Snitch: Stories

By Emily Hoover

A novella in stories, these ten powerful and gritty, interlinked tales take readers inside an impoverished, drug-ridden central Florida neighborhood where the Collins family lives. The three children are being raised by their bartender mother while their father is in prison. The angry oldest son Phillip bullies his siblings—Daniel, who likes to try on his mama's clothes and lipstick, and little sister Tammy, wise beyond her years. Tammy has a crush on Angelo, a boy across the street whose multi-generation Puerto Rican family provides a contrast with the dysfunctional Collinses. Their next-door neighbor Marsha is both caretaker and predator. They are all hiding secrets from each other, yet despite cruelty and bullying, are loyal to their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wordrunner eChapbooks
• Release date: Sep 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005543785

Emily Hoover

Emily Hoover’s fiction has most recently appeared in Gravel and BULL. Her short story “Angelo Loves Tammy” was nominated for 2018's “Best of the Net” Anthology and her short story “Nothing to Light Our Way” won honorable mention in Madville’s 2019 Runaway Stories contest. Her poems “Cuscuta denticulata” and “My Mother as a Serrano Pepper” were chosen as runners-up in Waxing & Waning’s 2020 Tennessee Tempest Editon. Emily’s book reviews have been published by The Los Angeles Review, Necessary Fiction, Ploughshares blog, The Rupture, and others. She is a Lecturer of English at Nevada State College.

Book preview

Snitch

Stories by Emily Hoover

Published by Wordrunner eChapbooks

(an imprint of Wordrunner Press)

Copyright 2021 Emily Hoover

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-1005543785

Copyright 2021

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Surge

Thief

Angelo Loves Tammy

El Brutál

Real Fun

Tectonics of Time

Some Kind of Saint

Snitch

Demolition

Reflections at Aqua Key West

About Emily Hoover

Surge

He watches her with wide eyes as she paints the colors of the night onto her porcelain skin. First, she draws thick, black lines above and below her eyelids, smudging some at the corners to hide the wrinkles. Then, she lines her too-thin lips with crimson. The lipstick she chooses is precise: a shade lighter than the liner, just enough to add texture but not enough to be noticed, especially in a poorly lit room. The liquid liner has dried some, so she brushes a dark purple across her fluttering eyelids and adds white near her brows.

She looks kind of pretty in the fake yellow light, he decides, and finds his own reflection in the bottom corner of the mirror. He watches himself watching her, the Florida Gators shirt clinging to his sweaty body. You look nice, Mom, he says, instead of I’m hot or why can’t we have A/C? Imagining her drawing fine lines on his face, he leans against the wall behind her, broadening the gap between them.

She huffs at his compliment, scrunches her face the way she does when she sucks down Zimas out on the porch. Thanks, hon.

I mean it, he says, trying to keep her attention. They have the same cheekbones. He turns his face to the side slightly, sucks his cheeks in a bit.

She ties up her dyed-blond hair with the leopard-print scrunchie he remembers her buying from the dollar store in a pack of four. Where were the other three? He remembers liking the one with the little perfume bottles on it. Once her hair is pulled back, she teases her bangs with a small black comb from her purse; it’s as though she’s forgotten he’s standing there behind her.

Can I have five dollars? he asks, suddenly. His tone has changed; it’s softer now. He anticipates her annoyance and looks instead at his fingers painted with red Sharpie, the linoleum beneath his Salvation Army sneakers.

I knew you wanted something. She digs around for mascara. Ingrate.

It’s not that, he says, even though he doesn’t know what ingrate means.

Then, what is it? Her mouth opens when the wand touches her lashes. Christ, Daniel, I can’t even buy new shoes for Tammy until I get paid. What’s gonna happen when you need new shoes, a new backpack? What about Phillip’s braces? None of you know how to take care of anything.

But you’re a bartender.

So? Her eyes narrow. She stares at him through the mirror’s dirty glass. You’ve been behind the bar. Did it look like I had a money tree back there?

No. But you have tips. I know that.

Oh you do? She closes the mascara tube, lights a Virginia Slim with her Zippo.

I know if you give me five dollars you’ll get another five back. Fast. He also knows he learned this kind of talk from his father.

She takes a long drag and places the cigarette on the corner of the vanity. There are brownish marks all over the surface. He likes to think it’s the place cigarettes go to die. Get a grip, Daniel, I don’t have time for your shit, she says.

His cheeks feel hot. His eyes swell, and he decides he hates her. He slams the door and stomps toward his room, defeated.

Watch it, faggot, Phillip says on his way out of their shared space. He blocks the door, shows the gap-toothed grin he inherited from their father.

Get outta my way. I’m serious, Daniel says and attempts to push his older brother aside.

But Phillip’s fist meets Daniel’s chest with sharp force. Daniel falls to his knees, clutching himself.

Sissy boy Danielle, Phillip says, laughing. He pushes Daniel down, kicks him in the stomach twice, and moves into the living room.

Tears come. Daniel’s wails fill the small house. The pain worsens after a few breaths, and he brings his knees to his chest, still sobbing. Daniel plans to stay this way until his mother comes out of the bathroom. He whimpers loudly, louder than necessary, because he knows she’ll give him a dollar for another Surge if he stops all the bellyaching.

Daniel hears Tammy and Phillip fighting over the TV remote in the living room; Tammy wants to finish cartoons—they only have one channel and it’s fuzzy most of the time—but Phillip wants to shut it off to play Notorious B.I.G. on the boom box he got for his birthday from the grandma they’re otherwise not allowed to see.

What the hell is going on here? his mother asks and comes out of the bathroom. She glances at Phillip, before kneeling beside Daniel. What’s wrong? Come on, Daniel. Stop. What is it?

He comes out of the fetal position, turns to lie on his back, and lifts up his t-shirt. He reveals his belly, the reddening flesh.

Your stomach? She wipes away his tears, brushes her long fingers against his skin. The commotion in the living room becomes louder. Phillip, enough, she yells, turning her head to the side. Your sister was watching first. Build a bridge and get over it! Her eyes come back to Daniel.

Yeah, Daniel says, sniffling.

Too many Surges eating your gut, huh? she asks.

No, he says forcefully.

Are you nauseous? Do you want some Pepto-Bismol? I’ll have Phillip heat up a can of chicken noodle soup for you. She brushes her fingers through his hair. How ‘bout that?

No. He shakes his head. Phillip kicked me. It hurts. And he called me a nasty name.

She grunts, grits her teeth. Phillip, she calls.

He comes into the hallway, keeps a safe distance.

Come here, she says.

Phillip squats beside her guardedly.

She slaps him hard across the face and he falls back, joining them on