And I was scared by William’s expression now. His eyes were not flat and lifeless. These were Barry Hickman eyes. Animal eyes. Eric had flipped a switch, and in an instant, William had snapped. He pulled the sledgehammer from the bed of the El Camino, pivoted on the heels of his boots, and stormed back toward the house.
I dropped the tools.
Not good.
Eric stood at the door with a hand up, as if that would help. I figured a guy his size wasn’t used to being challenged, but he was being challenged now. In a big way. He said something like, “If you don’t agree, you can take me to small claims court.”
Was this guy nuts? Small claims court? William was about to take his head off with a sledgehammer. Eric had no clue what he had provoked.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Eric dropped his hand. When William didn’t stop, Eric became the matador before the bull, and I think the idiot finally realized what he had sowed. Too little, too late. Eric made his next statements while retreating, presumably to shut the door, but William arrived too fast, the lightning-quick high school wrestler. He drove his shoulder into the door and knocked Eric back. No hand, and no door, was going to stop William.
Eric shouted as William stormed down the hallway. “Hey. Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
I followed William. I’m not sure exactly what I thought I could do, but I was following the man code. You didn’t leave your buddy hanging. Eric turned to me as I stepped inside the house. He had that look of uncertainty and fear etched on his face. “What is he going to do?” he said.
I can’t believe I could even speak, or what I said, but I said, “He’s going to get his money’s worth.”
The wife looked stricken, crying and shouting. “Eric! Eric, just pay him. Pay him!”
Eric kept calling William’s name, kept trying to reason with him as he rushed down the hall behind him. “Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you! Hey! Hey, where are you going?”
William knew where he was going and so did Eric. William stepped into the bathroom and raised the sledgehammer, about to take a huge chunk out of the beautiful shower design.
The wife screamed, but now her words had a bite of anger, directed at her husband. “Goddamn it, Eric, pay him!”
None of it had any impact on William, the raging bull. Just as the sledgehammer was about to fall, the husband shouted, “You swing that hammer and I will fucking kill you.”
And that was it.
Things moved in slow motion.
William spun on his boots and redirected his aim from the floor to Eric. Fight or flight. Live or die. William chose to fight. I thought of all the stories he had shared with me that summer. I thought of all the occasions he said he had lived because of luck, while others had not. I thought of him telling me that his ass only stopped shaking when he no longer cared if he lived or died. And I knew what William was capable of.
So did Eric.
The husband’s eyes widened. His wife’s hands moved to her face, covering a silent scream. I did what William had done when Whippet got shot. Something I would not have done at the start of the summer. I moved on instinct. I stepped toward William and I gripped the sledgehammer.
“William. No,” I said.
William’s eyes shifted to me, to Eric, back to me. He looked as if he had no idea who I was, who Eric was, or where he was.
“Don’t do it,” I said. “William. Don’t do it.”
The weight of the sledgehammer gradually lessened. Color returned to William’s eyes. His face slackened, like melting wax.
“He isn’t worth it,” I said. “Let it go.”
I turned to Eric, who opened his mouth, and I cringed, certain he would say something even more stupid, but to my relief, fear got the better of him. “Okay. Okay. I’ll pay!” he said. “I got my checkbook right here. I’ll write it for the amount in full.”
He held the checkbook out in front of him like he was holding out the Holy Grail, imploring William to take it. He spoke slowly, carefully, as if speaking to someone who did not speak English. “I’ll pay in full. Okay? I’ll pay in full.”
William looked frozen in time and place, but he wasn’t in Redwood City, California. I knew he’d gone back to Vietnam, to a firefight in the bush, a firefight like the ones he had described. William lowered the sledgehammer, and I felt my stomach drop and my knees weaken. I took the sledgehammer and let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
Eric stepped backward, down the hall. “Get me a pen,” Eric said to his wife, watching William as if he were a stray dog who might bite. “Get me a pen.”