The Low Road

by Chris Womersley

  Is it true what they say about your tattoo? Lee asked.

  Josef completed the lumpy cigarette. He lit up and the kitchen filled with pungent smoke. He coughed. Depends. What do they say?

  That you were . . . born with it.

  He picked a shred of tobacco from his bottom lip. Once he had delighted in this story but now he was appalled by it. Automatically he reached for his left forearm, feeling for the tattoo’s soft thread. Don’t believe everything you hear, alright.

  Looks old anyway.

  Well. I am old by now.

  It’s been there a long time, then?

  Josef paused. Long as I remember, but then again, my memory’s not too great.

  Maybe it chose you?

  Josef waved his gun to indicate the unseen parts of the house somewhere behind them. He was getting impatient. Where’s the money? I’ll find it anyway, so you might as well tell me, alright.

  From his chair, Lee stared up at him. Why don’t you kill me now then, if that’s what’s going to happen?

  You in a hurry? Want to join your little friend out there in his snowy grave?

  Isn’t that the way you animals work? Just, you know, fucking kill whoever you need to?

  Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?

  Lee looked like he was going to cry. The fingers of one hand opened and closed. I told you, there’s no money.

  Josef raised the gun. Come on. What do you take me for? I went to see Stella. I went to see Sylvia. I heard a police report on you and your dead mate from some railway guard. I’m connected, Lee. Two men and a suitcase. Ring any bells? A suitcase, Lee. A suitcase of money.

  But Lee didn’t budge. Josef had to hand it to him; the kid had balls. And it was then he realised, as though the thought had all along been a bud within him now flowering under the heat of this exchange, that he didn’t really intend to kill Lee. Maybe Marcel and Lee were right. Maybe he was losing his touch. He stared at Lee’s ravaged face. Like a dog. He looked like a dog who didn’t even know enough to cower. Despite himself, he admired Lee’s—what? Innocence?

  They remained unspeaking. Josef looked through the frosty kitchen window at the snowflakes tumbling past. Each one unique, apparently. He thought of the grave outside filling with soft, white snow. The kitchen was as grey and dim as a cave. It would be dark in another hour or two. Soon, the entire day would pass from view and never return. There was this, and nothing more. It was a cold and lonely thought. He stood back and lowered the gun. Make us some tea.

  What?

  Tea. Make some tea, alright. I see some on the shelf up there. Over the stove.

  Lee sighed but did as he was told. He winced with obvious discomfort as he moved about the kitchen, and returned sullenly to the table when he was done.

  Almost thawed out at last, Josef sat opposite. He sipped his mug of tea, felt the hot liquid descend into his frozen guts. That quack fix you up? Take out the bullet?

  Lee nodded and moved a hand to his bloody side.

  Josef watched him. He felt sorry for him. The kid looked like shit, like he wasn’t going to last very long. I been shot twice, he volunteered, surprised at the companionable words coming from his mouth. Once in the leg and once up here, at my collarbone. Seventeen years ago. Broke it all over the place. It was like being punched by a fucking truck. Nearly killed me, thought I … Thought that was it.

  Lee coughed. I know how you feel.

  Thought for a long time I was dead—for a few hours, I mean. Maybe a whole day. I thought I’d died. Everything was different, washed out or something. People seemed far away. Took me a long time to get over that. Weeks in bed. He shook his head at the memory.

  Lee was staring at him quizzically. Josef felt embarrassed. Another silence. Where did the doctor come from? He always part of the plan?

  Wild?

  Yes.

  I don’t know. He was at the motel, I think. Staying at that crappy motel. What do you care?

  No reason. Just wondered.

  They sat again in silence, not really looking at each other. Josef fingered the chipped mug in front of him. Idly, he ran a thumb across his tattoo and detected its mournful thrum. His clothes prickled his skin as they dried. The fire in the grate was burning low, so he reached across and tossed in several lengths of wood.

