In the City of Shy Hunters (31 page)

Is
Maiden Lane
close to Spring and Prince? I said.

Nah, True Shot said. World Trade Center.

Cultures always build their monuments on top of an older culture's monument, True Shot said. What better place for the entrance to the underworld than under the World Trade Center?

My arm in the window, the sun-baked night air blew against my arm and neck.

What about here, though? I said. There's something here, don't you think?

You mean the meat district? True Shot said.

The smell, I said.

Meat and blood, True Shot said. Like that.

West Fourteenth Street, right on Hudson; True Shot shifted down from third to second, double-clutched to first, put on the brakes.

You see that basement door there? True Shot said.

It's an S&M Club, True Shot said. Used to be called Hell, now they call it the Phoenix.

The building was a triangular brick building. It was painted white-trash tartar sauce.

In the mercury-vapor light, above the basement door, the word PHOENIX.

The entrance to Hell.

Centuries of meat death.

On the south corner of the pink triangular building, a woman in a tight red dress and black stiletto heels, seams in her nylons, stepped out into the van's headlights. She pulled her dress up, and her black lace codpiece was not a woman's, and the guy who was not a woman bent over and showed us his smooth ass. The guy pulled the black butt floss over and stuck his index up his ass and wiggled it around and then stood up and turned, struck a pose, put his index in his mouth, and sucked it.

The women, I mean the men, with the guy who stuck his index up his ass, all laughed loud and hard and made chirping noises at us with their lips.

The guy in the red dress, his glitter eyes stared right at us, not a blink. Out of a history book, his face. Craggy, high cheekbones, big full lips. Chin pushed out; even from inside the van you could see each one of his bottom teeth, framed within the red red lips.

Devouring. Devoured.

That Charlie? True Shot said.

No, I said. Charlie was long and thin, but that guy don't look like Charlie at all.

He's from the plains, True Shot said.

He pulled over to the curb. Just like that, the guy was right next to my window. I moved my arm and the guy leaned in the window, his long black shiny hair falling soft around his face. Halston. The guy was wearing Halston.

Name's Crystal, she said. What's yours?

I'm Will, I said. This here's True Shot.

Nice van, Crystal said. Room for three in the back.

I didn't say anything. True Shot said, We're looking for somebody.

Two somebodies, I said.

Aren't we all? Crystal said.

You studlies are two somebodies, Crystal said, and put his glitter eyes on me and his big-lips smile. Crystal pulled his hair behind his ear. An earring, shells, and mother-of-pearl.

One's an Indian guy, True Shot said. Name is 2Moons, Charlie 2Moons.

And the other guy's got a shaved head, I said, And a full moon on
his forehead tattooed above each eyebrow. His name's Ruby, I said, Ruby Prestigiacomo.

Crystal's voice all at once got lower.

You guys cops? Crystal said.

No, I said. We're just, I said, Looking for old friends.

Are they dragons? Crystal said, and drew her hand, her long fingers, red Lee Press-On nails, slow across the skin of her neck.

Dragons? I said.

You know!
Dragons
, darling! Crystal said. Life's a drag if only you know it. Like me, Crystal said.

Crystal's red Lee Press-On nails went from below her clavicle to over her shoulder to the dragons on the street corner behind her. The dragons were mostly young, mostly thin, mostly dark-skinned, all strapped into tight hot pants and miniskirts. In the light from the streetlamp, their faces glowed, faces painted on faces. They all looked at me through the faces on them. Patti LuPone, Diana Ross, Patti LaBelle, Donna Summer.

The dragons all clucked their tongues and pushed their hips out and raised their arms, oo-la-la, shaven armpits, Evita, “Don't Cry for Me.”

Like them! Crystal said.

My face was smiling. I stopped smiling.

Where's this Charlie Two Spoons from?

Moons, I said. He's from Fort Hall, Idaho.

And Ruby? Crystal said.

From Mars, True Shot said.

It'll cost you, Crystal said.

How much? True Shot said.

Twenty, Crystal said.

True Shot and I both went to our wallets. True Shot had a couple fives, I had a ten. I went to give the guy our twenty dollars but True Shot grabbed my hand.

