by Layla Wolfe
He dropped it and sat obediently in front of me.
I picked it up, then dropped it and screamed.
It was a human finger.
Tanner
The split second Unity screamed, I shoved the controller into Wolf’s chest and bolted down the trail. She recoiled from something on the ground, flapping her hands around helplessly.
“Eyew! Gross!” she shrieked. She crawled backward like a spider, wiping her hand on the front of the leather jacket I’d loaned her. This caused Beetle to leap side to side barking at her, as if they were playing a game.
I fell to my knees next to her, taking her shoulder in my hand. “Unity! What is it?”
She pointed with a shaky hand. I looked.
I reached out to take the thing before I realized what it was. I realized it was a finger about the time mine came in contact with it. This was the last thing I expected, and I started a bit, but I continued to pick the thing up. The flesh was bloated, purple-orange, in line with someone who had been deceased for a week or two. I reckoned it was a ring finger, minus a ring. Which would make sense if Tutti wanted his glamorous, bling-heavy ring back from Lavinia.
“I’ll just put it up on this ledge,” I told the poor woman. Crouching next to her, I took her shoulders in my hands. “Maybe coyotes got to her body.” Was that any more reassuring?
“Maybe it’s not her!” Unity cried desperately. I realized the extent of her denial, how much she wanted Lavinia to be alive. It was a futile hope.
“I did hear about someone falling off the path a few weeks ago,” I said lamely. “Listen. I’m taking Beetle down and see if he can show me where he found that finger. You’re staying here, do you hear me?”
She nodded, tears poised to drip at the corners of her eyes.
I kissed her once on the forehead and encouraged Beetle. “Beetle! Let’s go! Let’s go get it! Go get it!”
He took off down the path at a good clip, so I had to follow, jogging. I shouted over my shoulder, “Tell Wolf to keep looking for the body!”
Under the circumstances, it was beautiful the way the canyon unfolded its enigmatic splendor. Though I was a pilot, I felt I’d never been so high, the horizon of the opposite cliffs so far away. The ethereal landscape lifted my spirit, formed an intensity which only the most sorrowful hours can lend.
Beetle kept on trotting as I exhorted him to “go get it!” He’d pause once in a while and look back at me over his shoulder. We’d already reached Coconino Saddle, a narrow trail where an angry, foolhardy person could easily fling a much lighter body. Actually, Tutti’s stature and photos of Lavinia Dock led me to believe they weighed about the same, so depending on the declivity, she may not be far from the trail.
The manner in which the finger had been sliced from the hand with a blade led me to not blame coyotes.
Tutti had no doubt done it prior to shoving the woman, dead or alive, over the edge, probably to take his ring back. Around the middle of the saddle, where I felt like a tightrope walker between two skyscrapers, Beetle stopped and barked downhill at something. Wolf’s drone came sweeping and buzzing up the canyon toward us, wanting to see what we saw.
“What is it, Beetle? Go get it!”
Beetle skittered down about twenty yards, coming to a stop, sort of crashing into a mesquite bush. I side-stepped and slid my way down, too.
Next to the bush, lying out in plain sight in the sun, was a torso. Shreds of a shirt clung to various portions of it, but it had been stripped by the elements and coyotes. The putrid odor was enough to drive anyone but canines away. Maggots, which at this stage conglomerated in orifices like the eyes and mouth, crawled all over the tight, bloated skin where the head had been removed—and between where the legs had been.
I had to kneel down, shoving Beetle aside as he attempted to get a taste of the maggots. “Out.” In some places the bloating had become so severe that the body had begun to “purge,” where skin ruptures and fluids leak. The woman’s torso was lying in a puddle of almost black fluid. I persevered long enough to determine that no coyotes had originally torn into her stomach. That was the even, crisp cut of a very sharp knife, as though someone wanted to find out what was in her gullet.
I cracked a stick off the mesquite bush and, with head turned aside, poked the torso in the shoulder and rolled it. Her hands were clasped behind her back and I wanted to see how he had cinched them there.
Handcuffs.
Okay. That was enough evidence for me, for now. I stood, tossing away the stick, and pointed at the drone to continue looking downhill. Wolf made the drone dip in a little nodding action before turning and zipping off like a hummingbird down the canyon. Beetle became interested in the maggots again, so I snapped,
“Beetle. No. Leave it. Leave it.”
I took a few photos with my camera, but when I turned to go back uphill some nearby branches snapped. Like a hunting dog, my head whipped in the right direction, and I instantly saw the prey. Tutti Morgan was showy this time of year with his silver hair and lavender stripe. But he wasn’t clad in any preening finery. He wore a T-shirt and jeans and even tennis shoes as he gripped a semiauto that made his hand look even smaller than usual. He looked to be gritting his teeth so heavily his eyes popped from his skull. But at least he held his Sig Sauer at his side, not pointed at me.
Because I was facing him, and didn’t know where he’d been, I didn’t know if he had noticed my own semiauto stuffed in the back of my jeans.
I bellowed, “Tutti. Where’s the rest of her?”