  My aunt could dream other people’s dreams for them, he said when he sat back. Said people in dreams were sometimes people who’d died and were coming around asking for things and you just had to know how to talk to them properly. Not be afraid. She reckoned you could . . . bargain with them. Give them food or something, gifts. And that sometimes they had information for you.

  Food?

  Yes. Cakes and things. Something for the—you know—the journey.

  Lee sighed and rolled his eyes. You think I give a shit about your crazy aunt?

  Josef sipped his tea. God knows why he was telling Lee any of this. I got a proposition for you, he said finally. He tasted the word in his mouth. Proposition.

  Lee bent forward and took a gulp of his tea, barely raising the mug from the table. Oh yeah?

  Yeah.

  What kind of proposition?

  Give me the money and I’ll let you go to your sister’s place or wherever you want to go. I don’t care.

  You don’t care?

  Go away and never come back, alright. Stay with your sister and never show your face again. Go wherever you want, just don’t come back. I’ll tell Marcel it was all taken care of.

  Why would you do that? I’m sure Marcel told you to, you know, kill me.

  He did.

  So why not just do it?

  Josef shrugged. Beside him the fire wheezed.

  Lee pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes and lit one. What if there is no money?

  Josef paused. It was an old trick, always the final move you could make; you paused, waited until you had their complete attention, then slowly raised the gun and jammed it into their face, so close they could smell dry cordite in the barrel. Then I might as well shoot you in the face right now. For wasting my precious time.

  Lee’s lips moved, not in a tremble exactly, but with a flickering, as if he lacked the coordination to form actual sounds.

  Josef waited. He felt sick, but he waited. One more killing, would it really matter?

  Wait, Lee said at last.

  Why?

  Because.

  Why?

  How can I be sure you won’t shoot me anyway?

  I just want the money, Lee. If I don’t get back with it, then I’m the dead man.

  So what, I should take your fucking word for it? Trust you?

  Something like that. But I tell you this: I will kill you if there’s no money, if you made me track you all the way into God-knows-where for nothing. You can trust me on that. There’s only one bargaining chip and you’ve got it. You need to play it now, son.

  You’ll never find it without me. You’ll have to go back emptyhanded if you kill me now.

  So there is money? At least we’re getting somewhere.

  There’s only money if we have a deal.

  Josef sighed. This shouldn’t be this complicated, he thought, and suddenly had the feeling he should just walk away, jump in the cart and go home to wait for his fate. Wait for Sammy—or whoever it would be—to come around and put a bullet in his brain. His heart really wasn’t in it. Besides, his arm—the arm holding the gun—was tired. There’s only a deal if there’s money, he said at last. Otherwise you got nothing to offer me. You’re in no position to be driving hard bargains. Besides, you’re still on to a winner.

  Lee laughed nervously. How do you figure that?

  Josef shrugged, embarrassed. He ran his tongue over his capped tooth, its metallic surface so unlike his other teeth. Well. I just get money. Money that isn’t even mine, money I got to hand over. You get . . . a second chance maybe. Got to be worth something. You should take this, you know. I’m doing you a favour. I wish someone had done it for me.

>   Again Lee was looking at him strangely. You said yourself nobody would have me.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  I don’t know.

  Yes, you do. Just decide.

  And they waited like that, as day prepared for night, each looking into the face of the other, until Lee raised a trembling hand and pushed the pistol barrel aside with the back of his fingers. OK. Let’s go.

  Josef was unsure who might have been more relieved.

  33

  Lee had shoved the suitcase of money beneath one of the sagging couches in the lounge room, so that when he’d been lying on the couch, he could reach down and touch it, to reassure himself. Unsure of what else to do, he dragged it, now marbled with spider webs, from its hiding place and tossed it at Josef’s feet.

  Josef squatted on his heels in front of the suitcase. Yeah, I would never have found this without you. Very tricky hiding place. He thumbed down to release the metal clasps and raised the lid, releasing a waft of mildew. There, in rows, were the bundles of money. All here?

  More or less.

  How much?

  Eight.

  With the gun still in his left hand, Josef bent forward and scooped up one of the bundles. He tossed it up and down as if checking the weight. It made a light slapping sound in his palm. Jesus, he said. All this trouble for a lousy eight grand.

