PIGGS - A Novel with Bonus Screenplay

by Neal Barrett Jr.

  "We're going to make it," she said, "I just know it's so." The words caught in her throat like they always did, and she gripped the wheel tight right where his hands had been.

  "We're going to make it, and you're going to fly again, Will. And you don't have to be a Kraut motherfucker this time, either, you can be whatever you like. Whatever it is, hon, my love for you isn't never going to change..."

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Where I find him, you know where the little fuck is, you know where he is? He's in the fucking back, got his head in the dumpster back of Wan's, he's tossing up, for Christ sake. That's what he's doing, little fuck is throwing up."

  "You told me what he's doing, don't tell me what he's doing no more, I don't want to hear the little fuck is throwing up."

  Cecil turned to Jack. "Why you doing that, Jack? You eat somethin' bad, why you throwing up?"

  "I guess I eat something bad," Jack said. "All I can figure is I eat something bad, Mr. Dupree."

  Grape laughed. "He might've eat something bad."

  "Shut up, Grape. I got fuckin' ears as good as you."

  Cecil looked at Jack like he always did, like he was looking at a bug, at a wall, at a real exciting brick somewhere. Jack looked at Cecil like he always did, like he wasn't looking anywhere at all. That was the best way to look at Cecil R. Dupree. You look at Cecil, look at his fat little fingers, look at his toes, look at him anywhere at all, Cecil figures you're looking at his face, you're looking at his strawberry mask, you're thinking "Hi, Ho, fucker!" and Cecil's going to get you for that.

  "Cat thinks he oughta cut off your balls, something on that order, Jack. I told him, I told him Jack didn't strike you with harmful intent, he's not as dumb as that, he wouldn't do somethin' like that. Cat don't think that's right, he ought to get you back, but you know Cat, he don't know how to stop.

  "I don't need no cripple, some fuck washin' dishes with a stump, I got no use for that. So you get out of this, Jack, you don't get hurt or nothing, all right? I already tol' Cat you're sorry, you don't gotta do that. Best thing to do don't get in his way for a while, don't do nothing, you unnerstan' that?"

  "I surely do, and I appreciate what you done, Mr. Dupree," Jack said, careful not to look anywhere at all. "That was a kindly thing to do, I sincerely mean that."

  "He says it's a kindly thing to do," Grape said. "The fuck's saying that, You gotta say, 'you're welcome, Jack, wasn't nothing at all."

  "You want to watch that mouth," Cecil said. "I need someone show me how to talk, I'll get me fucking Tom Rather, some New York fuck's got better talk than you."

  "That was a joke, Cecil. Wasn't nothing more than that."

  "I want a joke, Grape, I'll get me fucking Dave Leno, some dude like that. Go get me some ribs over to Lockhart, don't get no sausage or nothing, get me some ribs and don't eat one on the way. You eat my ribs I'll smell it on your breath. Don't eat a fucking mint. You do, I'll smell that too, I'll know what you're covering for, we clear on that?"

  "Yes, sir, Cecil, we sure are clear on that."

  "It's Mr. Dupree till I'm not pissed anymore, you figure when that'll be. Jack, what you doin' standing 'round here? I have saved your life, what more you want out of me? God damn, I got you and Grape an' Cat, I got me the whole Three Stooges, now what in the fuck did I do to deserve a crew like that?"

  "He said, what he said was he isn't going to let Cat get back at me at all. Said I was out of that, 'cause I didn't do anything with harmful intent. That means it wasn't on purpose, so I don't have to get hurt or maimed or nothing like that."

  "I know about this harmful intent," Ortega said. "This is something you can do hard time for, you messin' with the law."

  "Is batter you got the law on you back, you got the Caht," Ahmed said. "Sometime they don' kill you too much, you dealin' wit' the law."

  "This is true here. It's not so true, I'm sorry to say, you're down in Mexico. We still have some problems there, which will be solved shortly by our new president."

  "Hey, you don' wan' to get toss in the greaser jail, thas bad t'ing to do."

  "You watch that Middle Eastern mouth of yours, amigo. You don't want to be doing no ethnic slurring with me."

  "I don' have the harmful intent, so ees okay. You can't do not'in to me."

