Pillow

by Andrew Battershill

  ‘So it’s mostly a chest issue. It’s an empty-torso thing for you.’

  ‘Yeah, man. Male chest and stomach, where’s the juice?’

  The two men nodded. Don let out a breath.

  ‘Pillow, I want to help you, but seriously. You have really, really let me down at every point here. Anybody else … I have to ask you. With Bataille, now this … Are you after those coins?’

  Pillow closed the gap. Don didn’t move. Pillow reached forward and took a hold of Don’s face with both hands, pulled Don’s eyes close to his. ‘No. I’m not. I feel you on this.’

  Don pushed himself free. ‘You don’t feel shit. Do you remember who it was knocked you out? Stuck a gun in my face, you remember?’

  ‘I don’t remember any of that.’

  ‘It was the cops, Pillow. Avida, Simon. As if a ski mask … Fucking idiots. Are you getting me? You best not be fucking me here, Pillow. I’ve known you a long time, but we’re playing for the whole thing right now. So tell me now, why all this Artaud trouble, why this cop trouble, if you’re not in it for the coins?’

  ‘I just … He has a fouled-up brain. And he can’t help it, and I just thought … I thought he needed a break. I wanted to cut someone a break for once.’

  ‘If you have the coins –’

  Pillow started to interrupt and Don put a flat finger in his face. ‘Listen. Do not talk for a minute, and listen to me. If, if, you have these coins I can give you one option. Give them to me and leave town. I’ll work it out with Breton, no one will follow you. You’ll be safe.’

  Pillow gave this some real thought. He worked out exactly how to say it, knowing that giving up on things had never gone that well for him. ‘I’m sick, Don. I don’t talk about it a lot, but I think about it all the time. My brain is really fucking sick, and chances are it’s going to get a lot worse. And I just can’t do this stuff anymore. I’m done. I was done years ago. I can’t hurt any more people. I’m scrambled. Anytime I try to do something … After Bataille, I just wanted to do something nice. And it bit me. It bit me real hard in the ass. I would give them to you if I could, man. Really, I wish I had them.’

  They both laughed in short, awkward bursts.

  ‘But now I just want to go home and be with my girl. I want to quit. And if you help me find Artaud, this last thing, I’ll be gone. That’s it for me.’

  Don looked him over, then he looked at the ground. He popped a thin, empty grin. ‘Okay, buddy. But you have to know what I’m risking too. If we find Artaud, he dies. We kill him, and we knock out his teeth, bleach and burn the body, whole nine yards, like we talked about. Then you’re done. We do not half-ass this thing. You stay home and hug your goddamn pregnant girlfriend and teach some kids to box, and you wait for my call. I will find him. I can’t trust you on this anymore.’

  Pillow took a long, uneven breath. ‘You’re right. Just call me when you find him, and I’ll come help.’

  Don took his hand out of his pocket and stuck it out toward Pillow. ‘I’m agreed.’

  Pillow smiled wider than owl eyes. ‘That’s good. The world needs more greeds.’

  They shook hands, and everyone’s hands kept shaking on their own after they let go.

  Since he already had it scheduled, Pillow decided to show up for Kevin’s training session. Julio’s gym had turned into a decent distraction. Pillow felt all right – he wasn’t as nervous or upset as last time, but that was mostly because he didn’t get sad when he was pissed off. The kid was late.

  The way Pillow thought about it, if you’re a fighter, if you’re a real prospect, you have the right. You can be late for pretty much anything. Doctors can wait, limos, promoters, reporters, fans. They can all wait for you, and they will. You’re the talent. You get there when you feel like it. But you can’t be late for training. Because being special isn’t free, and if you skip the work, you lose the privileges. The ball and the bounce. And if you’re some pissant prospect who hasn’t even made it yet, you sure can’t be late training with a with a champ, somebody who wasn’t nobody in his day.

  Kevin ambled out of Julio’s office. The pair of them walked up smiling.

  ‘Hey, Pillow, I’m so glad –’

  ‘You’re late. Go warm up.’

  Kevin smiled up at him, waved it off, like it was his beef to dismiss. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry shit, go warm up.’

