She tosses the backpack in the floor and jumps in after it. She cries as she wraps her arms around me, and I fight to stifle a groan.
“My dad says we can’t see each other anymore!”
“So he’s wrong. You’re seeing me now.”
She digs her face into my shoulder. “Take me somewhere.”
It takes me fifteen minutes to reach a secluded spot on Taylor Ridge Road. In two more minutes I have Lucy bent over the Neon’s hood with her shorts around her ankles. She moans something fierce, and it makes me mad that she doesn’t sound like Miss Kenner.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I think real hard, and Lucy melts into Miss Kenner in my brain. She’s got her hands stretched out in front of her and her black curls are bouncing and she’s telling me she’s sorry. She says she’s only ever loved me and she wants me back forever. She asks me to stay the night, and she promises we’ll get married in the morning.
Then I realize she’s not promising, she’s asking. And it’s Lucy doing the talking.
“What?”
“Let’s get married tomorrow, Jake. We can run away, head for Vegas or someplace where we can do it right away.”
Her voice grinds like glass in my ears. I can feel it cutting into my brain.
“What do you think?”
I consider my words carefully.
“I think you’re an idiot.”
Her face goes all broken and damaged, like I just told her Santa Claus is a lie. I guess she’d stopped crying at some point, because she starts again, and then her hand cracks across my face like a belt across a kid’s ass.
“Fuck you!”
“Shut up.” I really want to get away from her. Watching her cry, it’s just so obvious that she’s a little girl and nothing compared to Miss Kenner, who’s a woman through and through.
I stand there and watch her scream. I don’t make out any words because it’s all just sound, just white noise. I’m drowning in it, and I don’t care a whole lot. The whole thing just bores me.
Her hands tighten into fists and come down on my chest. They strike again and again like tiny hammers, but they don’t hurt me. Her blows only register enough to annoy me. They keep coming, though. Eventually, one of them hits my mouth, and I taste blood on my tongue. Before I know what’s happening, Lucy’s on the ground screaming and holding her face while I stand above her with my hands in fists at my sides.
“You son of a bitch!” Her voice is high and hurt. It tells me this isn’t going to end well.
She leaps back to her feet and comes for me with her nails. I don’t feel scared or angry or anything. Something’s taken hold of me. It’s a certainty. I know how this is going to end, and I don’t care. I just want to get past it so I can show Miss Kenner how I feel.
Another punch puts Lucy back on the ground. Her shoulders hitch with pitiful sobs. I walk past her and pop the Neon’s trunk. I move to the back and root through the space until I find the tire iron.
Lucy screams.
I end it.
I don’t bother doing anything with Lucy. I just leave her crumpled in the grass off Taylor Ridge. Sooner or later, somebody will find her.
I glance at the tire iron sitting in the passenger seat as I reach town. Streetlights cast yellow beams into the car, and I see blood and clumps of blond hair stuck to the metal.
That certainty tells me I won’t get past this. It tells me I’ve known it for weeks now.
There’s just that light flickering in Miss Kenner’s bedroom. Good. I want her in bed.
A single kick sends her front door crashing in and coughing splinters. I stalk past the threshold with the tire iron cold in my fist. My eyes search the darkness, and my ears hear a startled cry at the top of the stairs.
I climb. I take my time because I want Miss Kenner to be able to call the police. When they take me away, I can tell everybody about the things Miss Kenner and me did. I can tell them how much I love her.
The creak of the stairs falls in line with the calm throbbing of my heart. The world grows vivid, and I hear Miss Kenner’s panicked breath. It sounds a lot like her breath when she bucked on top of me like a bull rider or sprawled facedown against the living room carpet.
I step through her bedroom door. The TV casts moving shadows through the room, and it takes me a second to find Miss Kenner sitting on the bed, staring at me with wide eyes.
“Hey, baby,” I say. “I love you.”
I try to look into her eyes so she can see I’m telling the truth, but she’s holding something out in front of her, and it’s blocking my view. I start to walk past the bed, and the scene on the television changes. White light glares through the bedroom, and I can see the thing in Miss Kenner’s fist.
When did she buy a gun?
1
I would have killed a hundred for her. Who knows? Maybe I’ll reach that number someday. Got a stretch to go, but you never can tell. My hands are already plenty dirty, and I did all of it for her.
Hell, way things are going, I’m probably gonna die for her.
2
Met her out back of a bar in El Paso. Got myself kicked out for beating a guy half to death. He looked at me funny, and that’s something I don’t handle with a smile. I ain’t a bad guy, but I don’t take folks fucking with me so well.
Anyway, the ape at the door didn’t even give me time to go squirt a piss, so I eased my way around back to do my business
And there she was.
A fat Mexican had her down on her knees. His fingers was curled up in her hair. She was skinny and a little dirty, wore a T-shirt that hiked up to show a broken heart tattoo on the small of her back, a pair of cut-offs that showed nearly everything else. Black cowboy boots covered her calves. Her neck moved like a chicken pecking corn.
