Steady Madness

by Mike McCrary

  Maybe I’ll see Rosie again someday.

  Maybe not.

  At least I met my spirit animal.

  I see some headlights coming over a hill on the two-lane highway that runs alongside Wet Works. It’s a bus. My bus, I’m guessing. I glance over to the Yukon and imagine Skinny Drake giving me a reassuring nod, perhaps a smile. It makes me feel better, even though it’s completely useless at the moment.

  Be ready, boys. Just be ready.

  I see a white glob form in the corner of my eye.

  “No,” I say out loud to no one but myself. “Not now.”

  The bus is getting closer. It rumbles, cutting through the dark desert night.

  Another glob scoots across my vision.

  I need to hold onto the here and now. This is not the time to check out. I haven’t done it in days. Haven’t had to. Things have been relatively calm. At least what passes for calm in this new normal of mine.

  Bus is slowing down. Blinker on. Blinking toward me.

  Clock stops. Time’s up.

  Almost showtime.

  I squeeze my eyes tight. I tell the globs to go away, their services are not needed today. Leave me alone. I tell them that I am going onto that bus and getting Gordo and I’m not going to hurt anyone, including myself. Okay, fine, maybe the Nasty Brothers get hurt, but this has to happen. There is no other option and this is the only chance I have to live a life I want to live. So, globs? Please, pretty please with sugar on top, go fuck yourselves.

  I hear the bus stop. I feel air rush in front of me. The exhaust stinks.

  My eyes pop open. The globs are gone. Vision clear. Head’s still a mess.

  The door slides open.

  The bruising beats of Eminem wrapped with the smell of potpourri pour out from bus, washing over me like a wave of optimistic danger.

  Chapter 21

  A girl takes the dildo box from me.

  She’s got a ridiculous set of boobs. Her face is pretty in these lights, but I know out in the real world it’s a different story. Not that she’s not pretty in real life, but the excitement and sexual radiance she’s laying out there right now is not real.

  This is for show.

  This is a job.

  In the real world, when she’s traveling the aisles of the grocery store, the heavy bags under her eyes will hang and be much easier to see. The wrinkles, the wear and tear of a life less kind, will be much clearer to the world. She will lose her need to cover it all up with thick makeup.

  Not like she’s hoping to meet someone.

  Last thing she wants is a night of romance. Her defenses will be lowered and the true sum of her years will show behind those eyes that are so bright and bouncing right now selling the illusion of sex and confidence.

  “Thanks,” she whispers in my ear. “We need this shit. It’s a long ride.”

  I nod and set the bag of booze down in the lap of some douche seated near the door. He takes a grab at my ass. I think about taking the knife I have near my happy tunnel and jamming it into his skull, but then I remember what I look like, where I am, what he thinks I am, and realize his actions are almost justified in some strange, sick way.

  This isn’t the real world, I tell myself.

  I keep moving down the center of the bus, scanning as I dodge grabbing hands, twirling women, legs and boobs. The music booms and rattles the windows as I pass. It’s dark, but light at the same time. There’s a dim line of lights that line the floor, creating a runway of sorts down the middle of the bus. Lights above me also do this little slow fade between different colors. Purple, neon-green, then an electric-like blue. Just like Rosie told me.

  A man screams some kind of battle cry in the back. Didn’t sound like Gordo, but it could’ve easily been him. A woman’s ass shoots up in my face. I pivot. She quickly turns, facing me, and rolls her eyes. She seems so bored, so defeated, so done with it all. I’m starting to feel bad. Bad for what I used to do in Austin. As I make my way through the bus I see the girls and the look in their eyes. They are pros and they are doing the job, but there’s an emptiness to them. I’ve talked to girls just like them. I’ve set up parties, not like this, but similar, for girls just like them.

  I want to apologize.

  I think of Sandy.

  Haven’t talked to her since she helped me and Skinny Drake snag Gordo at that hotel in Austin. Wasn’t that long ago, actually. I considered Sandy a friend, but I put her in places, situations like this, all the time. She did make a butt-load of money, however, and she did ask me to set her up all the time. I guess we’re all adults and know what’s up, but damn, man. This sucks.

