Roachkiller and Other Stories (14 page)

Holy mother of God! Anyway, I don’t know why, but I follow her. I go down the steps and there in the cellar is this big old fridge, one of them Kelvinators they don’t make anymore. The racks were all on the floor, even the ice trays. “He’s in there,” she says.

“What am I supposed to do?” I say.

“See if he’s dead!” she screams.

“And if he’s not?” I say.

And there, casual as pie, she pulls out a gun and says, “Use this.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you use this in the first place?”

“I wanted to make it look like a heart attack!”

All right, I got it, I got it. So she puts the gun in my hand. Which I knew was stupid, my having my fingerprints on it and all, but what can I say, I was caught up in the moment.

So, there I go, I open the door—it’s got a heavy latch on it—and there he is, Cece’s husband, Al. I’d seen his picture and he’s a big guy. He was really shoved into that fridge pretty tightly, I could see, and I figured Cece must be a lot stronger than she looks.

“He’s dead,” I tell her.

She tells me to check his pulse.

Oh, crap, I figure, and so I lean in, keeping the gun in my right hand and stretching out my left hand like this.

Right then and there, my fancy new phone rings in my left coat pocket and then two things happen.

Al wakes up. And I realize that you, Larry, had screwed me over.

Hold up, hold up, gentlemen, I am telling this my way. Just calm down, Larry. One thing at a time.

Al wakes up and sees me, and like an animal, starts cursing and screaming and trying to get out of the fridge. My phone is ringing off the hook and his wife is screaming bloody murder. “Shoot him! Shoot him!”

And Al frees himself. And I shoot twice. Then the gun clicked. Two fucking bullets. “All you have is two fucking bullets!” I say to her.

Anyway, Al goes back, slides down in the fridge, his blood dark red all over the white back of that thing.

Cece’s saying, “Oh, thank God,” over and over, and I pick up the phone in my left coat pocket. The thing is, when I picked up the phone in the restaurant I distinctly remember putting it in my right-hand pocket after I got off the line. I must’ve put my phone back before you went to the john, Larry.

You know what that means, Detective?

Cece wasn’t texting me to help with Al. She was calling Larry.

Oh, wait. I didn’t finish my story. Cece’s husband was not through. No, he was a tough SOB. Just as I turn to Cece, he jumps out of the fridge and tackles me.

Full-on tackle. I was on the floor, and Al was pounding on the back of my head. I felt around on the floor for something, anything, and suddenly this rusty old crowbar is slid into my hand.

Ah, good ol’ Cece. I was able to turn and swing it back hard into Al’s face. And then I just kept going. I hit and hit. I heard his skull pop and I kept hitting until I was hitting the floor and then I collapsed back from exhaustion.

Well.

Well, there you have it.

Funny thing, Larry. Did you notice that I called you tonight on your landline? Yeah, you did. I bet you were wondering where the hell your fancy phone was.

You left it on the table by accident. She was texting you, but I was supposed to be the next call she made. So when I picked up, she got confused but went ahead with the plan.

They knew each other back in college, too. We all swam in the same circles. And I think they knocked boots a couple times, but I was never sure. Until now. Until I saw the look on your pale face just now, Larry, you fuck.

Check it out, Detective. I had two cell phones on me when your officers pulled me in. I realize, a good criminal attorney might be able to make that out to be circumstantial, but it certainly puts a spotlight on my friend Larry here. Which was not at all what you had planned.

In any case, I don’t think I’m going down alone.

Hey, you know what happened? Right then, when I was caked in blood, Cece called my name. Softly. Sweetly. She cleared a workbench and sat on it and opened her legs. She said, “Come to me, Bobby. Devour me.”

And you know what, fellas? I did.

Now, of course, as I went to town, I was figuring it all out in the back of my mind. I’m no authority on crime, but tax law is no ride in the park. You moved me around like a chess piece, from way back. Knowing what I was missing in my life. Making me come downtown to the ale house, where Cece conveniently showed up. Inviting me to dinner last night, making sure I’d be in the City late enough. It’s all been a long game.

That’s a helluva lot of planning got shot to hell. Stupid phones, huh, Larry?