That's when True Shot said something to Crystal in another language.

Crystal's eyes were the deer in the headlights. Set in her jaw, the Mack truck.

Look, Crystal said and flipped her hair, Halston, seashell, and mother-of-pearl earring flash. I don't know these fucking guys, Crystal said. Just because I'm Injun don't mean I know some Injun. And just because I'm on the street don't mean I know a guy with two moons tattooed on his forehead.

Two moons.

My breath in. My breath out.

The first time I'd heard the two words, two moons, put together that meant Ruby.

Splash down through my heart into my stomach.

Crystal had four long bottom teeth. The better to eat you with.

South Dakota is a long ways away, Crystal said, and squatted down the way Charlie and his grandfather always squatted down.

Crystal put her hand in between her legs, pulled the black lace codpiece aside, and there was her cock and her cock started pissing. The stream down between the black stilettos onto the curb into the street.

Dragon piss.

It's a place I'll never see again or want to, Crystal said.

Then Crystal started singing. Baritone:

It isn't very pretty what a rez without pity can do
.

Crystal shook her cock, put back the lace codpiece, stood up.

White people, Crystal said, got no special privilege to those little-town blues.

Crystal put her Lee Press-On nail under my chin.

What town without pity you from, honey?

Pocatello, I said, Mostly.

Fuck Pocatello.

Crystal's Lee Press-On nail was a sharp blade.

People like me, Crystal said, Don't fit anywhere but here. This island where we land.

Headlights from behind Door of the Dead van went past, slow radials on the cobblestones. Crystal's eyes followed the headlights, big snake little snake, prey.

There's hundreds of comers on this island, Crystal said, And there are thousands of us. Exiles from the heartland without a heart. Out of the old country, a brand-new tribe, dancing to new tunes around a bucket of fire in a vacant lot.

We all know each other's stuff, Crystal said, But that don't mean we know each other.

True Shot took off his mirrors and looked right at Crystal. I looked at True Shot, into his eyes, Saint-Vitus'-dance jade. True Shot said something in the language, something really beautiful and soft. He let go my hand with the money.

I took the yellow Post-it with my phone number and Charlie's info and Ruby's info on it along with the twenty dollars and handed them out the window.

Please, I said. Here's my phone number.

A car behind us blinked his headlights, bright to dim, bright to dim.

How do I look? Crystal said.

Perfect, I said. Just perfect.

Crystal dabbed her eyes with the pad of an index finger, the red Lee Press-On nail sticking straight up. She sighed deeply, lots of shoulder, put the yellow Post-it and the twenty dollars down her dress, turned her back on the blinking headlights, pulled the back of her dress up, poked her smooth brown cayenne ass at the blinking headlights, looked into the headlights, her spotlight for life, moved her dragon lips, the bottom four teeth.

Got to go, honey, Crystal said, and looked in at me, right at me, put her palm against my cheek, Lee Press-On nails on my ear.

If I find him, Crystal said, I'll call. Right now, I've got to go.

Love ya, mean it.

Mr. Right, Crystal said, Is waiting.

TRUE SHOT AND
I in Door of the Dead van on Gansevoort in our Saint Carlotta parking place. Meat trucks were parked all along the narrow streets. No Charlie 2Moons. No Ruby. Across Greenwich, on the other side of a Premium Meats truck, a woman—I was pretty sure she was a woman—on her knees on the sidewalk, sucking off some guy. All you could see of the guy was his potbelly and a cigar in his hand.

Why don't you get yourself one of those? I said to True Shot. I can go for a walk.

A cigar? True Shot said.

A blow job, I said.

True Shot's mirrors.

It is this way, True Shot said. When the Little People told me to quit drinking, quit smoking, quit picking pockets, and quit with the drugs, they also told me to quit whoring. It's not good for the spirit, True Shot said. And especially these days.

Then out of the blue: True Shot, I said, Those purple bumps on Ruby, I said, Could be AIDS.

True Shot turned his mirrors back to the windshield, put the clutch in, shifted down into first.

