Stories (2011) (12 page)

“
You
wanna split it?
”

“
Naw, I
’
m thinkin
’
maybe you could keep half
and I could give the other half to the cat.
”

“
You don
’
t got a cat.
”

“
Well, I
got another kind of cat, and that cat is one you like to pet.
”

“
You
’
re right there,
”
I said.
“
Tellin
’
me where he is, that
’
s okay, but I still got to do the groundwork. Hasslin
’
with that dude ain
’
t no easy
matter, that
’
s what I
’
m tryin
’
to tell you. So, me doin
’
what I
’
m gonna have to do, that
’
s gonna be
dangerous as trying to play with a daddy lion
’
s balls.
So, that makes me worth more than half, and you less than half.
”

“
You
’
re gonna shoot him when he ain
’
t
lookin
’
, and you know it.
”

“
I still
got to take the chance.
”

She reached over to the
nightstand, nabbed up a pack, shook out a cigarette, lit it with a cheap
lighter, took a deep drag, coughed out a puff, said,
“
Split,
or nothin
’
.
”

“
Hell,
honey, you know I
’
m funnin
’
,
”
I said.
“
I
’
ll
split it right in half with you.
”

I was lying through my teeth. She
may have figured such, but she figured with me she at least had a possibility,
even if it was as thin as the edge of playing card.

She said,
“
He
’
s done gone deep into East Texas. He
’
s
over in Gladewater. Drove there in his big black Cadillac that he had a chop
shop turn blue.
”

“
So he
drove over in a blue Caddy, not a black one,
”
I said.
“
I mean, if it was black, and he had it painted blue, it ain
’
t black no more. It
’
s blue.
”

“
Aren
’
t you one for the details, and at a time like this,
”
she said, and rubbed my leg with her foot.
“
But technically, baby, you are so correct.
”

That night Loodie laid me out a
map written in pencil on a brown paper sack, made me swear I was gonna split
the money with her again. I told her what she wanted to hear. Next morning, I
started over to Gladewater.

Jack was actually in a place
outside of the town, along the Sabine River, back in the bottom land where the
woods was still thick, down a little trail that wound around and around, to a
cabin Loodie said was about the size of a postage stamp, provided the stamp had
been scissor-trimmed.

I oiled my automatic, put on
gloves, went to the store and bought a hatchet, cruised out early, made
Gladewater in about an hour and fifteen, glided over the Sabine River bridge. I
took a gander at the water, which was dirty brown and up high on account of
rain. I had grown up along that river, over near a place called Big Sandy. It
was a place of hot sand and tall pines and no opportunity.

It wasn
’
t
a world I missed none.

I stopped at a little diner in
Gladewater and had me a hamburger. There was a little white girl behind the
counter with hair blond as sunlight, and we made some goo-goo eyes at one
another. Had I not been on a mission, I might have found out when she got off
work, seen if me and her could get a drink and find a motel and try and make
the beast with two backs.

Instead, I finished up, got me a
tall Styrofoam cup of coffee to go. I drove over to a food store and went in
and bought a jar of pickles, a bag of cookies, and a bottle of water. I put the
pickles on the floorboard between the backseat and the front; it was a huge jar
and it fit snugly. I laid the bag with the cookies and the water on the
backseat.

The bottoms weren
’
t far, about twenty minutes, but the roads were kind of
tricky, some of them were little more than mud and a suggestion. Others were
slick and shiny like snot on a water glass.

I drove carefully and sucked on
my coffee. I went down a wide road that became narrow, then took another that wound
off into the deeper woods. Drove until I found what I thought was the side road
that led to the cabin. It was really a glorified path. Sun-hardened, not very
wide, bordered on one side by trees and on the other by marshy land that would
suck the shoes off your feet, or bog up a car tire until you had to pull a gun
and shoot the engine like a dying horse.

I stopped in the road and held
Loodie
’
s hand-drawn map, checked it, looked up. There
was a curve went around and between the trees and the marsh. There were tire
tracks in it. Pretty fresh. At the bend in the curve was a little wooden bridge
with no railings.

So far Loodie
’
s
map was on the money.

I finished off my coffee, got out
and took a pee behind the car, and watched some big white waterbirds flying
over. When I was growing up over in Big Sandy I used to see that kind of thing
often, not to mention all manner of wildlife, and for a moment I felt
nostalgic. That lasted about as long as it took me to stick my dick back in my
pants and zipper up.

I took my hatchet out of the
trunk and rested it on the front passenger seat as I got back in the car. I
pulled out my automatic and checked it over, popped out the clip and slid it
back in. I always liked the sound it made when it snapped into place. I looked at
myself in the mirror, like maybe I was going on a date. Thought maybe if things
fucked up, it might be the last time I got a good look at myself. I put the car
in gear, wheeled around the curve and over the bridge, going at a slow pace,
the map on the seat beside me, held in place by the hatchet.

I came to a wide patch, like on
the map, and pulled off the road. Someone had dumped their garbage where the
spot ended close to the trees. There were broken-up plastic bags spilling cans
and paper, and there was an old bald tire leaning against a tree, as if taking
a break before rolling on its way.

I got out and walked around the
bend, looked down the road. There was a broad pond of water to the left, leaked
there by the dirty Sabine. On the right, next to the woods, was a log cabin.
Small, but well made and kind of cool looking. Loodie said it was on property
Jack
’
s parents had owned. Twenty acres or so. Cabin had
a chimney chugging smoke. Out front was a big blue Cadillac Eldorado, the tires
and sides splashed with mud. It was parked close to the cabin. I could see
through the Cadillac
’
s windows, and they lined up with
a window in the cabin. I moved to the side of the road, stepped in behind some
trees, and studied the place carefully.