  Ahmed was seized by his sudden flash of humor, seized to such degree he was forced to clutch his stomach to hold the joy in.

  Jack doesn't laugh. Jack dumps dishes in a warm and soapy sea, in a sea afloat with pork, shrimp, chicken, bits and pieces of creatures of every sort, in a pseudo-chink whatever sort of sea, whatever Ahmed imagines at the time.

  The food at Wan's has little to do with the menu at all, for the people who stop here don't know shit from Szechwan. What they know is Piggs is next door, they can chase down the food with a Shiner or a Bud, step across the way, gaze at something hot as chili pepper, sweet as ginger rice, something they wouldn't dare order up at home.

  "Once I am driving trock to Qal'a Sharqat, I am seein dis guy he is havin' flaht, he is havin' two flaht what he is havin', one on de fron' one on de bahk. Is hunert twenny somet'ing, which is not so bahd in Qal'a Sharqat, this is the cool time of de year, you know?"

  "Yeah, when's that?"

  "When is the what?"

  "When's the fucking cool time of the year?"

  "Why you askin dat?" Ahmed is annoyed when he's talking and someone else is talking too.

  "Why you askin dat, you never hear of thees place, you don' know where is Qal'a Sharqat, you wanna know when is cool up dere. Is south of Mosul and Al Qaiyara. Is north of Tkrit. You t'ink you got it now?"

  "Bueno, I got it now."

  "You don' got sheet, mahn–"

  Ahmed raised his big steel cleaver and came down with a whack, with a shudder, with a fervor and a glee that plastered green onions to the ceiling and the wall. One green snip hit Ortega right between the eyes. Jack was near certain the ay-rab could see Mescan fingers go shick-shick-shick beneath his blade, see the sever, see the hack, see the slick little stubbies bounce about.

  He knew this was so, knew it was going on right in Ahmed's head. Knew everyone who worked in the place thought Ahmed was a clown, eighty-two pounds of camel shit, but Jack knew better than that.

  It made him itch in the middle of his back to know Ahmed was aware of his hidey-hole under Piggs, that it wasn't a secret anymore, someone knew he was there. Ahmed might tell someone or maybe not. A person of the Arab persuasion could turn on you just like that, they did it all the time, everybody knew that.

  Ortega was humming some Mescan tune, thinking, maybe, how whales were doing something evil, grinning down there in the deep because no one knew their true nature at all, no one but Ortega who knew they were Satan's minions of the sea.

  The more he thought about it, the more he felt bad about using Ortega's car to run away, and he was glad he'd decided to stay. Not stay, but not exactly go, not until he hit a couple stores so he could take Gloria Mundi out for pie, ask her to quit and go away. Tell her he had enough money, she wouldn't have to do what she was doing anymore.

  Sure, she'd told him she liked what she was doing, but a stripper, what's she going to say? Man, I really love stomping naked under red and purple lights, wearing these godamn shoes, showing all my parts to a bunch of assholes, it's a fun thing to do.

  Course she didn't like it. There wasn't a nice girl would. Okay, maybe Maggie and Alabama Straight and Whoopie LaCrane, but Gloria wasn't like that. What Gloria needed was a guy who could see how fine and decent she was with all her clothes on, you can't see her tits or nothing else. And you can't get that from some fucking Mex got gold on his boots and candy you can get at the Walgreen's store...

  "You got nothing to do, I will find you something, you fuck. Mr. Cecil Dupree isn't paying you to stand 'round watchin' a ay-rab cook."

  Jack did a little jump, did a little hop before he could stop, and cussed himself for letting Rhino come up behind him like that.

  "I was
just getting to these dishes, finish 'em up," Jack said. "There isn't but a few, I'll be done with 'em quick."

  "Don't let me stand in your way, then. I wouldn't fool with a man's work ethic, Jack. You just dive right fuckin' in."

  Jack didn't move because Rhino's eyes were an inch or two from his, which said Jack better not move till Rhino was through. That was a hard thing to do, because Rhino had little BB. eyes hidden under rolls of baby fat. Little black eyes, cookie dough fat, and pores the size of craters with stuff coming out. Rhino looked like Yellowstone Park, everything bubbling and oozing all the time.

