Six Bad Things (30 page)

I’m out of cigarettes again. I remember T getting a pack of smokes from the fridge. I head for the kitchen. Rolf sits back down.

—You don’t think this chick and her guy are gonna freak when you show up with two extra dudes? ’Cause you know you ain’t going over there without us.

I open the freezer and pull a pack out of one of the three cartons inside. I remember Wade’s dad used to do that, keep his cigarettes in the freezer so they’d stay fresh longer. I wonder if that’s where T got it. From Wade’s dad. Wade. Did you keep your cigarettes in the fridge in your garage? Did you buy cartons and store them there and sneak out to smoke late at night? Did Stacy ever come out with you to have a couple drags and sip a beer? Shit, Wade, oh shit.

—Dude.

I come back from where I was, close the freezer door, and open the pack of Marlboros.

—Sorry. Fazed out for a second. I think I need some food and some sleep.

—Sure, but answer the question?

—What?

—Why didn’t you tell her you were bringing a couple extra dudes?

I light my fresh, cold cig and draw chilled smoke into my lungs.

—What’s the point? If I tell her I’m bringing guests, she’ll say no way. And, like you said, you aren’t gonna let me go over there alone. We just show up? What are they gonna do? The guy’s gonna want his five bills, so he’ll have to talk. And if he doesn’t want to talk, there are three of us there and he won’t want to piss us off. Either way he’ll end up telling us where Tim is.

Rolf looks at the clock on the VCR; it’s not even eight
AM
yet.

—We got some time to kill, dude.

—I’m gonna crash, you guys kill it however you want.

I GO to the room down the hall, take off my clothes, and lie back on the foam pad. I’m desperate for sleep, but I need to think first.

I think about our meet with Sandy at the strip club. After we talked she put the call in to her boss, this Terry guy. She said she left a message, that he’d call back. But she could have talked to him, told him there were guys looking for Tim. And he could have told her what to do: string us along, keep us out waiting for a call, keep us drinking and blowing crank. And then she just about begged us to come and party at her place. And she told T she didn’t want him to bring Hitler.

Someone was waiting at her house when she got home with T. At least two guys who work for Terry. Or maybe two Russian gangsters reneging on their deal with Dylan and coming after me for the money. Take your pick.

So I’ll go over to Sandy’s and walk into whatever trap is waiting for me, because she’s still the only lead I have on Timmy. But I’ll bring Sid and Rolf with me.

Whoever’s waiting over there won’t be ready for Rolf and Sid. Nobody is ready for Rolf and Sid. I just need to be ready, ready to grab T when the shooting starts.

I close my eyes.

The chemicals in my body are still fighting a pitched battle. My heart leaps and starts like a faulty engine.

I open my eyes.

They feel dry, almost cracked. My tongue is swollen and rough and my whole mouth is seared from inhaling smoke. I’ll never be able to sleep.

I close my eyes.

And am swallowed whole by jungle, darkness, and nightmares.

I JOLT awake, covered in sweat. The scream sitting at the back of my mouth. I bite it and swallow it back down.

Sid is sitting on the edge of the foam pad, holding my arm. He’s changed into a pair of T’s black Levis and a pink bowling shirt with the name Al embroidered over the breast pocket. He releases my arm.

—Sorry to wake you, dude. You were totally having a nightmare.

I pull the blanket up to cover my body. He looks at me.

—You OK now?

I nod. He gets up. I tilt my chin at him.

—Nice threads.

He looks down at himself and tugs at the loose waist of the jeans.

—Yeah. They’re a little big. Anyway, dude’s taste is not mine, but I need some kind of disguise, I guess. I got some shades in my pack and a bandana I can like tie like a do-rag?

I nod.

He points at my cowboy hat sitting on the edge of T’s desk.

—I get the cowboy thing, dude. I didn’t when we saw you, but then I saw all the other cowboys at the strip club and remembered the signs for the rodeo. Good call.

—Not my idea.

—Good one, anyway.

The sun is shining brightly through the hall window.

—What time is it? Can I catch a few more Zs?

—It’s early, but you better get up, dude. We have some shit to figure out.

I nod. He steps to the door, stops, looks back at me.

—I know what that’s like, dude, nightmares. If you ever want to talk, or.

