The Animals: A Novel (8 page)

How is she? Nat said.

Fucked up. His voice was quiet and when Nat looked over at him he realized that Rick had been crying, his eyes dry now but red and ringed with dark circles.

She’ll be all right, Nat said.

I don’t know, man. She sounds tired out.

You wanna take a trip out there?

Yeah, I think so.

We could go this weekend, maybe.

I’d have to talk to my parole officer about it first.

Really?

Yeah. And I need a job. Like right now.

We can swing by the dealership. The guy who hires is in until five or six.

That would be good.

You should wear a tie.

Rick was silent for a moment and then he said, Maybe we should go tomorrow then.

That’s all the parole guy needs you to do?

Yeah, and to make sure I’m not doing shit they don’t want me to do.

Like what?

Like pretty much everything we did last night.

Can they tell?

How could they tell?

I don’t know.

Fuck no, they can’t tell. He puffed the cigarette. Like piss in a cup or something?

How would I know?

Shit, Rick said. I didn’t think about that. Shit. Maybe they
can
test for it. That would be just my luck, wouldn’t it? Out for one fucking day.

I don’t think they’ll do that.

Maybe I should drink like ten gallons of water to flush my system out.

Probably wouldn’t hurt.

Shit, Rick said again. Shit shit shit.

Nothing you can worry about now, Nat said.

But I am anyway, Rick said. I sure as shit am. Goddamn this day just keeps getting better and better.

A few rooms away, an old woman in a pink bathrobe stood smoking and waved her cigarette at them. Rick nodded to her. New girlfriend? he said.

Something like that.

They stood in silence for a time, puffing smoke into the late afternoon. Below them a young couple exited a car, laughing, and then disappeared into one of the first-floor apartments. Rick stood leaning out over the rail, his hair shorter than Nat had ever seen it but all else the same. He kept circling that thought. That everything was the same. That everything would be the same once again.

Why are you staring at me, man? You’re freaking me out.

Sorry, he said, looking away across the parking lot. I’m glad you’re back.

Not as glad as I am, Rick said.

What was it like in there?

Just about like you’d imagine.

I’m not sure how I’d imagine it.

I tell you what, he said. You could take everyplace you ever go—Grady’s and the Zephyr and your work and the apartment and even Battle Mountain—and maybe those are the only places you ever
will
go, I mean in your whole life. But if someone put a fence around them all and made them the only places you
could
go, then the whole thing flips on you. He took a drag on the cigarette. It’s the possibilities, man, he said, exhaling smoke. They take away your choices. That’s what it comes down to. You just got no choices at all.

Nat nodded. He could think of nothing to say, in part because what Rick had said did not sound so different from how his own life had felt since Rick was gone, and perhaps since long before that.

So who moved into the old apartment? Rick said.

Don’t know.

You want to try to get another double?

I got three months’ lease on this one yet.

Three months?

Three months.

Shit. What’s this one cost?

Two hundred.

Well, that’s better at least. So I gotta come up with a hundred in, what, like three weeks?

You don’t have to do that. I mean, not in three weeks.

Rick said nothing in response, his eyes casting out across the parking lot, the apartment building, the parking lot again. More cars trundled through as day-shift workers returned to their dingy apartments, others pulling out of the lot and onto Fourth Street to start their workday or to continue it or to clock in at a second job. Day shift at a restaurant. Night shift at a casino or hotel. Perhaps the other way around. Nat had held down his job at the dealership shop for more than a year now. It seemed hard to believe. He had thought of trying to get a second job when Rick went to prison if only to fill all the hours that remained but he never had and now that Rick was back he knew those hours would fill themselves.

You ready for eats?

Starving, Rick said. He flicked his cigarette out into the parking lot beyond and Nat did the same. The woman in the pink robe waved to them again.

That really is your girlfriend, isn’t it?

Maybe, Nat said. You know how I love the toothless ones.