  These men might be nice and normal off this bus, but they are anything but that now. There’s a lot of gray here. Attaching morality is a dicey proposition. That one with his tongue out and giving me a thumbs-up is kind of cute though.

  Stop.

  Get ahold of yourself.

  Fairly sure a nipple just landed in my ear.

  Have to focus. Have to find Gordo.

  I adjust the gun strapped to my innermost thigh. I think we’re technically engaged. It’s hard keeping it where it needs to be, and it is rubbing the hell out of my leg. I hope like hell Skinny Drake and Rondo are right behind us in the Yukon. My phone is in this bullshit excuse for a purse I have hanging from my arm, but I can’t really pull it out and text right now. There are a lot of hungry eyes on me at the moment. I can feel their stares on my skin. I need to find Gordo and the Nasty Brothers, and get this over with. Haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. I needed to see the setup of this rolling party and assess what I was dealing with before I could make any kind of real plan.

  I stop.

  Frozen.

  Try not to show it on my face.

  At the back of the bus, nestled in the back row, is Gordo, seated as if on a throne, with girls on either side of him and a tall glass of booze in his hand. His smile is as wide as Texas and, from here, it looks like he’s half in the bag. Unfortunately, I see White and Black Nasty seated along with him. Guarding him with one on either side of the bus. They wave off the girls. They are on the clock just like working stiffs, but in a much different way.

  It’s been such a whirlwind since I met White and Black Nasty, but there they are. Just as I remember them. Both about the same height, roughly six foot if memory serves. Not massive, but not tiny either. Their arms are tight wraps of muscle around bone. Both covered in tats, scars, and attitude. One of them is white, the other black, hence my names for them. They’re dressed like they work at a tech startup. Both of them still look like out-of-place hipsters. Should be at a five-dollar-a-cup coffeehouse, not on a stripper bus headed back to Vegas. Yeah, they look very out of place here under the purple glow, fading light and twirling titillation. Neither is drinking or watching the girls. They are focused violence machines waiting to go off. Wanting to go off.

  I think of Mama McCluskey’s mansion.

  I think of Rosie’s neck.

  I think of pulling my gun and simply opening fire into the back of bus. Unleashing bullets until I hear an empty click echo from my gun. Then I’ll go at them with the knife. Go animalistic on their ass. Brutal. While all that would feel great, it would not solve a damn thing. It would, more than likely, get me and a lot of people on this bus killed. Not to mention it wouldn’t do shit to help me remember my family. To get my house back. Or to help me and Skinny Drake live the good life. A life we may not deserve, but one we’d like to have. I feel like we’ve earned it, dammit.

  Fine. I won’t unload. I won’t stab. It was just a thought.

  Shit.

  I’m standing in the middle of the bus and I realize that I’m leaning on a metal pole with some form of goo clinging to parts of it.

  A stripper pole.

  To my left and right are men staring at me like they’re starving lions and I’m a thick slab of rare steak being held by a bunny. They are expecting me to do something. Something sexy. Something sexy with this pole and my
body. My naked body, I’m guessing.

  I look to Gordo and the Nasty Brothers.

  I look to these men seated on either side of me.

  I look toward the front of the bus. There’s a sculpted goddess of a woman spinning and climbing her pole like she was born on it. There’s a grace and fluidity to her moves. An art, for lack of a better term. She grinds and glides. Hell, I’m turned on, but I can’t do that. Can’t do what she’s doing. I’ve never danced naked in my life. Barely done it with my clothes on, certainly not bare-assed naked. Even when alone. Not even in the shower.

  How in the hell am I going to get naked and do the sexy-spin on a pole?

  The men around me are starting to give me hard looks, and they’re starting to whisper to one another. I’m sensing there might be a bad scene coming to a head any second now. One that will cause me some problems. I can’t draw attention to myself, not now. Gordo and the Nastys are fine for now, but if this situation turns sour, this can go horribly wrong real damn fast.