He almost seemed to be crying. “Fucking Mexicans! After she fell off the cliff they must’ve cut her stomach open. This happens all the time. They think bodies are carrying drugs! They must’ve been at the sideshow and seen her!”
I believed that Tutti hadn’t cut her stomach open. Why would he? “Why’d you throw her off the cliff? Because she was pregnant?”
Tutti’s face was screwed up like a squirrel roadkill. “She grabbed my arm, Tanner! We were up there”—he waved the gun heedlessly up at the trail—“and she grabbed my arm to say something. I teetered like I was on a teeter-totter and instinctually I reached out to grab her—oh, it happened so suddenly!”
Yeah, right. I could try a quick draw and gut the bastard. But who knew—he might be faster than me. I debated with myself in that split-second way humans tend to do in life or death matters. I just skipped right over denial and began the hearty debate about whether I could draw faster than Tutti. But for all his bawling, he wasn’t taking his eyes off me.
So I lied. “I understand, Tutti. A huge accident. I’m sure everyone else will understand too.” But why was her wedding ring hacked from her finger? Was that Mexicans, too? Had they handcuffed a dead body in case she objected to being gutted? No, Tutti had cuffed her so she couldn’t break her fall. Or phone anyone or climb back up if she survived.
He seemed to believe my false sincerity. His mouth twisted into a sob. “I loved her, Tanner! Now she’s all in pieces, nitrogen pooling around her body! Look—it’s killing off the plants! But in a year, it will be rich microbial soil . . . “
Was he serious? He was thinking about chemistry at a time like this? I took a couple experimental steps toward him. “Tutti. I know, it’s traumatic. You must be real upset right now. That’s why you should put the gun away. You don’t want any more drama.”
Tutti took a deep breath for a fresh tirade. “The power of the Holy Ghost brought me here! I had no idea where her dear body was. The Holy Ghost came to me in a vision and said ‘Tutti, go back to the trail and find her dear beloved body! That way you can bury her and give her some peace in the afterlife.’”
It sounds strange, I know, but I didn’t sense much clear danger until then. The sight of this diminutive man knee-high to a grasshopper talking like he had a mouthful of mush, that’s what set off my sense of alarm. Time and space became completely unrelated to each other. I remembered the “tactical breathing” a specialist had taught us in the Air Force.
Count four in, hold for four, breathe out four.
Still, time slowed down in that highly bizarre Matrix way when Tutti’s flailing arm brought the gun barrel toward my body. He was still yammering about his vision, but I didn’t hear a word, as though my ears had been shut off. He just looked like a blustering fish with both eyes on one side of his head. Beetle capered back and forth in a very cute dance, unsure whether to run to Tutti or me.
I took a 50-50 gamble and leaped to my right.
I also didn’t hear the gun’s report. Everything in the scene was distorted as I flew in slo-mo horizontally through the air. To this day I swear I saw the bullet rotating as it came my way. Before I hit the sandy rock, a burst of almost brilliant color hit and spread through my left foot. And Tutti was plain as day, his jowls wobbling like a turkey’s, his eyeballs rolling up into his skull as his arm recoiled with the kick of the piece’s discharge.
And I swear that as I hit the ground I saw Tutti do the same. My face wound up buried in sand, but to this day I remember a dot appearing in the center of his forehead. I was confused as to why a dot would make him jump a couple inches in the air and collapse like a Jenga tower. He even let go of the gun as he crumpled. It rolled butt over barrel until it landed next to a spent casing.
How did I see all that with my mug covered in red sand? The phenomenon is called “dissociation” and cops in gun battles experience it all the time. I’d been in gun battles and had never felt this slow-mo, dramatic ballet. If it had continued longer, I might’ve dissociated right out of my body, like Unity did during sex.
Unity. There she was, firm in the isosceles shooting stance, still gripping her derringer, and it was purple. I had to smile with my face full of sand. Leave it up to a woman to have a purple gun.
As if the fast-forward button had been pushed, time sped back up to, I suppose, its normal pace. I sat up in the dirt as Unity ran toward me, still gripping the piece with both hands, but at least it was lowered to the ground.
“Tanner! What the fuck? Where was Tutti hiding? We didn’t see any vehicle at the top!”
Beetle was upon us, delightedly licking sand from my face and Unity’s arm.
I wiped sand from my nose and mouth. “Who knows where his vehicle is stashed? He knew we’d be here.” Something slowly occurred to me. Unity had a purple pistol in her hand. I frowned. “Why is Tutti lying on the ground? Did he have a heart attack?”
My love frowned, too. “What? You mean just now, when I shot him? Let me make sure he’s dead.”
I remembered the dot on his forehead. I grabbed Unity by the forearm. “Don’t worry. He’s dead.”
Wolf was barreling downhill toward us now from the path above. In one hand he waved the controller for the quadcopter. His leather cut flapped open, making it easy to see the ace bandage wrapped around his middle. Only now there were spots of fresh blood in the rib area.
“Tanner! Unity! Who shot who? I heard two shots!”
“Put that away,” I told Unity, who stuck her little gun in her jean waistband, like we did. Louder, I said, “Unity shot Tutti.”