Rick giggled and they returned to the living room, Nat closing the slider behind them and locking it. The apartment had darkened, the sun’s disappearance behind the mountains plunging the rooms into shadow. Their coats were both draped over the chair near the door where they had landed when the three of them stumbled back into the apartment from the bars. He could remember Grady’s and the 715 Club and Bishop’s. At some point he must have driven them back to the apartment in the Datsun but most of the night’s events had fallen into a dull haze of static and the return itself was utterly blank.

It was exactly when they turned out of the apartment that Nat saw the man coming up the stairs from the parking lot. He was backlit by the low sun, his body a dark, heavy-shouldered mass, but Nat knew it was Mike, his leather loafers thumping up the stairs as the sun played on the flat surface of his buzz cut.

And there he is, Mike said, his voice upbeat, almost jubilant.

Hey, Nat said. I was just gonna call you.

Yeah? Mike said. Now you don’t have to. He smiled, eyes squinting. Who’s your friend?

He was just … uh … going out, Nat said.

What? Rick said. He looked from Nat to Mike and back again and then said, Who are you?

Name’s Mike. Let’s go back inside.

We’re headed to get some grub, Rick said.

You can do that in a minute.

Nat stood there in the doorway, not speaking, not moving, his chest a tight blaze of heat.

What’s this about? Rick was looking at Mike, but it was Nat who answered him.

Just some business, Nat said. There was a tremor in his voice.

Nathaniel and I need to have a talk, Mike said. Maybe you wanna wait outside?

I’m not waiting outside, Rick said.

I think you are. Mike’s voice was calm and clear and tinged with the faintest sense of ebullience, as if he was glad to be of service in this way, or in any way at all.

Nat? Rick said. What the fuck is this?

This is already taking too long, Mike said.

All right, Nat said. He stepped backward through the door and Mike followed him, Rick trailing behind, the three of them entering the apartment and then standing in a kind of shadowy tableau, Rick in the still-open doorway, Nat near the sofa, and Mike between them.

That an Atari there? Mike said.

Yeah, Nat said.

What do those cost?

I don’t know, Nat said. We got it in a trade.

What kind of trade?

I don’t know, Nat said.

You don’t know?

I can’t remember.

Mike stepped forward and in one quick, almost graceful movement slammed his fist into Nat’s stomach and then turned to face Rick, who was already moving forward those few last feet across the room. Don’t, Mike said. This is business.

What the fuck does that mean? he said, standing now just a few inches from Mike’s face. Get the fuck out of here.

Rick, Nat said, doubled over, still trying to catch his breath. It’s OK.

What the fuck it’s OK? Rick said. And then, to Mike, again: Get the fuck out of here.

Don’t do that, Mike said.

I’ll do anything the fuck I want. Who the fuck are you?

I’m Mike. Maybe you need to wait out in the hall like I asked you to.

Fuck you, Rick said, but the end of the word was clipped off by the strike of Mike’s fist in his side. The blow had come without apparent physical precedent and with such speed that Rick seemed merely to stagger backward of his accord, slipping toward the doorway. In the next moment Mike’s hand came forward and pressed him, almost gently, through that aperture and out onto the concrete platform that topped the stairs, swinging the door closed with his foot and locking the deadbolt.

Please don’t hit me again, Nat said. I’ll get it. I’ve almost got it.

Rick’s fists were banging on the door now, his voice calling Nat’s name over and over, the sound of it muffled through the wood.

My god that guy’s irritating, Mike said. Look, you’re gonna have to give me something.

Like what?

I’m not leaving empty-handed, Mike said.

I’m tapped out, Nat said.

Didn’t you get paid last week?

Yeah, but it wasn’t a good week.

Ah shit, Mike said, exhaling. What did I tell you last time?

Not to miss a payment, Nat said, but I’m not going to miss it. I’m just a little late. That’s all. The hammering had stopped now and in the silence Nat could hear his own heart beating as if the distant echo of Rick’s fists on the wooden door. I’m trying, Mike, Nat said. I really really am. I promise.

You promise? I’m pretty sure you promised last time. Johnny doesn’t like excuses.

I know, I know, Nat said. He had straightened up now. His stomach felt loose and flabby, as if the muscles there had given up and were now hanging loose from his ribs. Look, you can take the Atari? OK? Will that work for right now?

