The 'Cousins'

Part Seventy: Surprises as Mitt meets Gerry and Greg meets Walt!

“Do you know who you’re talking to? ...I’m Mitt Fawley!” 

Fawley’s finger poked his own chest to add emphasis; his lips twisted irritably.  Gerry was neither intimidated by the man, nor his self-importance.

“I don’ care if you Pres’dent of USA, you don’ drive on our prop’ty like that.” Gerry’s remark, coupled with his lack of respect, added fresh fuel to Fawley’s anger. Without conscious thought he shouted at the Pole.

“Your property,….what makes you think it’s your property, …it never was and never will be your property? You’re gonna be out of here anyway by next Monday noon.” 

Gerry raised the flat of his hand to deflect Fawley’s spittle from landing on his face and shouted back.

“It our prop’ty! We got papers. You better show respect or I teach you lesson.”

Fawley threw back his head to reply with mocking laughter, just as Isabella, one of the Padilla children dropped her ball. It rolled towards Fawley and the little girl ran to retrieve it. Fawley screwed up his face and launched a powerful kick at the ball. Gerry’s reactions were instantaneous, and fast for a big man of his age. 

Thinking Fawley might kick the child, the Pole shifted his weight, raising his left leg under Fawley’s right thigh, forcing it further upwards, deflecting the kick and bringing the man off-balance. Mitt fell backwards with a yell of surprise, landing heavily on his butt in the dirt. His bluster had gone, fear now filled his face. Mitt was scared as to what Gerry might do next. 

The big Pole stood over him, threatening, but not moving or speaking. Fawley watched in fear and scrabbled in the dirt on his bottom to get away from the supposed danger. Gerry pointed a finger at him.

“Who you are, I don’ care. You kick one of th’ kids I break you' neck, you unnerstan’ me mister?”

Fawley’s jaw hung open, his lips trembling as he scrabbled back another foot and quickly rose to come back onto his feet and ran out of the yard, towards his car. Gerry stood watching the man who regained some of his lost composure once the car stood between them. Fawley snarled viciously, pointing a finger at Gerry.

‘You just made a big mistake Polack, …one you’re gonna regret for the rest o’ you’re miserable life, so help me. … That goes fer you and all of you damn benefit cheats living in this rat nest.”

Gerry did not reply. He stood unmoved, glaring at Fawley with undisguised menace. Fawley twisted himself into his car muttering to himself and with a heavy foot gunned the engine, spinning his drive wheels and drove away in a cloud of dust.  

                                             *  *  *

Timeline: 11:50, Friday 20th April :: Room 196, Melody Inn Motel.

Greg half ran and half walked briskly from the stable to the motel. He felt good, greatly encouraged by his conversations with Ali and Tomas. He couldn’t help thinking over and over again ‘It’s all happening, it’s really all happening at last.’  Greg hurried along the sidewalk humming the Todd Fritsch melody he had heard on the radio that morning. He took the longer route to the motel so he could enter from the front of the building because he needed to talk to the manager. Greg came into the reception area to see the door to the private quarters closing, and the reception desk empty. 

The cleaner stood over the far side leaning on her mop, watching him with a curious look on her face. Greg took in this over-thin, almost emaciated, middle-aged woman with her unmade up face, gaunt and grey and whatever hair she might have left to her was hidden beneath a scarf that covered her head to her ears. She reminded him of a theatrical portrayal of a working class woman from the north of England. ‘All that’s missing is the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth,’ he thought ungenerously. He pointed at the private door, now fully closed.