I still felt a burn inside me. I was pissed at the bastard who’d looked at me and the ape at the door. That anger needed spending.
The Mexican moaned. Sweat shined on his face. I crept closer as his eyes rolled back and fluttered shut. He muttered something in spic and started to cry out. I cut him off with a right cross. He flew backwards and bounced off the dirty bricks. I followed with a hook to the gut. He crumpled.
I looked down at her, and even through my whiskey haze could tell she was just a girl. Big eyes, small mouth. A tangle of black hair framed her brown face.
“You okay, senorita?” I asked.
She stared up at me, terrified. That’s when I knew the fat prick had raped her.
“Fucking wetback piece of shit.” The words rumbled out of me as I stalked him. He looked up. Grease ran off his fat face. His cheeks quivered.
“No!” he said.
I answered by damn near removing his jaw with my foot. I kept kicking until his skull caved in and his body started bucking.
I held out my hand to her. “Let’s go.”
She took it. We left.
3
Twenty minutes later, I watched her work on a burger. She ate like a starving wolf.
“How long since you ate?”
She didn’t answer. I guessed it had been awhile.
When she finished, she looked at me with eyes full of love. It looked mean on her. Beautiful, but mean.
“That man, he owe me money.”
“Huh?”
“Twenty dollars, make him pop. He no pay.”
I considered it. “He pop?”
“No.”
“Then he don’t owe you.”
She shrugged and ordered a Coke.
“Bad for your teeth.”
She ignored me. I didn’t mind. She was beautiful, such a sight it hurt to look right at her. I felt blessed just to be sitting there with her. She was too good for me. An angel with black hair and cocoa skin. She appeared a little older in the light, maybe eighteen or nineteen.
My eyes dipped lower. I saw the apple shapes of her breasts and the top of her flat belly. She stretched, and I made out the line of her lowest ribs. It answered my question about when she last
ate.
“You like, gringo?”
My eyes jumped to hers. I saw disappointment on her face.
“Um...”
“Twenty dollars, want me suck you. Stick it in me for fifty.”
“I don’t—”
“Sixty, you want my ass. You need rubber for that.”
I watched her for a long moment. I couldn’t find the words. They’d all left me. My mind wondered, and images flashed through my brain. I tried to shove them aside, but they held on like angry dogs. Sweat, skin, and pleasure filled my world.
I hated myself and my lust, but she was looking at me. Her lips parted just a little.
I left a twenty on the table and pulled her out of her seat.
4
I barely made it back to the truck before putting it to her. The act itself was fast and ugly. I grunted like a bull and she moaned, “Papi,” in my ear over and over. She sounded like a songbird, one of those pretty ones that don’t screech. Her legs hooked around me, and my beer belly fell out from under my dirty work shirt to slap against her. When I finished I thought I was gonna die. I’d had my turn with an angel, and now I’d been called away.
Instead I crawled off of her and pulled two twenties and a ten from my wallet.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You the big man,” she said. I caught the lie but ignored it. She was just being nice. She liked me.
She slipped the bills into her pocket and gave them a little pat.
“You get yourself something nice with that,” I told her.
“I give it to Abel.”
“Abel. He a pimp?”
“Guess so. I owe him my money.”
Anger burned. A fucking pimp. “He hit you?”
“He has.”
It was enough for me.
“Take me to him.”
5
This guy—Abel—lived in a third floor apartment in one of El Paso’s more hopeless neighborhoods. I pulled the truck to a stop across the street and looked up at the building. Place looked like a molded pile of dog shit.
“How do I get up there?”
“Why?” she asked.
“I want to talk to him.”
“Take stairs.”
“Which apartment?”
“Three-C.”
“He got guns?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind?”
“Don’t know. All kinds, maybe.”
“He alone?”
“Except Marta. She is pregnant. And Rosalie.”
Bastard had a whole string. I hated his guts more with each second.
“Okay. Wait here.”
“You go talk to him?”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
“Doesn’t matter. Wait here. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Don’t make him mad.”
“That so?”
“So.”
“He mean?”
“Can be.”
“That when he hit you? When he gets mad?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Only when he have to.”
I took a deep breath. The air tasted like ash on my tongue. I hadn’t met Abel yet, but I knew I hated him. He’d fed her a line of bullshit, played hell with her head. Spic bastard had her asking to be roughed up. I figured I was gonna have some fun with him.
“You just wait here, okay?”
“You not gonna hurt Abel?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You can’t hurt him anyway. He mucho big man.”
That one hurt a little. I didn’t let it show.
“Just wait, okay?”
“Okay.” I heard love in her voice. It jangled like raw nerves.
I felt cold as I pulled the keys from the ignition and shouldered open my door. I pushed everything aside and focused on Abel hitting her. I saw the ferocious smashing of a fist against her pretty face. The image burned behind my eyes as I unlocked the toolbox in the bed and retrieved the sawed-off I always kept there. I broke open the shotgun and saw two fresh shells. I grabbed another pair and stuffed them in my pocket.