  “You gonna dance or something?” one of the men asks.

  My mind is spinning, fumbling. I see the Nasty Brothers looking my way.

  “Yeah, get comfortable. Take that shit off,” another one suggests.

  A white glob forms.

  “Not to be a dick, but you know how this works. Right?” another man asks.

  A glob scatters across my vision.

  I think about grabbing my phone and calling for help, but I know it can’t get to me soon enough. This is happening now. My brain rips through a few thousand scenarios, none of them with high percentage rates of success. Are my lack of sexy skills and broken brain really going to screw this all up? I grab the pole to keep myself from falling to the floor. The men sit up straight. These dumbasses think I’m about to start something hot. I’m really just trying not to pass out. They have no idea who I am, what I’ve done, or what I’m capable of. What I’ve got strapped to my inner thigh. Love to show them.

  Guns N’ Roses kicks on.

  The Nasty Brothers are on their feet.

  My heart skips many beats. Globs grow.

  A hand grabs the back of my neck, turning my limp head toward someone. Long nails press through my hair into the back of head. A flash of amazing perfume floods my nostrils. I know the scent. The person is very close to me, too close to make out a face, but I can tell it’s a woman. This woman kisses me.

  Hard.

  Jams a warm tongue into my mouth.

  Didn’t love it, didn’t hate it, but the white globs are leaving. The hand releases me. Falling back, I see Sandy standing in front of me. Her eyes are sexy, but there’s something urgent behind them. Without a word, the look in her eyes tells me everything. She’s saving my ass.

  “Dance, bitch,” Sandy yells at me.

  As the words leave her lips she drops into the lap of one of the men seated across from us. Holding up a hand toward the back, she lets the Nasty Brothers know everything is cool. I give a quick glance back and see them taking their seats. She got them to stand down. How long has she been with these people? Did Gordo find her? Kidnap her?

  Sandy kicks me. Hard.

  I dance. It’s awful.

  At least I’m alive, my feet are on the floor, and my clothes are on.

  Chapter 22

  I don’t have time to ask questions.

  No time to analyze the situation.

  “I need to get to Gordo,” I tell Sandy, straining to be heard.

  The men look puzzled as hell. They have no idea who Gordo is. They know a dude called Marcus, or whatever he’s going by now. I took a gamble that he wouldn’t use Gordo again.

  Sandy shakes her head. No.

  “I’m not asking,” I say.

  I slap away a thin hand that makes a grab at my chest. The tiny man looks away, down at his shoes. Almost ashamed. He’s young, nerdy, small and sad. Rolling my eyes, I put his hand on my boob. My right one. My good one, thank you. It’s more than slightly humiliating, but it’s a good cover and looks like I’m doing the job I’m supposed to be doing. It will also keep the Nasty Brothers from getting involved. The thin man smiles. Most action I’ve had in a while and I strangely feel like I’ve performed some form of public service.

  Therapy might be in my future.

  “Can you help me?” I ask Sandy, looking over past the now smiling, tit-holding, thin nerd.

  She shakes her head.

  “This is happening,” I say, getting closer to her. “It’s going down. Right now. One way or another.” I fall down into her lap. The men’s eyes go wide. Pretty sure they think we’re about to go full-on lesbo here. I’m going to have to shoot someone on principle. A girl pushes the box of dildos my way.

  “Jesus.” I look at the box, then turn back to Sandy. “I came here to get that asshole and take him back. This can get really ugly, or you can help me.”

  Sandy’s gorgeous eyes stare back at me. Blank, but she’s considering it at least. She closes them. She’s working it through. She was always a smart one.

  “You don’t have your bat,” she says, opening her eyes. “You going to be okay?” She grins.

  Love her.

  “I’ll figure it out.” I look to the back of the bus. “Can you go and I’ll follow behind you? I need to get to my phone. There’s two good guys in a car behind this bus.”

  She nods, then grabs the biggest dildo out of the box.