There weren
’
t
any wires running to the cabin. There was a kind of lean-to shed off the back.
Loodie told me that was where Jack kept the generator that gave the joint
electricity. Mostly the cabin was heated by the firewood piled against the
shed, and lots of blankets come late at night. Had a gas stove with a
nice-sized tank. I could just imagine Jack in there with Loodie, his six
fingers on her sweet chocolate skin. It made me want to kill him all the more,
even though I knew Loodie was the kind of girl made a minx look virginal. You
gave your heart to that woman, she
’
d eat it.

I went back to the car and got my
gun-cleaning goods out of the glove box, took out the clip, and cleaned my
pistol and reloaded it. It was unnecessary, because the gun was clean as a
model
’
s ass, but I like to be sure.

I patted the hatchet on the seat
like it was a dog.

I sat there and waited, thought
about what I was gonna do with $100,000. You planned to kill someone and cut
off their hand, you had to think about stuff like that, and a lot.

Considering on it, I decided I
wasn
’
t gonna get foolish and buy a car. One I had got
me around and it looked all right enough. I wasn
’
t
gonna spend it on Loodie or some other split tail in a big-time way. I was
gonna use it carefully. I might get some new clothes and put some money down on
a place instead of renting. Fact was, I might move to Houston.

If I lived close to the bone and
picked up the odd bounty job now and again, just stuff I wanted to do, like
bits that didn
’
t involve me having to deal with some
goon big enough to pull off one of my legs and beat me with it, I could live
safer, and better. Could have some stretches where I didn
’
t
have to do a damn thing but take it easy, all on account of that $100,000 nest
egg.

Course, Jack wasn
’
t gonna bend over and grease up for me. He wasn
’
t like that. He could be a problem.

I got a paperback out of the
glove box and read for a while. I couldn
’
t get my mind
to stick to it. The sky turned gray. My light was going. I put the paperback in
the glove box with the gun-cleaning kit. It started to rain. I watched it splat
on the windshield. Thunder knocked at the sky. Lightning licked a crooked path
against the clouds and passed away.

I thought about all manner of
different ways of pulling this off, and finally came up with something, decided
it was good enough, because all I needed was a little edge.

The rain was hard and wild. It
made me think Jack wasn
’
t gonna be coming outside. I
felt safe enough for the moment. I tilted the seat back and lay there with the
gun in my hand, my arm folded across my chest, and dozed for a while with the
rain pounding the roof.

It was fresh night when I awoke.
I waited about an hour, picked up the hatchet, and got out of the car. It was
still raining, and the rain was cold. I pulled my coat tight around me, stuck
the hatchet through my belt, and went to the back of the car and unlocked the
trunk. I got the jack handle out of there, stuck it in my belt opposite the
hatchet, started walking around the curve.

The cabin had a faint light
shining through the window, that in turn shone through the lined-up windows of
the car. As I walked, I saw a shape, like a huge bullet with arms, move in
front of the glass. That size made me lose a step briefly, but I gathered up my
courage, kept going.

When I got to the back of the
cabin, I carefully climbed on the pile of firewood, made my way to the top of
the lean-to. It sloped down off the main roof of the cabin, so it didn
’
t take too much work to get up there, except that the
hatchet and tire iron gave me a bit of trouble in my belt, and my gloves made
my grip a little slippery.

On top of the cabin, I didn
’
t stand up and walk, but in stead carefully made my way on
hands and knees toward the front of the place.

When I got there, I peered over
the edge. The cabin door was about three feet below me. I moved over so I was
overlooking the Cadillac. A knock on the door wouldn
’
t
bring Jack out. Even he was too smart for that, but that Cadillac, he loved it.
I pulled out the tire iron, nestled down on the roof, peeking over the edge,
cocked my arm back, and threw the iron at the windshield. It made a hell of a
crash, cracking the glass so that it looked like a spiderweb, setting off the
car alarm.

I pulled my gun and waited. I
heard the cabin door open, heard the thumping of Jack
’
s
big feet. He came around there mad as a hornet. He was wearing a white shirt
with the sleeves rolled up. He hadn
’
t had time to
notice the cold. But the best thing was, it didn
’
t look
like he had a gun on him.

I aimed and shot him. I think I
hit him somewhere on top of the shoulder, I wasn
’
t
sure. But I hit him. He did a kind of bend at the knees, twisted his body, then
snapped back into shape and looked up.

“
You,
”
he said.

I shot him again, and it had
about the same impact. Jack was on the hood of his car, then its roof, and then
he jumped. That big bastard could jump, could probably dunk a basketball and
grab the rim. He hit with both hands on the edge of the roof, started pulling
himself up. I was up now, and I stuck the gun in his face and pulled the
trigger.

And let me tell you how the gas
went out of me. I had cleaned that gun and cleaned that gun, and now
…
it jammed. First time ever. But it was the time that
mattered.

Jack lifted himself onto the
roof, and then he was on me, snatching the gun away and flinging it into the
dark. I couldn
’
t believe it. What the hell was he made
of? Even in the wet night, I could see that much of his white shirt had turned
dark with blood.

We circled each other for a
moment. I tried to decide what to do next, and then he was on me. I remembered
the hatchet, but it was too late. We were going back off the roof and onto the
lean-to, rolling down. We hit the stacked firewood and it went in all
directions and we splattered to the ground.

I lost my breath. Jack kept his.
He grabbed me by my coat collar and lifted me and flung me against the side of
the lean-to. I hit on my back and came down on my butt.