He shrugs once. And leaves the room.

Sid was so high-strung when I met him at the motel in Barstow that I assumed that was what he was like. I was wrong. This is the real Sid; shy, pensive, glum. He was up at the motel because of what had happened in the strawberry field. He was up from killing Deputy Fischer. But the high has worn off. He’ll be wanting that high again. Soon.

I get up and dress.

WE HAVE a new car.

I peek out the living room window and see one of the most fabulously nondescript automobiles ever manufactured. I turn to Rolf.

—Chevy Cavalier?

—I know, dude, but it’s not like I was looking for style. I needed something easy to rob.

—Where’d you get it?

—I hopped one of those CAT buses and rode over to UNLV. Got it out of the parking lot.

—Gas?

—Dude, I’m not a fucking amateur. I stopped by a Shell and filled it up and checked the oil and shit.

—What happened to the car you boosted last night?

Sid looks up from the TV. As promised, he has tied a red and white bandana over his head and is wearing chrome-finish sunglasses that fit his face tightly, like a pair of welding goggles.

—The cops will be looking at stolen car reports from anywhere near where we dumped the Westy. That thing is no good for us.

—Where is it?

Sid looks away, embarrassed.

—About a half mile up the road. At the Super 8 we checked in to.

I stare at him.

—A half mile?

—Dude, I know.

—A half fucking mile?

Rolf puts his hands up palm out.

—Dudes, chill. Even if they find it.

—
When
they find that car they’re gonna wrap up this whole area. We have to go.

Sid points to Rolf.

—Told you, dude.

—Dude! You said it’d be cool.

—Well, you were all,
We can’t walk too far.
So, I was, like,
OK, we can leave it at the motel, but we don’t want to be around it too long,
and you were all,
No prob, we’ll scoop up Hank and be outy.
So, yeah, I said it was cool to be here for a little while, but dude, not this long.

They grab their day packs while I collect the cell phone and my hat and put on my boots. Rolf goes out and starts the Cavalier. Sid and I wait inside for him to beep, telling us the coast is clear. The car horn sounds, and Sid starts to open the door. I put a hand on his shoulder.

—Hang on.

I run back to the spare room and find the map I bought at the ampm. I head back to the front door, but stop at the bathroom. My head feels like badly scrambled eggs. As much as I need to clean it out and get it straight, I also need to be mellow and clear for the next hour. I open the medicine cabinet and get out the Percs. I try to shake one onto the palm of my hand, but a whole pile tumbles out. I put one in my mouth, start to drop the others back into the bottle, and shove them in my pocket instead. T may be in bad shape. He may need them. That’s what I tell myself.

SID AND I pile into the car, me in the back and Sid up front. Rolf pulls away from T’s trailer and stops at the exit from the park. Sid and Rolf look left. Down the highway I can see the Super 8 sign, sticking up above the telephone poles. Rolf elbows Sid.

—See, dude, no problem.

—Whatever.

—Well, where to?

Where to? It’s just after two
PM
. I slept for almost six hours. Might as well get started.

—Got that address?

Rolf pulls the scrap of Hustler cover from the tight pocket of his leather pants.

—262 Jewel.

I uncrumple the map and spread it on my lap. I point to the right.

—That way.

—Dude, I thought we weren’t supposed to show till six?

I check our route on the map. Jewel Avenue is just a few miles away. Ten minutes at most.

—No problem. She kept saying the sooner the better. And this way, we’ll be done in time for kickoff.

Rolf flicks his turn signal and takes the right.

SANDY LIVES in a pink stucco tract house with a roof of fake ceramic tiles. There’s a tidy little lawn out front with a sprinkler waving water over it. A red Miata with a dented back end is parked in the driveway. T’s Chrysler and a black Land Cruiser are at the curb. Rolf drives past, flips a U-turn, and parks across the street. We sit there, the engine running, and Rolf adjusts the rearview mirror so he can see me without turning around.

—Dude, remember all that shit about me not being a tool?

I poke at one of the bruises on my torso.

—Yeah.

—Just for the record, I know something is fucked-up here.

I can see only his eyes in the mirror, staring at mine. I shrug.

—OK.

He turns around.