Oh, I knew she would probably hit me over the back of the head and get rid of me, too. But at that moment I didn’t care. Nothing else mattered. My happiness, my heaven was right in front of me.

Then, holding on to my ears, Cece said something that will light my heart for however long I have to stay in prison.

“No matter what, Bobby, it was worth it for this.”

Ah, gentlemen. What else can I say?

Afterward, she did of course hit me over the head, which explains this bump on my noggin, and I heard that motorcycle start up, and I knew she was gone. She rides motorcycles. Who knew?

Now, Detective, I think you should arrest this cocksucker of a friend of mine. Larry, you’ve been a fuck. I never liked you. But I’ll give you this—in a twisted way you got me closer to happiness than I’d been in fifteen years—and that is important and it makes the world a better place—and for that I can do nothing but thank you.

Watching the Iguanas

Oonie did not want to be in a nameless bar in a town called Contrahecho being stared at by a woman who looked just like her grandfather. A soft, happy, big face but with eyes like knives. But her grandfather was more than a world away—and dead. Oonie never liked him anyway. This woman wore a wide-brim hat and kept her goggles on inside the dark bar. Oonie sensed trouble puro.

She had been lingering at the bar for hours, and the bartender was looking for a reason to push her out. She was starving and had no money to catch the next shuttle back to where her man Manolo was. She wondered who she would have to suck or fuck to get a meal and find a way out of this pod town and back home. Oonie looked around the room and saw the same empty, aimless faces she had seen in every town in the last five years. No one looked back.

Except the woman with the hat.

Oonie wanted to escape from the stare. There was one window, in a bay next to the bar. She took her rucksack and went.

The bay was a large gray-streaked window that looked outside. No one else was there, no one else was looking. Humid air clotted on the window. Black rain fell softly, spitting on the surfaces of the pods. She could not see very far in front of her, some stunted trees, the interlocking pods, and then darkness.

Underneath the sound of the rain, she could still hear the sound of machinery wheezing like a dying man. You heard the sound everywhere inside the town, all the time. She’d have to find a place to stay before the townspeople got tired of her hanging around. It had already happened plenty of times.

Then there was someone next to her. The woman with the hat.

“Nice view,” the woman said. “You like the outdoors, kid?”

Oonie said nothing.

“I once saw a man got caught outdoors for over a week. Fried skin. Coughing up black blood. Not a good place to be.”

They stood there looking at the dark rain.

“You know anything about iguanas?” the woman said.

Oonie wanted to go back to the bar, but she felt the emptiness in her stomach.

“Green reptile. An animal.”

Oonie nodded, acknowledging the woman for the first time.

“I need someone to watch my iguanas, to take care of them while I’m out, feed them. You think you can do that?”

Do whatever it takes to survive,
Manolo had told her once.
Everyone else does. Don’t be stupid.

“What do they eat?”

“Lettuce.”

“Lettuce?”

“A green vegetable.”

“Sounds exciting,” Oonie said.

“It is. You stay at my house. Just one day. Clean up. Get some rest. Eat as much as you want. I’ll even pay you a shuttle to get wherever it is you want to get. This is easy work.”

Oonie wondered what the difficult part would be. There was always a difficult part.

“One more thing,” the woman said. Oonie could not see the woman’s eyes behind the goggles.

“Yes.”
Whatever it takes.

“My husband will be there,” the woman said. “I need you to kill him.”

There it was. Oonie was glad to know. “Sure. Can you get me a beer?”

“Of course.”

Oonie moved to go back to the bar.

“Wait,” the woman said, touching her arm. From her cloak, she took out a rag. She opened the rag and inside was a small metal object.

“Know what this is?”

“Looks like a gun. An old gun.”

“Good. Yes, it is an antique. The authorities won’t trace it. Use this.”

“How?”

“Move this here, then press here,” the woman said, showing her how to hold the gun. “Do it when you’re close. There is only one bullet.”

“What if I miss?”

“Then do whatever it takes.”

Oonie put the rag with the gun inside her rucksack. “Can I have that beer now?”

“Of course.”

Back at the bar, the bartender looked at Oonie. “She’s all right,” the woman said. “She is with me. Two beers.”