  Julio patted Kevin on the shoulder and the kid slipped off to get his gear.

  ‘Take it easy, Pillow, it wasn’t his fault. I was just talking to him. Catching up, you know?’

  Pillow nodded. ‘Sure.’

  Julio looked at him another few seconds and then walked off. Pillow took a couple breaths, then watched the kid skip for a while. Pretty quickly he couldn’t take it anymore. He hopped out of the ring and stood in front of Kevin.

  ‘You’re going too high.’

  The kid kept skipping. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  Pillow caught the rope as it was coming down and snatched it out of the kid’s hands.

  ‘You’re doing it wrong. You’re jumping, not skipping. Look.’ Pillow brought the rope over, put it under the kid’s nose and pointed to it. ‘The rope is this wide, so you don’t need to go any higher than a hair over this.’

  Kevin fell off a step, this little-boy-wronged smirk on his face. ‘What’s your problem today? I know how to skip rope.’

  ‘You know how to skip rope pretty good. If pretty good’s all there is, then you’re perfect.’

  The kid dropped the smirk and took the rope back. ‘I get it, man, I get your point.’

  ‘I’m not making any fucking point. You’re doing it wrong.’

  The kid tried to do it the right way after that. Half the time he stepped on the rope.

  When it was time for him to watch Kevin spar, Pillow put the kid’s headgear on him and told him to go hard but controlled, just show him how he fought normally, nothing fancy. They were supposed to go three rounds, but Pillow could only stomach watching two. He never could stand bad boxing, bum-on-bum violence. For the length of the third round Pillow took to looking out the window with the Filipino flag over it. The light was still shining through, somehow still hot, empty and white through the blue and red. There must have been a leak in the window because in the middle of all the stagnant, sweaty air, beside all the other flat, glowing flags, this one flapped just a bit at the corner, puckering up and down in rhythm with the wind.

  Pillow snapped back to attention when Julio shouted over from the other side of the ring. Pillow hopped up the steps and squirted some water in the kid’s mouth.

  ‘He’s got a decent little punch on him, hey?’ Julio nodded at the kid, who was gulping air like he’d just fought a hard eight-rounder. ‘I know you like that jab.’

  Pillow ignored Julio and talked to the kid as he ducked into the ring. ‘Look, you’re too slow to be using that shoulder roll.’

  Kevin shook his head and spat out his mouthpiece. ‘What? I’m fast.’

  ‘You have fast feet and shit footwork. You have the reflexes of a fuckin’ blind rhino. You want to see what a real fighter looks like? It’ll be the last thing you see, so you best really wanna look.’

  Pillow was looking down and sprung his left hand out, slapping the kid flush in the mouth.

  ‘Hey, I wasn’t –’

  Pillow slapped him with a right. The kid backed off and Pillow followed him.

  ‘You weren’t what? Ready? Fuck ready, you should be reacting. This guy here is a tomato can, you should be humiliating guys like him, and he feels fine right now. He thinks he’s people.’

  Julio shouted up from outside the ring. ‘Hey, Pillow, take it easy, man.’

  Pillow nodded a few times and started to wave it off, but midway through he stopped the wave and hit the kid in the cheek with a closed fist.

  Kevin lunged with a hook; Pillow dipped aside and cuffed him hard behind the ear. As the kid stumbled, Pillow tripped him to the ground.

  Julio s
houted over from the side, fat little legs struggling over the top rope. ‘Enough, Pillow, Jesus, I told you take it easy.’

  Kevin was still on the ground and Pillow stepped over his head and out of the ring.

  ‘Kid’s too slow.’

  Everyone was watching, and Pillow figured he might as well give them a show. He kicked a punching bag and threw a spit bucket against the wall on his way out the side door. He muttered as he walked into fabricless sunshine, shaking out his arms, rotating his neck around.

  ‘Too fucking slow. They always think the tall kids can box, but they’re too fucking slow. Like it’s all just a long-arm contest.’

  His headache was bobbing and tipping around his skull now, like a boat without a pilot. He dug into both temples, waited for it to pass. ‘I’ll hit him and have my hand back in my pocket before he hits the ground.’