  Even worse was the way Rhino smelled. Everyone thought he got the name from his size, but it wasn't that at all. He smelled like a rhino. Not like a human or anything else. No one in town had ever smelled a rhino, but no one had to, everyone knew.

  "I fear I been hearing reports on your behavior, Jack," Rhino said. Rhino knew exactly how long Jack could hold his breath, and grinned when he had to let it out. "You in a little trouble, seems to me."

  "I made a mistake, is all," Jack said. "I talked about it to Mr. Dupree. He said it wasn't no harmful intent."

  "I heard that too. An' I don't give a fuck about your in-tent, boy. This is not the kind of employee de-portment I am happy with, you unnerstan' that?"

  "I surely do. I understand that."

  Jack didn't have to turn and look. He knew Ortega and Ahmed had managed to disappear. Jack didn't blame them for that. Rhino's slinging shit, you don't want any to land on you.

  "You want to keep straight, you want to be happy in your work, you want to get along with me?"

  "Yes, sir, I guess that's what I want to do."

  "You guess? What is fucking guess, Jack? Guess ain't a word you be usin' on me..."

  And Rhino pokes and punches each word right into Jack's chest, pokes with a finger hard as a sap, pounds it and grinds it, jabs it to the bone, and Jack, clearly not thinking, not thinking at all, pushes this fat, intrusive finger aside, not like he's mad, not so Rhino can take the gesture wrong, maybe kill him on the spot, maybe stomp him flat.

  "Hell, I never done anything to piss you off," Jack said, not backing off at all, "you got no cause to be stompin' on me. You talk like I'm fuckin' off alla time and that ain't so. I do what you tellin' me, takin' your shit, whatever you dishing out. You got no right jumping on me, I'm not doing nothing worse than nobody else."

  Rhino simply looked at Jack, gazed at him with his cold and scary eyes, eyes that were tiny ball bearings in a 40-weight pit. For an instant, for a second and a half, Jack was fairly certain he didn't have a chance, that Rhino would do him right there.

  Then, he saw something in those eyes he couldn't make out. Something uncertain, something like doubt. Something like pieces of a puzzle Rhino couldn't figure out.

  Then, in a blink, he was Rhino again, breath like a dead man, pores full of shit.

  "Get to those dishes, get 'em done quick," he told Jack.

  "And don't be talkin' uncivil to me, don't be doing that again."

  It was over, and Jack was still alive, and Rhino was gone...

  Chapter Twenty

  Jack figured you could walk into Piggs any time of the year. You'd been in a coma, say, didn't know it was Christmas or Easter or the Fourth of July. Nothing had changed, nothing was different from the time you'd been before.

  Once, he couldn't say when, taking a pee or eating a Mars, he was struck with wisdom unaware, and saw why people came into Piggs, why they did it all the time. They didn't want a fucking tree, they didn't want a purple egg. What they wanted was to get away from people who did. Family and friends and uncles and aunts. Wives, who wanted to fucking drive somewhere with the kids in the back and a battleship dragging ass behind.

  They didn't want something different, they wanted things the same. They wanted girls to take their clothes off as nature had intended them to do. They wanted to have a cold beer, and they didn't want to go home ever again.

  And Jack, squeezing through the raucous, happy, semi-conscious crowd, juggling a tray of Five-Spice Chicken, Moo Shu Pork, Hunan Beef and Kung Po Shrimp above his head, knew he was afflicted as well, that he had the fever too, that it might be Tuesday or Friday afternoon. It might be Sunday, for Piggs was open on the Lord's day as well. The gang in Piggs was grateful for pussy, and didn't think God would take offense at all.

  Jack forgot who had ordered what, and no one complained, for it tasted all the same. Four lawyers and a judge, all from San Antone, and the only law they knew was Maggie Thatch, riding on the judge's chubby knee.

  "You seen Gloria or what," Jack asked her. "She's supposed to be on, she isn't anywhere."

  "Shit, Jack, I am busy here, all right? How'd I know?"

  "I thought you might is all."

  "Well I don't, and you are interfering with my customer's delight."

  "I can't see how I'm doing that."

  A lawyer with a beard tried to see around Jack. "I can't see the ladies, you standing there, son. Get us a couple Buds all around."

  "I'm your food person," Jack said, "you got to see a wait person 'bout that."