Oonie had to stop herself from drinking the entire sweet beer at once. Outside of a half a sandwich she’d stolen from someone two days before, this was her largest meal in a long, long time.

“Can I have some snacks too? I could use something salty.”

“Me too,” the woman with the goggles said and ordered snacks. Then she said, “About the iguanas. We can learn a lot from them. The common green iguana is a notorious escape artist that must be kept under constant surveillance if ever near access to outdoors. They’re coldblooded.”

After the snacks, Oonie said, “Where is your section?”

“Outside the town.”

“Outside?”

“Yes, I have a vehicle. I’ll start it and it will take you directly into the house. In twenty-four hours it’s programmed to come back here and pick me up. The dash is locked, so don’t try to fuck with it.”

“Sure.”

“Finish your beer. You better get going. Don’t forget to feed the iguanas. You can pet them, if you want. But don’t handle them by the tail.”

They went down three levels to the shuttle depot. There were very few other vehicles. “There it is,” the woman said, pointing to the newest one. It was big, shiny, black.

“Very nice,” Oonie said.

“Remember the dash is locked. Don’t try to fuck with it.”

The woman passed her hand over the lock and it opened. Oonie got in.

“Twenty-four hours. Then get in and come back.”

“Got it.”

“Enjoy,” the woman said.

*  *  *

The vehicle sped through an underground tunnel for a long time, humming, humming, and then it emerged into the outside, pelted by the dark rain.

The dash showed the route to the house. She was getting close now. Manolo, she realized, was in the opposite direction.

This was crazy, Oonie thought. Why the fuck should she take care of this woman’s stupid iguanas when she could take control of this vehicle and probably drive most of the way back to Manolo before the fuel ran out? It was a nice vehicle. Oonie had not stolen one in a few years, but she thought she remembered how to do it. She sat back in the seat and then began to kick up at the underside of the dash.

“Ka ni na!” she cursed, kicking again and again.

The underside cracked. She squeezed under the dash, and pushing her hand into the crack, she widened it and found the two crystals she would have to switch.

With a whisper, the steering wheel emerged from the dash. “Yeah.”

Oonie clambered back into the seat and put her hands on the wheel. She tried to turn the wheel, but she realized she had never handled such a powerful vehicle before. She wanted to make it slow down, so she could turn around, but she couldn’t make sense of the symbols on the dash, so she yanked the wheel as hard as she could.

The vehicle reacted like it was alive. It bucked back and twisted and then reared up and rolled over and again, skidding, screeching on the road. In the driver’s seat, Oonie had been tossed around but was protected. But now she had no choice but to get out of the vehicle. It wasn’t going anywhere anymore. The dash showed the house was not too far ahead, off to the left. She touched the door and it slid open. Oonie felt humid ashy air on her face.

She climbed atop the vehicle. The rain hit her, little burning droplets on her skin. The sky was black overhead. She didn’t have much time.

The house sat on a hill, just half a kilometer ahead. Its lights were on. There was no other house nearby. “Fuck,” she said.

*  *  *

It was like a single pod, not connected to thousands of others the way most towns were. Square, gray, with rounded edges. Without the vehicle, Oonie had no clearance to get inside. She walked around the pod and came to a large window. She thought she could smash through it with the edge of the gun. But then she saw something moving inside.

Four-legged. Long-tailed. Scaly. Iguanas. Twenty. Thirty. Maybe more. From a few centimeters to almost a full meter in length. Lounging on green and brown things that grew up like thick wires from large containers.

If she smashed the window, the iguanas would escape. Oonie couldn’t remember if they could run. The woman would be upset enough that the vehicle was damaged, but she seemed to care the most about the iguanas. And the husband. If Oonie did that part right, maybe the woman would still pay for a shuttle.

Oonie went around the house and found the front entrance, a large, round, solid door. She was about to smash a window next to it, when the door slid open.

A man stepped out. For a second, Oonie stared in shock, thinking it was Manolo. But it could not be, because he was in polar city very far away. But the eyes were similar, maybe the smile, too. This man—the husband—had shiny black hair, cut into an upside-down teardrop, radiant blue eyes, and tattooed brown lips. He wore a bright orange sleeping gown.