  When he got home, Simon was parked out front of Pillow’s apartment block, his head lolled over the back of the seat sawing logs. Pillow crept up beside the car, making sure to stay below the windows. He threw the door open and wrapped the seat belt around Simon’s neck, choking him as he fished the cop’s gun out of his holster and tossed it into the back seat.

  Simon let out this long, deep gurgle. He looked a little bit like a strawberry coming into season.

  Pillow slacked off on the seat belt, holding Simon’s head in place with his other hand. ‘Hey, howzit going?’

  Simon was too busy unsticking the seat belt from his neck to offer much past a grunt.

  ‘So I’ve got a plan for us today. For both of us. D’you wanna hear it?’

  Simon swallowed hard, nodded.

  Pillow dug the seat belt in for a second, then relaxed it again. ‘Let’s use our words. Tell me you want to hear it.’

  Simon rasped it out, blotches of white creeping into his tight, red face. ‘I want to hear it.’

  Pillow pinched some of Simon’s cheek. ‘Gold star for you. You’re going to promise that you’re sorry and you’re gonna leave me alone, then I’m going to let you breathe again, then you’re going to drive away and go eat a small village for lunch, or whatever the fuck. Then we’re both going to appreciate breathing air. Really appreciate it, y’know what I mean? Like our whole lives are yoga classes.’

  Simon snorted. He looked a little surprised but not too worried. ‘What happens if I don’t?’

  Pillow pushed in, his nose bumping the round red tip of Simon’s. ‘I’m an adult and I don’t make threats. I’m asking you.’

  Simon looked at him another second. The seat belt rustled. ‘I’ll drive away. But I don’t have to promise you shit. You really don’t understand, do you? You don’t understand any of it.’

  ‘Oh I don’t? How’s about you explain it to me while I kick you to death in a nearby parking lot.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Pillow twisted the belt deep into the cop’s neck. Simon started feeding shots into Pillow’s abdomen. The guy had hands like plates of meat. Pillow braced his foot against the car and dug in harder. Simon’s hand floated up in a vague surrender.

  ‘Like you mean it. Like all the cats and porn in the world depend on meaning it.’

  Simon went into long, wracking coughs when Pillow let up. Pillow was waiting for him to finish hacking when he heard the side gate of the apartment creak closed.

  Emily was holding her hands a foot away from her eyes, gesturing at covering them. Pillow went to yell, but only ended up sputtering. Emily disappeared behind the bars into the apartment.

  A hand not quite the size and weight of a filing cabinet hit him behind the ear, and Pillow’s legs went from under him. The car door he’d been leaning against vanished, and Pillow fell, watched the door close a few feet away, and watched the whole car turn the corner looping and slow, the way a car with nothing to worry about turns a corner.

  The phone woke Pillow from a deeper sleep than was normal or healthy. Don’s voice was bumping through the receiver at him. ‘I found Artaud.’

  Pillow tried to roll out of bed and only realized how tightly the sheets were wrapped around his ankle as he was already falling.

  ‘Are you okay? Were you still sleeping?’

  Pillow pulled himself up to sitting, punched himself lightly in the jaw and picked up the phone again. He looked out the window. It wasn’t fully light out, but Pillow wasn’t sure if the sun was setting or rising. ‘I’m good. I’m good. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s holed up on the lakeshore. It’s perfect, he’s alone. Don’t bring anything, I have clean guns. Meet me in that parking garage near yours. We have to get organized.’

  ‘Yeah. I know what you’re talking about. How did you –’

  ‘Never mind, we have to roll. See you in twenty.’ Don sang the last bit. ‘We’re almost free, bay-bee!’ He held the note until Pillow hung up.

  Emily hadn’t answered her door the night before and hadn’t even pretended to be out. Pillow had leaned into the door listening to her scuff around, cook dinner, wash the dishes. He had a loud knock; she must have heard.

  After Don called, Pillow popped back upstairs. He paused over the door, realizing he didn’t have time even if she did answer. Pillow kissed the door.

