The Whore's Child

father’s acquaintances referred to him as “Slick,” which made Lin wonder if maybe this was the reason he didn’t want to move to Connecticut, where nobody would know his nickname.
    â€œHow about this one?” his father wondered, indicating a bright green Bonneville.
    â€œJust took it in trade.”
    â€œAnd?”
    The man shrugged. “I wouldn’t, if it was me.”
    â€œI’m not you.”
    â€œAin’t that the truth.”
    â€œWhat do you need to get?”
    â€œTwenty-four hundred.”
    His father made a face. “I meant the other price. The one you give your preferred customers.”
    â€œYou know who my preferred customers are, Tommy?” the man said. “They’re the ones who buy cars from me. Not the ones who come in every week and tell me I’m a thief and never buy so much as a hubcap.”
    His father looked around the empty lot. “You want me to wait here while you tend to all your other customers?”
    They took the Bonneville for a ride out on the highway, his father pushing the accelerator all the way to the floor and letting up only when the speedometer hit 85, the engine rumbling and throaty, clearly disappointed when it started slowing. Then they drove over to Uncle Bert and Aunt Melly’s, parking the Bonneville out front. To Lin’s surprise, when his father tooted Uncle Bert himself came out onto the porch (causing Lin to suspect yet another ghost scene), followed by Aunt Melly and all three of their kids, the smallest one toddling right over to Lin and throwing up her arms.
    â€œShe likes you,” Aunt Melly translated. “She wants you to pick her up.”
    Lin regarded the child’s full diaper, her runny nose and crusty chin. When he finally picked her up, the child stared deep into his eyes, gumming and twirling her pacifier provocatively.
    â€œI don’t know, Tommy,” Uncle Bert said in his whine when his father started the Bonneville up, its engine rumbling and straining like an animal on a leash, drawing the neighbors out onto their sagging porches.
    â€œIt’s got pretty good pep,” his father said.
    Uncle Bert shook his head as if he’d once had a car just like this one and had to shoot it. “Probably gets about eight miles to the gallon. Pop the hood a minute.”
    The next-oldest cousin now wrapped his arms tightly around Lin’s thigh and buried his shaved skull in Lin’s groin, which, for reasons entirely mysterious to Lin, gave him an erection.
    â€œThat’s some haircut you got,” his aunt said. From previous visits Lin knew that she wasn’t about to rescue him from the affection of his cousins.
    â€œSmells hot,” Uncle Bert said when Lin’s father finally located the latch and lifted the hood. “What are they asking?”
    â€œTwenty-four,” Lin’s father said.
    â€œI don’t know,” Uncle Bert said again, still staring at the engine as if expecting it to reach a decision.
    â€œIt’s not nice to touch people there, Bertie,” Aunt Melly said languidly when she noticed that her son, curious about the hard shape in Lin’s pants, was trying to determine its exact size with his thumb and forefinger. Now the oldest girl came over too. Only a couple of years younger than Lin, she stared at him with the same vacant expression her father was using on the Bonneville’s engine.
    â€œ
Jesus,
Melly,” Uncle Bert whined, finally noticing Lin’s predicament. “Can’t you take them inside?”
    â€œThey get tired of being inside,” Aunt Melly said. “Besides, all that TV isn’t good for them.”
    â€œWhy don’t you let Brian sell you a car?” Uncle Bert wondered. “He’d make you a good deal.”
    â€œBecause then I’d owe him.”
    â€œSo what? He’s your brother. He made me a heck of a deal on the Buick.”
    â€œRight,” his father said. “As he points out every time you run into him.”
    The vacant-eyed girl now jumped on Lin’s back, wrapped her spindly legs around his waist and covered his eyes from behind with two damp hands.
    â€œThe trouble with you Harts is you’re all stubborn as mules,” Aunt Melly observed as she headed back inside. “Bert, sweetie, what’d Mommy just tell you?”
    â€œIf you’d go to work for him, he’d probably give you a company car,” Uncle Bert