Stories (2011) (15 page)

“
She used
me,
”
I said.
“
She
’
s the one led me to this.
”

“
No
doubt, boy. But you got to understand. She come to me and made the deal before
you did anything. I got to honor that.
”

“
I could
just go on,
”
I said.
“
I could
forget all about it. I was just mad. I wouldn
’
t never
bother you. Hell, I can move. I can go out of state.
”

“
I know
that,
”
he said.
“
But I got this
rule, and it
’
s simple. You threaten to kill me, I got
to have you taken care of. Ain
’
t that my rule, boys?
”

There was a lot of agreement.

Lou Boo was last. He said,
“
Yep, that
’
s the way you do it, boss.
”

Big O said,
“
Lou
Boo, put him in the car, will you?
”

Lou Boo put the gun to back of my
head, said,
“
Get on your knees.
”

“
Fuck
you,
”
I answered, but he hit me hard behind the head.
Next thing I know I
’
m on my knees, and he
’
s got my hands behind my back and has fastened a plastic tie
over my wrists.

“
Get in
the car,
”
Lou Boo said.

I fought him all the way, but Be
Bop came out and kicked me in the nuts a couple of times, hard enough I threw
up, and then they dragged me to the car and shoved me inside behind the wheel
and rolled down the windows and closed the door.

Then they went behind the car and
pushed. The car wobbled, then fell, straight down, hit so hard the air bag blew
out and knocked the shit out of me. I couldn
’
t move
with it the way it was, my hands bound behind my back, the car on its nose, its
back wheels against the side of the hole. It looked like I was trying to drive
to hell. I was stunned and bleeding. The bag had knocked a tooth out. I heard
the sound of a motor above me, a little motor. The scooter.

I could hear Big O up there.
“
If you hear me, want you to know I
’
m
having one of the boys bring the cement truck around. We
’
re
gonna fill this hole with cement, and put, I don
’
t
know, a tennis court or somethin
’
on top of it. But the
thing I want you to know is this is what happens when someone fucks with Big O.
”

“
You
stink,
”
I said.
“
And you
’
re fat. And you
’
re ugly.
”

He couldn
’
t
hear me. I was mostly talking into the air bag.

I heard the scooter go away,
followed by the sound of a truck and a beeping as it backed up. Next I heard
the churning of the cement in the big mixer that was on the back of it. Then
the cement slid down and pounded on the roof and started to slide over the
windshield. I closed my eyes and held my breath, and then I felt the cold, wet
cement touch my elbow as it came through the open window. I thought about some
way out, but there was nothing there, and I knew that within moments there
wouldn
’
t be anything left for me to think about at all.

About a week before the house next door sold to the young
couple, Billie Sue and I broke up. It was painful and my choice. Some stupid
argument we’d had, but I tried to tell myself I had made the right decision.

And in the light of day it seemed I had. But come night when
the darkness set in and the king size bed was like a great raft on which I
floated, I missed Billie Sue. I missed her being next to me, holding her. The
comfort she had afforded me had been greater than I imagined, and now that she
was gone, I felt empty, as if I had been drained from head to toe and that my
body was a husk and nothing more.

But the kids next door changed that. For a time.

I was off for the summer. I teach math during the high
school term, and since Billie Sue and I had broken up, I had begun to wish that
I had signed on to teach summer school. It would have been some kind of
diversion. Something to fill my days with besides thinking of Billie Sue.

About the second day the kids moved in, the boy was out
mowing their yard, and I watched him from the window for a while, then made up
some lemonade and took it out on the patio and went over and stood by where he
was mowing.

He stopped and killed the engine and smiled at me. He was a
nice looking kid, if a little bony. He had very blond hair and was shirtless
and was just starting to get hair on his chest. It looked like down, and the
thought of that made me feel ill at ease, because, bizarrely enough, the
down-like hair made me think of Billie Sue, how soft she was, and that in turn
made me think of the empty house and the empty bed and the nights that went on
and on.

"Hey," the boy said. "You’re our
neighbor?"

"That’s right. Kevin Pierce."

"Jim Howel. Glad to meet you." We shook hands. I
judged him to be about twenty. Half my age.

"Come on and meet my wife," he said. "You
married?"

"No," I said, but I felt strange saying it. It
wasn’t that Billie Sue and I were married, but it had seemed like it. The way I
felt about her, a marriage license wasn’t necessary. But now she was gone, and
the fact that we had never officially been hitched meant nothing.

I walked with him to the front door, and about the time we
got there, a young woman, his wife, of course, opened the screen and looked
out. She wore a tight green halter top that exposed a beautiful brown belly and
a belly button that looked as if it had been made for licking. She had on white
shorts and thongs. Her black hair was tied back, and some of it had slipped out
of the tie and was falling over her forehead and around her ears, and it looked
soft and sensual. In fact, she was quite the looker.

It wasn’t that her face was all that perfect, but it was
soft and filled with big brown eyes, and she had those kind of lips that look
as if they’ve been bruised and swollen. But not too much. Just enough to make
you want to put your lips on them, to maybe soothe the pain.

"Oh, hi," she said.

"Hi," I said.

Jim introduced us. Her name was Sharon.

"I’ve got some lemonade next door, if you two would
like to come over and share it," I said. "Just made it."

"Well, yeah," said Jim. "I’d like that. I’m
hot as a pistol."

"I guess so," said the girl, and I saw Jim throw
her a look. A sort of, hey, don’t be rude kind of look. If she saw the look,
she gave no sign of it.

As we walked over to my house, I said, "You folks been
married long?"

"Not long," James said. "How long,
honey?"

"Eighteen months."

"Well, congratulations," I said.
"Newlyweds."