“That oughta do it.”
I slapped the gun shut and walked across the broken street.
6
The front door wasn’t locked. It wasn’t one of those where you need to get buzzed up, either. You couldn’t afford that sort of shit in that part of town anyway. Better to spend your money on heavy doors and hope for the best.
I stepped inside. Old tile crumbled to powder beneath my boots. Ancient bulbs cast a pale, sickly light over everything. The place hadn’t been cleaned in a dog’s lifetime. I started up the stairs, keeping to the edge where they wouldn’t creak so much. Each step puffed a cloud of dust into the air.
I took my time. Didn’t want to be out of breath two flights up.
The third floor was just as terrible as the first. Most of the bulbs were dead. A good crop of shadows filled the hallway. Probably a good thing. If some asshole poked their head out, I didn’t want them getting a good look at me. Not that I expected anybody to take a look. Place appeared to be all but abandoned.
I busted what few bulbs did work with the shotgun’s barrels. Then, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I found Abel’s place just to the right of the staircase. The door didn’t look too sturdy at all. It was just an old wood job. He probably had plenty of locks on it, though.
Didn’t matter.
I took two steps and threw my shoulder against the wood, keeping my weight low. The bastard splintered down the middle but held. I heard a scream on the other side. A line of pissed off Spanish in a man’s voice followed. Two more attacks, and the door busted inward.
I rushed through, the sawed-off up and ready.
I tried to get a lay of the place in an instant. I caught a couch and something behind it that looked like torn curtains, and then I was out of time. I saw a blur of motion and turned to find the pregnant Mex—Marta, I guess it was—rushing at me with a butcher knife in one fist. My finger squeezed before I could think of anything else. Marta hit the floor in two pieces. Her fault for coming at me.
I looked up from the mess that was Marta, and my heart jumped into my throat. The couch I’d seen was still there. It was a ratty thing with the springs poking through the cushions. It was the only item in the place that looked normal, though.
Something covered every damn inch of the walls. It was the stuff I thought might have been old curtains. Now that I looked at it closer, I wasn’t sure what the hell it was. Mostly, it looked like paper that had been chewed up and spit out. Some of it was dry and ragged, though. It hung from the ceiling like shreds of dead skin. It sounds crazy, but I swear the damn thing looked like the biggest wasp nest you ever saw. It crowded the lights and filled the apartment with pale shadows like ghosts.
I realized I couldn’t hear anything but a steady buzzing in my ears. Bad news. I was good as dead if the pimp had enough smarts to stay quiet.
Lucky thing Abel was an idiot. He came running at me with a snubnose .38 in one hand, yelling like crazy and firing without taking the time to aim. I threw myself to the floor. The carpet squelched against my shoulder.
Abel clicked empty a second later. I jerked the trigger on the sawed-off, and his legs disappeared below the knee.
Haven’t heard a man scream that loud in a long time. When he managed to speak, he called me, “Cabron.”
“English, asshole.”
“You motherfucker! Cocksucking asshole!”
Real way with words. Guy had a talent.
“You Abel?”
“Si.”
I kicked him in the ribs, smiled as he screamed again. It dawned on me that Abel was naked. A white film covered most of his body. I didn’t want to think about it too much, so I started talking.
“You don’t get to hit her again.”
“What?”
He got another kick for that one.
“She’s coming with me.”
> Something flashed in his eyes. A spark of recognition.
“Sativa?”
I realized I didn’t know her name. He must have seen it in my face.
“Broken heart,” he said.
“Yeah.”
Something like a smile pulled his lips wide before another spasm of pain hit him. “You don’t know what you do. You fuck up big. He come now. He kill you slow.”
I didn’t know who he was talking about. Didn’t care.
“Fuck you, Abel.”
“No, cabron. You fucked.”
I snatched the snubnose from his hand and beat him to death with it. Took awhile.
7
My vision must’ve washed red somewhere in the middle of it all. Didn’t even notice until I fell back onto my ass and started breathing deep. The apartment smelled like blood and gunsmoke. The stink of dirt and old clothes lurked somewhere beneath it. And sweat. The air felt dry and dusty. Pretty weird now that I could tell the entire carpet was soaked.
Something plopped in the corner. I looked up and saw a clot of something the color of pus drop from the ceiling to the carpet.
I eyed Abel’s leaking body and tried to figure out what the fuck had happened here. Something had sent the entire apartment cooch over tits. Did Sativa really live here? Did anybody?
A headache bloomed at the base of my skull. Wonderful.
Sativa’s voice teased my head. And Rosalie. One more woman in the ruined apartment. I had to find her before I could go. Maybe the neighbors wouldn’t stick their heads out, but a scared whore might. Needed to make sure she wouldn’t talk to any cops.
I climbed to my feet and felt dizzy as my blood tried to decide where it wanted to go. I counted to three, long enough to feel I could walk without falling. Then I pushed the fresh shells into the shotgun.
Just Like Hell Page 8