  The lawyer said 'fucking little fag,' or words to that effect. Jack left a bill for $38.97, making up tax in his head, adding five bucks, certain these assholes wouldn't leave a tip.

  He brought a plate of buffalo wings to a customer at the bar. Stopped, on the way back to Wan's, saw Gloria just as she vanished through the dressing room door, turned and followed her in.

  "I'm on, Jack, I can't stop and talk right now."

  Gloria didn't bother to turn around. She stood at the mirror, doing that thing girls do when they're putting their lipstick on, like they're coming up for air, breathing like a fish.

  "And don't come bargin' in like that. Maggie and Alabama don't like it, they're going to get a lock."

  "I'm a authorized employee, Gloria. And don't be putting any locks on here, that's a fire code violation's what it is. I'll catch hell for that."

  "Well don't be doing it then. Don't be barging in."

  Gloria dropped her robe, let it fall around her feet, and Jack felt his heart try to jump out of his chest. He could see her naked a hundred times a day, didn't matter how many, it was always the same.

  Sometimes she looked like a statue, the ones in magazines. Perfect all over, not a zit or a mole. That was easy, you were marble, some kind of stone, but a real girl, that was something else again.

  "You going to stand there an' look all day? My God, Jack, I feel like I ought to put clothes on you come around. It isn't a natural thing, looking like that."

  "I want you and me to go out. We talked about it, you said you liked Denny's just fine, you wouldn't mind a pie. You said you liked it cold and I said so did I."

  "I know we talked about that. There just hasn't been time."

  "I know about the time, all right. You got plenty to do, I guess I'm aware of that."

  Gloria turned to face him, no blemish, no blotch, no mark of any kind. No anger, no flush, not anything at all, and he wished she liked him more than that.

  "You got somethin' on your mind, Jack, it better not be 'bout private personal business of mine. If it is, you surely better keep it to yourself 'cause I will not put up with intrusions on my life. I have spent a great deal of time working up the strength to assert my inner self. That is mine, and you will not fuck with it, friend, not you or anyone else."

  "I'm just saying, you take it any way you like, but I mean it as a friend. Any pretense at true romance from Ricky Chavez is as cheap as that candy he's carryin' around. An' I'd think twice you let him in your home. Don't matter how rich a greaser gets, he sees something lyin' around, it's gone, okay? No racial offense, that's just the way it is. I hope you'll think about that."

  Gloria looked away, looked at anything but Jack.

  "I can only imagine you are real uncertain of yourself right now. I'm sure it has to do with that awful incident with Cat, and your anger is spilling on me. That's the way I'll try to s
ee it in my head. If I can find the will for that, I might be able to speak to you again. You will know if that happens. If it doesn't, stay out of my way, and I am talking fucking forever, you hear me, Jack?"

  "It's that Mescan thing, isn't it? I hadn't said that, we'd be all right."

  "No, we wouldn't be all right. You got some real abrasive qualities, Jack, things you're gonna have to hone down. Jesus, I don't know if you even understand that."

  "Yeah, I do. It's been mentioned to me before."

  "Then you got somewhere to start."

  Jack looked at her. "I was going to pull a couple jobs, get some ahead. I thought I had something to offer, you'd see me in a different light, see me different than I am. First I was going to take Ortega's car. Now I kinda see that's a ignoble thing to do."

  "My God, you sound like someone deranged, you know what? You scare the hell out of me, you talk like that."

  "No, what you're hearing's not that. I think what you said, Gloria, what you said tonight, that's already working inside. I think what it is, I've grown a little tonight..."

  "You what?"

  "What I said, you know? You hit on stuff I need to work on in myself, and I appreciate that. One thing is, I have not thought about Mescans as much as I should. I'm going to think more about 'em now."

  "I'd stay off of that if I was you."

  "Huh-uh, that's what I been doing, Gloria. I been letting racial shit stand in the way of my personal regards. I don't like fucking Mescans, okay? But that's not the thing, I don't like Ortega and he's a friend. I don't like him in a different way I don't like Ricky Chavez. I didn't see that clear till I was talking 'bout him to you."

  "Didn't see what, Jack?"

  "Ricky Chavez is one rich greaser. Ortega's poor as a dog. You wouldn't think about doing it with someone like him."