We sat out on the patio and drank the lemonade, and James
did most of the talking. He wanted to be a lawyer, and Sharon was working at
some cafe in town putting him through. He tried to talk like he was really
complimenting her, and I think he was, but I could tell Sharon wasn’t feeling
complimented. There was something about her silence that said a lot. It said,
Look what I’ve got myself into. Married this chatterbox who wants to be a
lawyer and can’t make a dollar ‘cause he’s got to study, so I’ve got to work,
and law school isn’t any hop, skip and a jump. We’re talking years of tips and
pinches on the ass, and is this guy worth it anyhow?

She said all that and more without so much as opening her
mouth. When we finished off the lemonade, James got up and said he had to
finish the lawn.

"I’ll sit here a while," Sharon said. "You go
on and mow."

Kevin looked at her, then he looked at me and made a smile.
"Sure," he said to her: "We’ll eat some lunch after a
while."

"I ate already," she said. "Get you a
sandwich, something out of the box."

"Sure," he said, and went back to mow.

As he went, I noticed his back was red from the sun. I said,
"You ought to tell him to get some lotion on. Look at his back."

She swiveled in her chair and looked, turned back to me,
said, "He’ll find out soon enough he ought to wear lotion. You got
anything stronger than lemonade?"

I went in the house, got a couple of beers and a bottle of
Jack Daniels, and some glasses. We drank the beers out on the veranda, then, as
it turned hotter, we came inside and sat on the couch and drank the whisky.
While James’ mower droned on, we talked about this and that, but not really
about anything. You know what I mean. Just small talk that’s so small it’s
hardly talk.

After about an hour, I finally decided what we were really
talking about, and I put my hand out and touched her hand on the couch and she
didn’t move it. "Maybe you ought to go on back."

"You want me to."

"That’s the problem, I don’t want you to."

"I just met you."

"I know. That’s another reason you ought to go back to
your husband."

"He’s a boring sonofabitch. You know that. I thought he
was all right when we met. Good looking and all, but he’s as dull as a cheap
china plate, and twice as shallow. I’m nineteen years old. I don’t want to work
in any goddamn cafe for years while he gets a job where he can wear a suit and
get people divorces. I want to get my divorce now."

She slid over and we kissed. She was soft and pliant, and
there were things about her that were better than Billie Sue, and for a moment
I didn’t think of Billie at all. I kissed her for a long time and touched her,
and finally the mower stopped.

"Goddamn it," she said. "That figures."

She touched me again, and in the right place. She got up and
retied her halter top, which I had just managed to loosen.

"I’m sorry," I said. "I let this get out of
hand."

"Hell, I’m the one sorry it didn’t get completely out
of hand. But it will. We’re neighbors."

I tried to avoid Sharon after that, and managed to do so for
a couple days. I even thought about trying to patch things up with Billie Sue,
but just couldn’t. My goddamn pride.

On the fourth night after they’d moved in, I woke up to the
sound of dishes breaking. I got out of bed and went into the living room and
looked out the window at my neighbor’s house, the source of the noise. It was
Sharon yelling and tossing things that had awakened me. The yelling went on for
a time. I got a beer out of the box and sat down with a chair pulled up at the
window and watched. There was a light on in their living room window, and now
and then their shadows would go across the light, then move away.

Finally I heard the front door slam, and Kevin went out, got
in their car and drove away. He hadn’t so much as departed when Sharon came out
of the house and started across the yard toward my place.

I moved the chair back to its position and sat down on the
couch and waited. She knocked on the door. Hard. I let her knock for a while,
then I got up and answered the door. I was in my underwear when I answered, but
of course, I didn’t care. She was in a short black nightie, no shoes, and she
didn’t care either.

I let her in. She said, "We had a fight. I hope the
sonofabitch doesn’t come back."

She took hold of me then, and we kissed, and then we made
our way to the bedroom, and it was sweet, the way she loved me, and finally,
near morning, we fell asleep.

When I awoke it was to Kevin’s voice. In our haste, we had
left the front door open, and I guess he’d seen the writing on the wall all
along, and now he was in the house, standing over the bed yelling.

Sharon sat up in bed, and the sheet fell off her naked
breast and she yelled back. I sat up amazed, more than embarrassed. I had to
learn to lock my doors, no matter what.

This yelling went on for a time, lots of cussing, then Kevin
grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her out of the bed and onto the floor.

I jumped up then and hit him, hit him hard enough to knock
him down. He sat up and opened his mouth and a tooth fell out.

"Oh my God, Kevin," Sharon said. She slid across
the floor and took his head in her hands and kissed his cheek. "Oh, baby,
are you all right?"

"Yeah, I’m all right," he said.

I couldn’t believe it. "What the hell?" I said.

"You didn’t have to hit him," Sharon said.
"You’re older, stronger. You hurt him."

I started to argue, but by that time Kevin was up and Sharon
had her arm around him. She said, "I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. Let’s go
home."

Sharon pulled on her nightie, and away they went. I picked
up the panties she’d left and put them over my head, trying to look as foolish
as I felt. They smelled good though.

Dumb asshole, I said to myself. How many times have they
done this? There are strange people in this world. Some get their kicks from
wearing leather, being tied down and pissed on, you name it, but this pair has
a simpler method of courtship. They fight with each other, break up, then
Sharon flirts and sleeps around until James discovers her, then they yell at
each other and he forgives her, and he’s all excited to think she’s been in bed
with another man, and she’s all excited to have been there, and they’re both
turned on and happy.

Whatever. I didn’t want any part of it.

That night I decided to make up with Billie Sue. I got my
shovel out of the garage and went out and dug her up from under the rose
bushes. I got her out of there and brushed the dirt off and carried her inside.
I washed her yellow body off in the sink. I fondled her bill and told her I was
sorry. I was so sorry I began to cry. I just couldn’t help myself. I told her
I’d never bury her in the dirt again.