  She slaps me with it. Kisses me, then slaps me with the dildo again. The men go bananas. I simply shake my head in disgust. Could have lived without all that, but she does know what the fans want.

  She holds my face in her hands and says softly, “Let’s go.”

  “Paradise City” booms.

  Spinning up and toward the back, she readies the dildo like a club. I spring up, slap a hand away from my ass and follow her. Slipping my hand into my purse, I pull my phone. There’s about thirty-five texts. No time to review. I start a new one to Skinny Drake.

  Getting Gordo now. Be ready.

  I jam the phone back into the purse and adjust my gun and knife. We are a few feet from the back. As I look up, I can see the Nasty Brothers are locked in on Sandy. I try to stay behind her as much as possible, hiding my face as we walk.

  The less they see of me the better.

  I’m going to follow her lead, but I need to have this gun ready in the blink of an eye. It’s not exactly in a shoulder holster. There’s not a cool way to pull it without looking like I’m rubbing one out.

  We’re almost on them.

  I reach between my legs.

  Sandy falls into Gordo’s lap and plays with his hair. He smiles big as hell. His face is flush from the booze. His eyes are glassy and dull, looking like he’s been on a bender since I last saw him. Maybe he’s been on this bus since then, simply driving in circles.

  White Nasty cocks his head at me, looking me up and down.

  Black Nasty does the same.

  “Got an itch?” White Nasty asks.

  I realize that I have my hand up my skirt holding my gun. This can’t look good.

  “Gordo can help you with that,” Black Nasty says with a slimy grin.

  “Teddy?” Gordo mutters.

  My eyes go wide.

  Sandy doesn’t even hesitate. She slams the massive dildo into the face of White Nasty then whips it hard back over to Black Nasty, nailing him across the bridge of his nose. Blood rolls out from their nostrils.

  I pull the gun from my crotch with one hand, the knife with the other.

  Sandy jumps from Gordo’s lap and I slide into her spot. She slaps the shit out of the Nasty Brothers again. I hold the knife on Gordo’s throat and alternate my gun between the Nasty Brothers’ heads.

  I finally breathe. Feels like I haven’t done it in weeks.

  I make whipping head jerks back and forth, looking around. I see that the Nastys are standing down. Silent. Taking a seat. Letting the blood roll down their chins, fresh off the dildo strikes from Sandy.

  San
dy turns, getting the attention of one of the girls up front. She cuts her finger across her throat, signaling to shut off the music. The bus goes from rolling riot house to quiet, solemn vessel of reflection in a snap. Everyone is turned around looking back toward us. The tires roll.

  We did it.

  I can’t believe it.

  Gordo can’t either. His eyes are about to bug out from his skull. Good. I press the knife a little harder, making sure I’m getting my message across to the man. Not enough to break skin, but enough to let him know I’m here, and not happy. I let the silence fill in the gaps in his thinking. Let his mind churn.

  “How?” Gordo asks.

  “Shut up,” I say, feeling my blood bubble.

  This guy.

  This asshole.

  This life-breaker.

  “Jonathan came to you. Didn’t he?” he asks.

  “Shut. Up,” I fire back, pressing the knife even harder.

  “Hey, driver boy,” I yell out, never losing eye contact with Gordo. “Pull this damn bus the hell over.”

  Chapter 23

  The bus comes to a stop on the side of the highway.

  Gravel crunches.

  Brakes squeak.

  The only sound now is the rumbling hum of the engine. I peek out the windows. No headlights for miles, just a lot of dark out there, with only scattered celestial shotgun pops of stars to be seen.

  Sandy moves, while keeping the Nasty Brothers in front of her. She has the dildo gripped firmly in her hand as she stalks behind them, with me and Gordo bringing up the rear. I hold the knife at his throat while keeping my gun aimed at the back of the closest Nasty’s head. This bus is long. Too damn long. This is going to be the longest walk of my life. Seems like a marathon at the moment.

  The second the bus stopped moving I knew this was going to be the hard part. I’m learning entrances and exits are tough in situations like this. They’re everything, really.