  Lee realised this would probably be his only chance. In a sudden, fluid movement, he shoved Josef and tried to wrestle the gun from his hand. Josef sprawled forward with an earthy grunt but maintained his grip on the weapon. Lee struggled with the prone and writhing Josef, who was trying to push himself free but was unable to gain a hold on the wooden floor. His shoe slipped and slid. Lee could smell the damp wool of Josef’s coat and his tart tobacco breath. Neither of them uttered actual words, just the occasional simian growl of effort or frustration. A lamp crashed to the floor. A stack of magazines collapsed. Josef kicked at Lee’s shin then aimed higher, obviously seeking the area at his side where he’d been shot. He knew he would be finished if Josef made contact. Already the pain of his wound was excruciating. Josef’s leg flew out and missed. He tried again. Then again. Each time, Lee arched backwards without loosening his grip on Josef’s hand and the gun. Finally, he jerked back and landed a kick of his own in the middle of Josef’s chest that sent him to the floor and weakened his grip on the weapon.

  Lee clutched his side. His shirt was wet and warm. His stitches had torn apart and his wound was bleeding freely. He swore under his breath and stood over Josef with the pistol in his face. You can’t have it. Josef made a move to stand up, but Lee shook his head and raised the gun. You want it for yourself, don’t you?

  This? The money?

  Of course, the money. What else?

  Josef glanced at the suitcase and then back to Lee. He shook his head.

  That’s it, isn’t it? You want it for yourself? It’s not for Marcel at all. You’re going to take it for yourself. I can tell.

  Josef sniggered and patted himself down. And where on earth would I go with it? Eight thousand dollars is hardly enough to start a new life for someone like me.

  I don’t know. Away.

  Away? Right. It’s a bit late for me. Put the gun down. You’re making a big mistake, son. A big mistake. This isn’t your thing. Look at you. You don’t have the heart for this. Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not like us. Just go. I’m serious, alright. I’m actually doing you a fucking favour. I’m trying to save you. If I return the money, Marcel will forget you as long as you never show up again. You’ll never escape if you take it. You’ll have to go back. Especially if you kill me.

  What the hell does that mean?

  Well. Where else could you possibly go? Show up at your sister’s place with cash and a bullet wound? Nobody will have you, Lee. Believe me, nobody will have you. I’m actually the best chance you’ve got. Think about it. Just go. Leave the money and go. I’m serious.

  Lee grimaced with pain. Would Josef really let him go, this man of God-knows-how-many murders? The old crow actually looked scared. They stared at each other for a long time, until Lee could make out his own looming shape in the dull gleam of Josef’s eyes. The gun shook in his hand. He smelled Josef’s meaty sweat and could hear the faint whistle when Josef exhaled through his nose. Such a dumb, human sound. Like a leaking pipe. That’s what his dad would have said. You sprung a leak, mate? He recalled Josef’s whistling nostril from the time at his apartment. So much had happened since then and yet it all could probably be compacted into one tiny moment. He felt like a tree or rock, some mute and ancient thing. Now it was Lee’s turn to hold the gun.

  Well, Josef said, as if he’d read Lee’s thoughts. The tables have really turned here, haven’t they?

  But not to your advantage.

  Not necessarily to yours neither.

  Lee decided not to ask what Josef meant by this; he was already learning too much. Strangely, now that the moment had arrived, he bore Josef no real malice. He allowed his gaze to drift to an indistinct point somewhere above Josef’s head, as if his vision had suddenly become unhinged, then squeezed the trigger. Just like that. Josef slumped backwards, immediately dead. Blood spattered across the wall. It gurgled and pooled on the wooden floor and soaked into one of the patterned rugs at his feet. Lee stood there a moment longer before jamming the gun into a coat pocket. He was aware, dimly, of something draining from him.

