t know what that one means.”

“Our kids? Don’t be so sure, caveman.”

Patrick turned to the back seat, scratched his head like a monkey would, then grunted, “You kids want food, ya?”

Both Caleb and Carrie exchanged uncertain smiles. Their father’s playful change in manner was not out of character, but this new material—the caveman—had managed to suspend their laughter for a few seconds while they tried to figure out just who exactly their nutty dad was trying to portray this time around. It mattered little anyway. Caveman, pirate, monster—it was the frequent shift in character they loved. There was no need for a formal introduction to the day’s performance; the sincere