  Don had done a few of these. He had a whole checklist. First he’d pack his trunk with ice, because his dumping ground was pretty far out of town and once it gets in there, the smell of human corruption just doesn’t wash out. Then he’d line the trunk with plastic bags to catch the blood. Then he’d take three Gravol and drink three cold espressos. Pillow’d already downed his hot and burned his mouth. Don was doing all the preparations himself. He needed them done a particular way.

  Don was still telling a very long joke while Pillow paced around behind him, bouncing the heel of one shoe off the toe of the other. He was very sleepy.

  ‘So the nun comes down the staircase, and she turns the corner, and before she even has a chance to scream, her arm is already wrist-deep …’ Don looked up from the trunk. ‘Are you still listening, Pillow?’

  Pillow waved vaguely in front of his face. ‘I lost the thread a while ago, to be honest.’

  Don turned the rest of his body and sat on the bumper, the car bobbed a little with his weight. ‘Are you okay for this? It’s your first.’

  Pillow thought it over, then he took to stretching his neck, limbering up his shoulders. ‘I did Bataille.’

  ‘You’re either playing dumb or taking it really seriously. We both know that a punch gone wrong and a job like this are not even in the same ballpark. You felt it with Artaud, I know you did.’

  Pillow started reeling off short uppercuts into the air. He finished and paced a little ways off, then he came back. ‘I can do it if this is it. I ain’t no punk. I can do whatever I need to, as long as it’s the last thing I do, y’know?’

  Don walked over and hugged him. His voice caught as he talked. ‘You’re almost done.’

  Don moved back to the car, Pillow bent over and touched his toes. He got a bad head rush as he stood up.

  ‘I can load the guns if you want. You taught me how, remember.’

  Don’s head was back in the trunk. He spoke without looking back. ‘Do you want another joke? It’s a short one.’

  Pillow shrugged.

  ‘A slice of bread will always land peanut butter side down. Butter both sides and it’ll float forever. That’s not just a joke either. That’s wise.’

  It was a smiling rather than a laughing joke, and Pillow didn’t fake it. He stood still, getting his equilibrium back. Looking at the plastic-lined trunk, seeing the icepacks and watching Don whistling and carefully checking for holes in the plastic, all at once the whole thing seemed obvious to Pillow. He felt about as stupid as he usually did.

  ‘You all right, Pillow?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just a headache. I’m sure you can guess why.’

  Don grunted, lifted one leg off the ground to reach the far corner of the trunk. ‘Every night at Mad Love was a fucked-up night at Mad Love.’


  ‘Sure was. What were you even doing there? I forget, as usual.’

  Don took an extra second with his head in the trunk and then stood straight. He closed the trunk and started cycling through the keys in his hand, rubbing them together and passing them through with his thumb. ‘Just going for a drink. Same as you.’

  ‘Right. Yeah. That was it.’

  Pillow couldn’t remember what Don had actually told him that night. If he’d told him anything. He hardly ever remembered the details at the exact times he needed them, but he could pay attention right now, size Don up in the moment.

  The sizing wasn’t going well for Don, who looked about as comfortable as a pie at a food fight. His smile dropped an octave. He almost looked sheepish, standing there running through his keys in his hand, but now it was obvious he was never going to pick one. Pillow started measuring the distance. He took a short shuffle closer.

  ‘Do you ever … I’ve had one idea for six years now. I was counting this money that … that poor Paul Éluard gave me after I snapped his wrist. You remember? You sent me on that job.’

  There was just the sound of keys not getting chosen.

  Pillow grinned. ‘You sent me on this job and I broke his shit, and he was … I mean, that guy was busted, just, his ass was busted. And I had to count the money. To make sure it was all there. And I started counting the money, and I was running through it, looking at it, looking like I was counting it, but really I was just shuffling the bills from the front of my hand to the back. No way to tell them apart, y’know? No numbers.’

  Don held Pillow’s gaze, his chest puffing raggedly in and out. Don laughed a little. ‘Do you want to go now?’

  ‘I didn’t tell you the thought. It occurred to me that if, just one time, I could run into a wall, that real sheetrock shit, if I ran into it as fast as I could, with my eyes open, not hesitating a little, that I’d feel perfect. That it would solve all my problems. It would make me feel so much better.’