All Dodges sound the same when you start them up.

* * *

AT 205 EAST
Fifth Street, True Shot stopped the van. I put my hand on the door handle, then pulled my hand away. I started rolling a cigarette.

True Shot, I said, You know so much about me, I said, I'm the one who's always talking. What about you? I don't even know where you live.

True Shot's mirrors straight ahead out the windshield.

Bedford, True shot said, First stop on the L train after the river. Eighty-five North Third, corner of Wythe and North Third.

What's it like over there? I said.

Over there, True Shot said, There's a motorcycle shop on the corner, the guy who runs it's called New York Slicker and the place is crawling with Rottweilers. An old aluminum diner across the street vacant since I've been there.

What apartment? I said.

You can't really call it an apartment, True Shot said, Let's just say I live in a shed on the roof.

Where do you park the van, I said.

Across the street, on the fourth floor in the southwest corner of the parking garage.

Then: So what do you do? I said.

I live there, True Shot said.

I mean sexually, I said.

True Shot's breath in, his breath out. Mirrors straight ahead out the windshield.

Do you Green Date? I said. Masturbate?

Like that, True Shot said. And I have two friends.

The E.T.-phone-home guy, I said, Sticks the phone receiver up his ass. You ever stick things up your ass?

As far as
my
ass is concerned, True Shot said, No things go in, things only come out.

How do you like it best? I said.

True Shot turned the key off. His hand, all the silver rings, playing with the turn signal.

Sex is best for me, True Shot said, With me on top, on a bed or on a couch so my back doesn't get kinked. I like my feet up against something solid, like a wall, and I like her with her legs spread wide and me just fucking the shit out of her.

So your two friends are your girlfriends? I said.

Like that, True Shot said.

Do you fuck them a lot? I said.

I fuck one of them about once a week, True Shot said.

Only girls? I said.

Only girls, True Shot said.

Yeah, I said, That's what Ruby said.

True Shot's mirrors over at me.

What did Ruby say? True Shot said.

That the only dick, I said, You'd ever have in your hand would be your own, I said. And in your mouth, the only dick would be your own dick, but you're too fat to get to it.

Yeah, well, True Shot said, Ruby's lucky to even
find
his dick these days.

Then: What did you say to Crystal the Dragon? I said.

Just some things, True Shot said.

What language was that?

Sioux.

Where did you learn Sioux? I said.

Wounded Knee, True Shot said.

Wounded Knee? I said. Charlie was at Wounded Knee!

You never told me that, True Shot said.

Not yet, I said.

Maybe you knew Charlie 2Moons? I said.

I didn't know him, True Shot said.

Do you know Leonard Peltier? I said.

It is this way, True Shot said. It's best I don't talk about Wounded Knee.

Are you wanted by the FBI?

True Shot's mirrors. On the surface, the color from another incarnation.

It was a sacred time for me, True Shot said, And I made a promise not to talk about it.

I could tell True Shot wasn't going any further with Wounded Knee, but I tried one more time.

I said, True Shot, I tell you everything. Just about everything.

I promised, True Shot said.

Inside the van only silence. For the first time, there was a space between us. Outside, the moon came out, a little bit of a slipper of a moon.

True Shot, I said, there's something wrong. I can feel it. There's something wrong.

With his right hand, True Shot swiped the dashboard and killed the Virgin Mary. Ripped the green-sequined photo of Brigitte Bardot off the ashtray. True Shot threw his mirrors out the window. Then, just like that, he let out a long coyote howl, his chest up and down, up and down.

You stupid asshole, True Shot screamed, You gullible stupid fucking Idaho spud motherfucker! Can't you see I'm a total fucking fraud? I've been lying to you all along.

True Shot's spit all over my face.

But it's not the truth.

True Shot hadn't moved. He just sat there and stared out the windshield.

True Shot, I said, Did you tell Ruby Prestigiacomo about Charlie 2Moons?

No, True Shot said, I didn't.

What about Ruby's full-moon tattoos? I said. Two of them, I said. Two moons.

Not a word, True Shot said.

Promise? I said.

Honest Injun, True Shot said.