Stories (2011) (106 page)

Except for his shoes and socks, Jim found his clothes and
put them on and sat in a chair at a rickety table and put his head in his
hands. He repeated softly over and over, "Shit, shit, shit."

With his hands on his face, he discovered they had a foul
smell about them, somewhere between working-man sweat and a tuna net. He was
hit with a sudden revelation that made him feel ill. He slipped into the
bathroom and showered and redressed, this time putting on his socks and shoes.
When he came out the light was on over the table and the bear was sitting
there, wearing his clothes, even his hat.

"Damn, man," the bear said, his drunk gone,
"that was some time we had. I think. But, I got to tell you, man, you got
the ugly one."

Jim sat down at the table, feeling as if he had just been
hit by a car. "I don't remember anything."

"Hope you remembered she stunk. That's how I tracked
them down, on a corner. I could smell her a block away. I kind of like that,
myself. You know, the smell. Bears, you know how it is. But, I seen her, and I
thought, Goddamn, she'd have to sneak up on a glass of water, so I took the
other one. You said you didn't care."

"Oh God," Jim said.

"The fun is in the doing, not the remembering. Trust
me, some things aren't worth remembering."

"My wife will kill me."

"Not if you don't tell her."

"I've never done anything like this before."

"Now you've started. The fat one, I bet she drank
twelve beers before she pissed herself."

"Oh, Jesus."

"Come on, let's get out of here. I gave the whores the
last of my money. And I gave them yours."

"What?"

"I asked you. You said you didn't mind."

"I said I don't remember a thing. I need that
money."

"I know that. So do I."

The bear got up and went over to his bed and picked up the
whore's purse and rummaged through it, took out the money. He then found the
other whore's purse on the floor, opened it up, and took out money.

Jim staggered to his feet. He didn't like this, not even a
little bit. But he needed his money back. Was it theft if you paid for services
you didn't remember?

Probably. But...

As Jim stood, in the table light, he saw that on the bear's
bed was a lot of red paint, and then he saw it wasn't paint, saw too, that the
whore's head was missing. Jim let out a gasp and staggered a little.

The bear looked at him. The expression on his face was oddly
sheepish.

"Thought we might get out of here without you seeing
that. Sometimes, especially if I've been drinking, and I'm hungry, I revert to
my basic nature. If it's any consolation, I don't remember doing that."

"No. No. It's no consolation at all."

At this moment, the fat whore rolled over in bed and sat up
and the covers dropped down from her, and the bear, moving very quickly, got
over there and with a big swipe of his paw sent a spray of blood and a rattle
of teeth flying across the room, against the wall. The whore fell back, half
her face clawed away.

"Oh Jesus. Oh my God."

"This killing I remember," the bear said.
"Now come on, we got to wipe everything down before we leave, and we don't
have all night."

They walked the streets in blowing snow, and even though it
was cold, Jim felt as if he were in some kind of fever dream. The bear trudged
along beside him, said, "I had one of the whores pay for the room in cash.
They never even saw us at the desk. Wiped down the prints in the room, anything
we might have touched. I'm an expert at it. We're cool. Did that 'cause I know
how these things can turn out. I've had it go bad before. Employers have got me
out of a few scrapes, you know. I give them that. You okay, you look a little
peaked."

"I... I..."

The bear ignored him, rattled on. "You now, I'm sure
you can tell by now, I'm not really all that zood with the ladies. On the
plane, I was laying the bullshit on. Damn, I got all this fur, but that don't
mean I'm not cold. I ought to have like a winter uniform, you know, a jacket,
with a big collar that I can turn up. Oh, by the way. I borrowed your cell
phone to call out for pizza last night, but before I could, I dropped it and
stepped on the motherfucker. Can you believe that? Squashed like a clam shell.
I got it in my pocket. Have to throw it away. Okay. Let me be truthful. I had
it in my back pocket and I sat my fat ass on it. That's the thing. . . . You a
little hungry? Shit. I'm hungry. I'm cold."

