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be at my mother’s side. He leans in,kisses her cheek, and says, “Darling, it’ll be just you and me in Europe. Just like—” He stops himself.
    I know what he was going to say.
    The words sucker punch me one at a time.
    Just.
    Like.
    Before.
    Victor.
    Was.
    Born.
    Victor Konig is down. It’s a knockout.

Bull
    MY FREAKING HANDS SHAKE FOR, LIKE, FORTY-FIVE minutes. They’re shaking like I’m doing it on purpose. I am an asshole.
    But I made it to work on time—fresh Band-Aid, fresh T-shirt, fresh story. I’m unloading the last box from a lady’s Range Rover SUV when the driver’s side window slides down and her arm shoots out. She’s snapping.
    I stand there, staring at this perfect hand with five perfect nails, all polished up, and a big honking diamond ring on her finger. She keeps snapping. It takes me a moment to break the spell of her glittering hand. I look at her face, which is perfecttoo. Straight blond hair, big blue eyes—if she wasn’t old, she’d be pretty hot. I’m close enough to the car to hear her mumbling to herself.
    “I can’t believe Tomas suggested I come here. There’s obviously something wrong with this boy.”
    Then she snaps and waves her hand at the same time, and shouts to me, “Excuse me! Do you hear me? I’d like my tax receipt now. My husband said I would get a tax receipt.”
    I can’t believe I thought she could’ve been hot. What
a cow.
    I shake my head while looking right into her eyes and say, “You have to get out of the car and get one yourself.” I turn and walk away.
    The woman obviously doesn’t get it. Her voice is louder this time. “Excuse me? Isn’t it your job to take care of the generous people who donate their goods?”
    That is it. I swing the box onto my hip, pivot, and walk directly toward her open window. The look on her perfect old face is fear. By the time I take the five or so steps that put me right next to her car, her window has slid back up.
    I decide I’m not taking her shit too. I’ve already taken adult-diaper-fulls of shit from my family today. I shout through the glass, “Lady, this job pays for my mom and Pop’s beer, bought me these shoes, and my bike. That’s all this job is. So, no, my job— this job—is not to take care of rich shits like you. Either get out of your carriage here and get the freakin’ tax receipt yourself, or tell Tomas to come back and get it for you. Then you can shove that tax paper up your—”
    She puts the SUV in reverse and peels out of the parking lot. I’m sure she’s smart enough to fill in the word she didn’t stick around to hear. She looked pretty smart to me.
    I carelessly toss the lady’s box into the holding room. Golf shoes tumble out as it lands in the corner. “Ha!” I shout to no one. Just what the poor slobs who shop at Salvy need. Golf shoes. Because they’re playing so much freaking golf.
    I walk back outside to find that my mother has come out for her break. Lucky me. She sits on a broken beach chair and lights up. At first she doesn’t notice me. I’ve been out here unloading since I got to work. She scrunches her eyes. I guess she’s noticing my busted cheek. She jumps up and gets in my face. “What did you say to him? Don’t you know you keep your mouth shut?”
    I know she’s talking about my grandfather. “Nice to see you, too, Mom. Don’t worry, I think he saved a case for you. He only killed one today.”
    She steps on her cigarette and grabs me by the throat. I am probably five inches taller than my mother, but she always has the power.
    “You shut your wise ass up. You hear me, Bull? That’s my daddy. You shut your stupid, wise ass up.”
    Even though my hands are in my pockets, I can feel them shaking again. Mom releases her death grip on my throat but keeps talking. “When are you going to learn? Are you some kind of retard?” She pulls out another cigarette, lights it, and takes a deep drag. “One of these days you’ll learn to keep your mouth