Evilution

Chapter 6

A man pounding on the front door bleated his name. Travis awoke at ten and mistook the sound for the pounding in his skull; there was hardly difference between them. He wrapped himself in a towel he found on his bedroom floor and then went to silence his colleague's persistent racketing.

He had once told Rebecca that his colleague possessed all the grace and delicacy of an elephant herd. Rebecca had informed him that an elephant herd was actually called a memory, and that a herd of rhinos was called a crash, and that his colleague was actually more like an ox—a large, meaty beast submissive to authority, easily driven, and possesses little, if any, malice. Black-eyed and dark-skinned with a long brush of curly hair on his face that, when fueled with adrenaline and his muscles swelled, he could move boulders if needed. His great-great-great grandfather had been brought here as a slave. The nickname Ox had stuck. He was not offended. Oxen were beautiful and loyal creatures adored by all.

"Open up!" Ox banged with his meaty paws.

Travis placed his back against the door and let out a quiet groan. He didn't want company today and Ox alone was more than a crowd.

"I can hear you in there! Come on, don't be an asshole, open the door!" He proceeded to make the most unbearable sound—a poor impression of a police siren. "WEE-oo-WEE-oo! It's the police, we've got you surrounded!"

He'd scream all day from the porch if Travis didn't let him in. In haste and grumbling, Travis opened the door as quickly as possible.

Ox stood there grinning a wide grin of teeth, large and perfectly white with sparkling, gleaming eyes as black as coal. "Ah, you fell for it, didn't you!"

"Sure did," Travis replied. "Ya got me."

"Next time you should check the peephole. See who's really out there, huh," he said upon entering the house. "It was just me. Jesus Christ, what is that smell? It smells like pickled eggs ate garlic and then farted. Rotten. Garlicky. Egg farts. All over. God, it's eating my brain. Is that pizza over there? Got any leftovers?" He bounded to the kitchen and flipped open a pizza box. "Plain cheese? Wuss," Ox said and then devoured half the slice in a single bite.

"What do you want, Ox?"

With his mouth full he replied, "Don't say my name like you didn't want a visit from your favorite team member. I am your favorite, right?" He rested his thick elbows on the counter and gestured with the leftover pizza slice that caused several empty pizza boxes and a stack of mail to scatter across the kitchen floor. "I would've called you to let you know I was coming over but you don't have a phone."

Travis reached for the second-to-last bottle of Scotch on the counter and poured himself a glass. It was too early and he was too hungover to deal with Ox sober.

"It's not even eleven and you're already drinking? What is this—give it here." Ox took a drink straight from the bottle then looked at the label. "Oh, that burns." He took another sip then wiped his mouth across his bare arm. "You could fuel a tractor with this shit. Where do you keep the good stuff?"

"Your mother's."

Ox laughed.

"What are you doing here?" Travis asked again.

Ox looked at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Enlighten me."

"I'm taking care of my bro, duh."

"Taking care of me?"

"Yeah, some of the guys down at the station were worried about ya, but I said 'nah, you ain't gotta worry about Travis, he's a strong guy. He can hold his own. But just to be sure I thought I'd drop by and give ya a check-up."