That was the only comment for a few blocks, then the bear
said, "Fuck this," and veered toward a car parked with several others
at the curb. The bear reached in his pocket and took out a little packet,
opened it. The streetlights revealed a series of shiny lock pick tools. He went
to work on the car door with a tool that he unfolded and slid down the side of
the car window until he could pull the lock. He opened the door, then said,
"Get inside." The bear flipped a switch that unlocked the doors, and
Jim, as if he were obeying the commands of a hypnotist, walked around to the
other side and got in.

The bear was bent under the dash with his tools, and in a
moment, the car roared to life. The bear sat in the seat and closed the door,
said, "Seat belts. Ain't nobody rides in my car, they don't wear seat
belts."

Jim thought: It's not your car. But he didn't say anything.
He couldn't. His heart was in his mouth. He put on his seat belt.

They tooled along the snowy Denver streets and out of town
and the bear said, "We're leaving this place, going to my stomping
grounds. Yellowstone Park. Know some back trails. Got a pass. We'll be safe
there. We can hang. I got a cabin. It'll be all right."

"I ... I ..." Jim said, but he couldn't find the
rest of the sentence.

"Look in the glove box, see there's anything there.
Maybe some prescription medicine of some kind. I could use a jolt."

"I.. ."Jim said, and then his voice died and he
opened the glove box. There was a gun inside. Lazily, Jim reached for it.

The bear leaned over and took it from him. "You don't
act like a guy been around guns much. Better let me have that."The bear,
while driving, managed with one hand to pop out the clip and slide it back in.
"A full load. Wonder he's got a gun permit. You know, I do. 'Course, not
for this gun. But, beggers can't be choosers, now can they?"

"No. No. Guess not," Jim said, having thought for
a moment that he would have the gun, that he could turn the tables, at least
make the bear turn back toward Denver, let him out downtown.

"See any gum in there?" the bear asked.
"Maybe he's got some gum. After that whore's head, I feel like my mouth
has a pair of shitty shorts in it. Anything in there?"

Jim shook his head. "Nothing."

"Well, shit," the bear said.

The car roared on through the snowy night, the windshield
wipers beating time, throwing snow wads left and right like drunk children
tossing cotton balls.

The heater was on. It was warm. Jim felt a second wave of
the alcohol blues; it wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and without
really meaning to, he slept.

"I should be hibernating," the bear said, as if
Jim were listening. "That's why I'm so goddamn grumpy. The work. No hibernation.
Paid poon and cheap liquor. That's no way to live."

The bear was a good driver in treacherous weather. He drove
on through the night and made good time.

When Jim awoke it was just light and the light was red and
it came through the window and filled the car like bloodstained streams of
heavenly piss.

Jim turned his head. The bear had his hat cocked back on his
head and he looked tired. He turned his head slightly toward Jim, showed some
teeth at the corner of his mouth, then glared back at the snowy road.

"We got a ways to go yet, but we're almost to
Yellowstone. You been asleep two days."

"Two days."

"Yeah. I stopped for gas once, and you woke up once and
you took a piss." "I did."

"Yeah. But you went right back to sleep."
"Good grief. I've never been that drunk in my life." "Probably
the pills you popped." "What?"

"Pills. You took them with the alcohol, when we were
with the whores."

"Oh, hell."

"It's all right. Every now and again you got to cut the
tiger loose, you know? Don't worry. I got a cabin. That's where we're going.
Don't worry. I'll take care of you. I mean, hell, what are friends for?"

The bear didn't actually have a cabin, he had a fire tower,
and it rose up high into the sky overlooking very tall trees. They had to climb
a ladder up there, and the bear, sticking the automatic in his belt, sent Jim
up first, said, "Got to watch those rungs. They get wet, iced over, your
hand can slip. Forest ranger I knew slipped right near the top. We had to dig
what was left of him out of the ground. One of his legs went missing. I found
it about a month later. It was cold when he fell so it kept pretty good. Wasn't
bad, had it with some beans. Waste not, want not. Go on, man. Climb."

Inside the fire tower it was very nice, though cold. The
bear turned on the electric heater and it wasn't long before the place was
toasty.

The bear said, "There's food in the fridge. Shitter is
over there. I'll sleep in my bed, and you sleep on the couch. This'll be great.
We can hang. I got all kinds of movies, and as you can see, that TV is big
enough for a drive-in theater. We ain't got no bitches, but hell, they're just
trouble anyway. We'll just pull each other's wieners."