  34

  The horse stood in the snow-covered drive attached to its cart, two even jets of steam emerging from its wide nostrils. Its head was lowered and the creature’s flanks shivered like jelly in the crisp air. Occasionally it stamped a hoof and kicked at the drifts of floury snow gathering about its shaggy fetlocks. It looked up, shook its head and snorted as Lee approached in a stumbling run.

  Lee had never been very close to a horse before, let alone touched one. Such a large animal. It seemed an old horse, with strands of grey in its mane. Its hooves were cracked, like wood. He placed a palm on the animal’s brown, velvety chest. It was satisfyingly warm. A huge living thing, this muscular furnace.

  Although he was unsure of exactly what to do, the horse would at least take him away from this place. He felt an urgency in his throat and looked into one of the horse’s enormous cloudy eyes fringed by long lashes. The creature regarded him without interest. There was a slow, feminine blink. What’s your name? What’s your name, old timer? Heh? He brushed snowflakes from the horse’s back and mane, then rested his cheek against the creature’s neck. Don’t worry. We’ll be OK. We’ll get you away from here. Where it’s warm. Where there’s grass and trees. Come on.

  He gathered the bridle and led the horse around in a large circle until they faced the entrance to the property’s driveway. Wracked by pain, Lee tossed the suitcase onto the cart, clambered awkwardly aboard, took up the reins and clicked his tongue. To his surprise, the horse lumbered off at a mournful pace. He dared not inspect the wound but could feel his waist warm and sodden with blood. He hunched against the continuing snowfall and jammed his hands under his armpits for warmth. As they went on their ramshackle way, he felt the grumbling jolt and shudder of the road through the wooden seat. The horse’s hooves made a sound on the icy surface like an apple’s damp crunch. Through a pale landscape they rattled and swung.

  Although the ground was white with thick snow, there was a definite, albeit faint, shadow of road. The village had to be this way. He would get there and clean himself up and make a plan. That’s what he would do. That’s what he would do. Once he knew where he was, he could figure out where to go next.

  He thought of Claire. Josef was right when he said that Lee couldn’t show up on her doorstep with a bullet wound. But what did he mean by Nobody will have you? He shrugged it off. Dying people will say anything.

  They hadn’t travelled for more than ten minutes when the horse stopped with a shudder and again hung its head. Lee swivelled on his seat and looked around. He could see almost nothing through the dense
snowfall. Just spectral trees with their spindly limbs raised as if frozen in the act of waving. A broken fence hovered to his left. He listened but there was nothing, only the murmur of blood flowing through his body. Snow accumulated stealthily in his hair and across his shoulders. His hands were stiff and grey with cold. Fear stirred somewhere deep in his body.

  He slapped the reins against the horse’s rump the way he’d seen people do in films. The horse raised its huge head, strained against the bridle and managed to move the cart a short way, but stopped after only a few more steps. It tried again but was unable to secure purchase on the icy ground. It was exhausted and the road’s uneven surface made it difficult for it to establish any momentum. He jangled the reins. Come on, girl. Come on.

  The horse pawed at the road. Still the snow fell. Clutching at his side, Lee stepped from the cart onto the icy ground. The air was so cold that he was losing sense of his own body in space. Even the brittle sensation of his feet hitting the ground was a distant one, almost an echo. Shivering, he went to the horse and nuzzled at its head and neck, inhaling its smells—of dust and sweat and mud, of sunshine and leather and wood. Its mane was coarse against his forehead and his eyes became unexpectedly hot with tears. He thought of all that had happened and wondered if he would ever make it home. Everything was taking so long. So very long. A lifetime. This massive animal with its earthen warmth. His shoulders trembled and he sobbed silently for several minutes. The creature bore Lee’s sudden affection with stoicism.

  Please, he said. Please. We can’t stop now. Not now. We can’t stay here on this road. We’ll die here. We didn’t get anywhere yet. And we can’t go back to that house. He thought of Wild on his back staring at the sky, snow clogging his eyes and mouth. Perhaps he should have stayed to bury him but he couldn’t bear to stay in that place any longer. He wiped tears from his face and patted the horse’s sleek neck. Come on. We need to keep going. We need to keep moving.