—What I’m saying, dude, is, let’s not fuck around here. For everybody’s spiritual and physical well-being. Is there anything going on in there we need to know about?

I look at the house, then back at him.

—I don’t know what you want me to say, man. You were there when I took the calls. Far as I know, Sandy took my buddy T home with her, he passed out, she got the call from her guy, and now we’re here. Are they gonna be displeased I brought friends? Sure as shit they are. Do I think it’s gonna be trouble? No. Could the whole thing be a setup? Shit, man, anything can be a setup. Should we be on our toes? Well, it always pays to be prudent, right? That’s all I can say. If it’s not good enough, we can drive out of here and wait for her to call again and set up something else. But I’d just as soon get this done.

He looks me over, turns back around, and looks at Sid. Sid nods. Rolf reaches under the dash and untangles the two red wires twisted together there, and the engine dies.

—OK. But, dude, if it’s fucked in there? Sooner or later we’re just gonna get sick of your shit and kill you, money or no.

He opens his door and gets out. Sid tucks his pistol into the rolled waistband of his too-loose jeans, drops the tail of his shirt over it, and we get out and follow Rolf.

From the porch we can hear Hitler barking somewhere inside the house.

Rolf taps me.

—That your buddy’s dog?

—I guess.

—What’s he pissed about?

—Nothing, he always barks.

I face Sid and Rolf.

—All paranoia aside, guys, let’s remember these are just some mellow potheads. Try to be mellow too, OK?

Rolf shrugs.

—Hey, dude, they be mellow, we be mellow.

Sid adjusts the pistol in his waistband.

—Whatever.

I ring the bell.

Hitler’s barking gets louder. I wait a minute, ring again, and hear what sounds like someone shouting at Hitler to shut up. We wait another minute, then Rolf nudges me.

—Ring again, dude.

—Hang on, they’re probably sleeping or fucking or something.

Or getting ready to jump us.

—Just ring.

He reaches past me and pushes the button three times in a row and Hitler gets even louder.

—Hang on! Who is it?

Sandy’s voice, right on the other side of the door.

—Sandy! It’s me, Wade.

Barking.

—Hey, baby, what’s up?

—I’m here. Open up.

Barking.

The door opens a crack and Sandy’s face is framed in the five-inch gap.

—Hey, hey, Wade.

—Hey, I got my shit together a little early and thought I’d come by.

—Yeah, uh.

She’s looking past me to Rolf and Sid.

—Sorry, these are my buddies. They gave me a lift over. Is your guy around, or?

—Uh, uh, yeah, he’s here, but.

She looks back into the house and then at us.

—He’s here, but your buddies, they should. Can they wait in their car? He’s in the kitchen and won’t come out till they leave.

—Yeah, sure, but they’re totally cool. Also.

I hook my thumb at Sid.

—He needs to use the can.

She bites her lip.

—Wade, this is pretty uncool. I mean you know.

—Yeah, but T knows these guys. They’re cool. Go get him, he knows these guys are cool.

—Yeah, but T, T is still out, and.

—Jesus, what did you guys?

—We just came back and smoked out and he went down.

—Is he?

—He’s cool, he’s OK, but he’s out.

—Cool, OK, but just let us in so he can use the can and then they’ll leave and we can talk. Be cool and let the guy take a leak.

—Uh.

Another glance over her shoulder.

—Uh, OK, OK, that’s cool. OK. Just, all of you can come in, that’s cool.

She pulls the door open. I step inside. The house is dark. All the curtains are drawn. I pull my shades down my nose a bit so I can peek over them. Rolf and Sid come inside. Rolf nods at Sandy.

—Hey.

She half smiles at him.

—Hi.

Sid doesn’t say anything. Sandy closes the door. She points straight ahead.

—You guys can kick it in the living room. The bathroom is just to the left.

I stay where I am.

—What’s up with Hitler?

Sandy is wearing only a shorty kimono, her legs and feet bare. All her makeup is gone, her hair mussed, face flushed. I can see now how young she is; no more that twenty. She draws the kimono tighter, hiding the stars on her chest.

—He, he freaked a little and chased my cat, so I made T put him in the master bathroom.

—Hunh.

I walk into the living room. Sandy touches Sid’s arm. Sid just stares at her. She tries a smile.