Jim said, "What now?"

"I don't stutter, boy. It ain't so bad. You just grease
a fellow up and go to work."

"I don't know."

"Nah, you'll like it."

As night neared, the light that came through the tower's
wraparound windows darkened and died, and Jim could already imagine grease on
his hands.

But by then, the bear had whetted his whistle pretty good,
drinking straight from a big bottle of Jack Daniel's. He wasn't as wiped-out as
before, not stumbling drunk, and his tongue still worked, but fortunately the
greased weenie pull had slipped from the bear's mind. He sat on the couch with
his bottle and Jim sat on the other end, and the bear said:

"Once upon a goddamn time the bears roamed these
forests and we were the biggest, baddest, meanest motherfuckers in the woods.
That's no shit. You know that?"

Jim nodded.

"But, along come civilization. We had fires before
that, I'm sure. You know, natural stuff. Lightning. Too dry. Natural
combustion. But when man arrived, it was doo-doo time for the bears and
everything else. I mean, don't take me wrong. I like a good meal and a
beer"—he held up the bottle—"and some Jack, and hanging out in this
warm tower, but something has been sapped out of me. Some sort of savage beast
that was in me has been tapped and run off into the ground ... I was an orphan.
Did you know that?"

"I've heard the stories," Jim said. "Yeah,
well, who hasn't? It was a big fire. I was young. Some arsonists. Damn fire
raged through the forest and I got separated from my mom. Dad, he'd run off.
But, you know, no biggie. That's how bears do. Well, anyway, I climbed a tree
like a numb nuts cause my feet got burned, and I just clung and clung to that
tree. And then I seen her, my mother. She was on fire. She ran this way and
that, back and forth, and I'm yelling, 'Mama,' but she's not paying attention,
had her own concerns. And pretty soon she goes down and the fire licks her all
over and her fur is gone and there ain't nothing but a blackened hunk of
smoking bear crap left. You know what it is to see a thing like that, me being
a cub?" "I can't imagine."

"No, you can't. You can't. No one can. I had a big
fall, too. I don't really remember it, but it left a knot on the back of my
head, just over the right ear. . . . Come here. Feel that."

Jim dutifully complied.

The bear said, "Not too hard now. That knot, that's
like my Achilles' heel. I'm weak there. Got to make sure I don't bump my head
too good. That's no thing to live with and that's why I'm not too fond of
arsonists. There are several of them, what's left of them, buried not far from
here. I roam these forests and I'll tell you, I don't just report them. Now and
again, I'm not doing that. Just take care of busi ness myself. Let me tell you,
slick, there's a bunch of them that'll never squat over a commode again.
They're out there, their gnawed bones buried deep. You know what it's like to
be on duty all the time, not to be able to hibernate, just nap? It makes a bear
testy. Want a cigar?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"A cigar. I know its funny coming from me, and after
what I just told you, but we'll be careful here in my little nest."

Jim didn't answer. The bear got up and came back with two
fat black cigars. He had boxed matches with him. He gave Jim a cigar and Jim
put it in his mouth, and the bear said, "Puff gently."

Jim did and the bear lit the end with a wooden match. The
bear lit his own cigar. He tossed the box of matches to Jim. "If it goes
out, you can light up again. Thing about a cigar is you take your time, just
enjoy it, don't get into it like a whore sucking a dick. It's done casual.
Pucker your mouth like you're kissing a baby."

Jim puffed on the cigar but didn't inhale. The action of it
made him feel high, and not too good, a little sick even. They sat and smoked.
After a long while, the bear got up and opened one of the windows, said,
"Come here."

Jim went. The woods were alive with sounds, crickets, night
birds, howling.

"That's as it should be. Born in the forest, living
there, taking game there, dying there, becoming one with the soil. But look at
me. What the fuck have I become? I'm like a goddamn circus bear."
"You do a lot of good." "For who, though? The best good I've
done was catching those arsonists that are buried out there. That was some
good. I'll be straight with you, Jim. I'm happy you're going to be living here.
I need a buddy, and, well, tag, you're it."