What am I gonna do with that?

I don’t know, he said. Pawn it. Or take it home.

Mike stood looking at him. What kind of games you got?

It came with Space Invaders. We got Pitfall and Frogger
.

Pitfall’s the one where you’re jumping over those ponds and snakes and shit?

Yeah.

That’s pretty fun, right?

I like it.

He seemed to consider for a moment. Both joysticks?

Yeah.

All right. Unplug it and put it in a paper bag, he said. But this is just a delay. I’m telling you, Nathaniel, if you knew the shit I had to do, you wouldn’t be late with a payment. Not ever.

I know, Nat said.

No you don’t, Mike said. He stood there for a moment in the doorway and then reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of Parliaments. You want a smoke? he said.

Yes please, Nat said.

He held up the pack and Nat took a cigarette and then was handed a silver Zippo upon which was engraved a skull surrounded by roses. The instrument weighed heavy in his hand and the flame it produced seemed to dance everywhere before him but he managed to get the cigarette lit and drew upon its smoke as if it were cool clean air.

You get that thing unhooked for me, OK? Mike said.

Nat turned and slid the television away from the wall and jerked the little tabs from their screws and then pulled the small game box forward, its four toggle switches shining in the grim slanting light. He wrapped the cables around its body and then went to the kitchen and hunted for a paper sack and was relieved to find one pressed between the refrigerator and the cabinets and he loaded that bag with the Atari and the two joysticks and then the game cartridges. His hands had stopped shaking now and his breath curled in white smoke before him.

What’s this place cost? Mike asked.

Two hundred.

That seems like a lot for such a shitty little apartment, Mike said, and then added: No offense.

It’s what they cost now, Nat said. The one we had before was three fifty.

Jesus, Mike said. That’s just robbery.

Nat handed him the paper bag and he took it.

Why don’t you make sure your friend isn’t going to coldcock anyone when I come through the door, Mike said.

Nat unlocked the door and opened it, the cigarette held in his hand. Rick stood on the landing under the darkening sky. Somewhere he had found a small length of metal pipe and he stood there brandishing it like a stubby baseball bat. What the fuck? he said.

You gotta put that down, Nat said.

What the fuck is going on, man?

Just put it down. You’re gonna make this a lot worse. His voice cracked at these words and he realized that he was on the verge of bursting into an agony of tears.

Jesus Christ, man, Rick said. He did not drop the pipe but he stepped back a few feet and stood there at the edge of the stairs. Down the walkway, a man leaned forward against the rail in a white sleeveless T-shirt smoking a cigarette, watching them impassively.

Nat tried to say something more but no words would come and he clenched his teeth tight against his own shuddering breath.

Mike stood behind him in the doorway, his presence all but filling it. Why don’t you two head on down the stairs, he said.

What the fuck? Rick said again.

He did not move until Nat arrived at his side and then both of them, together, began to descend, Rick holding the short black pipe erect in the glowing air.

Toss me the keys so I can lock up, Mike said from the top of the stairs.

Nat paused, Rick looking at him. Then he fished the keys out of his pocket and threw them, underhanded, to where Mike stood in the doorway. The man exited the apartment and closed the door and locked it and then turned and tossed the keys back to Nat, midway down the stairs. You gentlemen have a nice evening, Mike said.

Neither of them made a sound in response. Instead, they continued their descent, Rick still holding the length of pipe even as they reached the parking lot and Nat unlocked the battered Datsun and they both slid inside, Nat puffing on the cigarette as he started the car and pulled them out onto Fourth Street at last.

What the fuck was that, man?

I owe some money.

To who?

Johnny Aguirre.

Johnny Aguirre? Are you fucking serious?

He did not answer. The road before them was cast under a sky the color of burnished metal.

Jesus Christ, Rick said. Jesus fucking Christ. Johnny Aguirre? Fuck me. What kind of money are we talking about?

A grand.

Jesus Christ, Rick said. He lifted the pipe as if to smash it against the dashboard but instead swung it back and forth in the air and finally set it on the floorboards at his feet. Then he leaned forward and depressed the car’s cigarette lighter with a faint click. What happened?