Tietam Brown

Tietam Brown Read Online Free PDF Page A

Book: Tietam Brown Read Online Free PDF
Author: Mick Foley
Tags: Fiction
“aloha” is to Hawaiian people.
    School started in late August in Boyer, so on a cool summer’s eve, with big sheets of rain pouring down, Big Vinnie DelGratto packed his wife, two kids, and little bastard into his ’65 Cadillac and drove to the five-and-dime for a year’s worth of school supplies. I don’t think Big Vinnie gave a damn about his kids’ education, and I knew he couldn’t care less about mine, but he wasn’t about to let his wife drive his puke green pride and joy. Not out of any concern for her safety, but instead out of a firm belief that a woman’s place was not behind the wheel. He even drove her to the grocery store every Wednesday, where he passed the time with the newspaper’s sports section and a six-pack of Bud.
    â€œWe’ll be right back,” said Maria in a cheerful tone that was met with a Big Vinnie grumble, a newspaper rustle, and a cracking of that first Bud. If a grocery trip meant a six-pack, then I guessed that Vinnie was probably good for three by the time we collected our black marble composition pads and number two pencils.
    I was wrong. For on our return, Vinnie DelGratto was already soaking his liver in Bud number five and cursing out loud at the fate of his beloved Atlanta Braves. “Goddamn, Aaron,” he yelled, “home-run king my guinea ass. Strikeout king is more like it.” When Auntie M finished squeezing her sizable frame into the Caddy, Big Vinnie took off, ran a red light at the edge of the parking lot, made a sharp left at the next stop sign, and passed by row after row of neat little 1930s-era houses en route to our eleven-hundred-square-foot home on the far end of town. The trip averaged about ten minutes, but even with the rain pouring down and visibility damn near nil, Big Vinnie seemed intent on making it in five.
    I looked at Johnny to the immediate right of me in the Caddy’s backseat, fumbling with the bags, a frown on his face. Little Rachel peered in from the far right as if not to be shut out of some big secret, and said, “Whatcha looking for, Johnny?” in her cute, four-year-old way.
    â€œGet away, Rachel,” said Johnny, who turned his back to his sister and continued his search. “Mom, I can’t find my protractor.”
    I heard Vinnie grunt as he turned up the radio, which was broadcasting the tail end of an embarrassing Braves loss.
    Rachel persisted. “Whatcha looking for, Johnny?” she repeated, and attempted to reach into the bag.
    â€œStop it, Rachel,” Johnny yelled, and called for his mom to get Rachel to end her reaching ways.
    Auntie M, as usual, was the voice of reason and attempted to stop their sibling quarrel. “Come on now, Johnny,” she said, “don’t talk to your sister like that.”
    â€œBut Mom, I can’t find my protractor.”
    This time Big Vinnie spoke up as he gunned the car’s motor and made his voice rise above the rain, and the radio. “Goddammit,” he yelled, “I’m trying to listen to a ball game.”
    â€œBut Dad, I don’t have my protractor.”
    â€œShut up.”
    â€œI need one for school.”
    â€œShut up.”
    If there ever was a time not to speak, it was then, for Big Vinnie was in full scumbag mode, and even though I was seated behind him and could not see his face, I could see the fat on the back of his neck twitching, a sure sign that he was about to prove his manhood by smacking a small child.
    Johnny leaned forward to plead his case, but before the one syllable of “Dad” was even finished, his father caught him in the face with a stiff backhand swat. For the first time since I’d known her, Maria DelGratto got mad. “How dare you?” she yelled, which caught Big Vinnie off guard, but before another word could be heard, Vinnie DelGratto, her husband, filled the air of the Caddy with the loud cracking sound of fist meeting nose. I saw
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