“Just as he shot you!” she cried. My eyes followed hers. She was looking at my . . . foot?
Only then did I remember the almost psychedelic feeling of being shot in the foot. Dragging my boot closer to my body as I sat Indian style, I saw the toe of my steel-toed boot had been blown away. Great, just great. Even as I knew it could’ve been much worse, I knew I’d lost at least a couple of toes. “Did you find the rest of the body?” I asked Wolf, to change the subject, although Unity was untying my boot.
“Yeah!” He grinned widely, squatting with the rest of us. He pointed down the hill. “There’s a head down there, and I’ll bet you ice cubes on a red-hot stove will melt, but that’s Lavinia Dock’s head. Oh, sorry,” he said to Unity.
She didn’t seem to hear him. Too involved in yanking off my boot, and now my foot felt like a red-hot stove.
I grabbed her by the wrist. “Stop, Unity. It is what it is. We need to get Wolf to a hospital. Maybe Maddy’s old one in Flagstaff.”
“And you!” she declared, gesturing at the massive mess of my foot. I had to grab my boot from her to jam it back on. Wouldn’t do to hobble back uphill without it. “You look much worse than Wolf.”
I said, “I’ll bet you a drowning man’s very first word is ‘help,’ but Wolf’s condition is worse than mine.” I flashed a grin at Wolf as we shared the Funkadelic lyrics in brotherhood. “He was shot yesterday, and it’s still spotting through his bandage.”
Wolf looked abashed. “It’s nothing,” he said, although he stood and reached a hand out to me. “Come on, old man.”
Unity stood too and took my other hand. Beetle assisted by nosing me in the butt. Wolf slung one of my arms around his shoulders, but I didn't want to lean on Unity. We eyeballed Tutti as we hobbled past like some Vietnam statue. He was as dead as the Roman Empire. His tongue even stuck stiffly from the corner of his mouth like a little dog under anesthesia.
Wolf said, “Maybe the coyotes will concentrate on him, until we can come back to collect Lavinia’s body.”
“Body parts,” corrected Unity. Apparently learning her friend’s fate had ironed her out, as she seemed serene and focused on getting us men to the hospital. Or maybe being the one to pull the trigger on the crazed chemist had done the trick. Now she knew which end was up. Conversationally, she turned to me. “I didn’t even know I had a whole self until you came along.”
That sounded nice. “Do you feel more unified now?”
She grinned, dimpling her diamonds. “A unified Unity. At last.”
I kissed her forehead. A surge of fierce humanity rolled through me. Maybe I was becoming more unified too.
EPILOGUE
Tanner
It was at last warm enough to break ground on the new Hang Town Ranch in Arizona.
Because we were located on Mescal Mesa near Knoxie’s homestead—he’d given us fifteen acres to thank us for helping Lyric—the possibility of snow stuck around through April. We were located so close to the Citadel, the construction hangar on Mescal Mesa, that I could fly my Piper in and out of their decrepit field, then walk home. Unity had bubbled about the groundbreaking ceremony for months and the day was here. Our friends gathered on the bluff where the outdoor training ring was being built, contractors laying down fake turf while we goofed off.
The building of our house was actually taking a back seat to the training facility, so just the framework had been accomplished while Unity and I lived in a trailer. Bobo Segrist and Wild Man had dragged a wood-fired grill up the road and were barbecuing cod and shrimp atop a pile of rocks like they were king of the hill. Speed and Fox were stringing up a bunch of caution tape between a couple of gnarled juniper trees so that Slushy would have something to cut for the groundbreaking ceremony. He’d been wandering around agitated for an hour carrying a giant pair of scissors. He’d eventually sat down in a lawn chair and was now petting the ears of my brown and white Newfoundland, Paddington. There were seven other permanent resident dogs in St. Louis who would transfer to Arizona when the sale went through.
“I love opening ceremonies,” said Slushy for the hundredth time.
Ford said, “He just loves cutting the ribbon. Slushy, how long’s Woodstock going to be in the big house for?”
A Bare Boner, Tim Woodstock, had been sent away on a third strike for punching a Domino’s delivery guy because his pizza didn’t have garlic knots on it. Woodstock had proudly shown everyone his mug shot. He’d been wearing a T-shirt that said “I’m out of my mind. Please leave a message.” So the perennial Prospect, Sock Monkey, had been finally patched in, leaving a Prospect opening for guess who. Me. I was still on pins and needles wondering what else the club had in store for me other than cleaning toilets at the Bum Steer and guarding the rides at out-of-town meetings. Oh, and only riding the pink and purple chopper belonging to Sapphire, Faux Pas’ teenaged daughter.
They knew I was going to
med school in addition to overseeing the new Hang Town Ranch, and so far, I think they were going easy on me. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thank God for the direction and help of Unity, who had quit Doggie Style to open a grooming parlor and boarding kennel at the ranch. She had brought a couple of her cannabusiness sponsors with her, proud to be associated with an enterprise that helped dogs and underprivileged people. My old assistants in St. Louis, Curly and Josie, were buttoning up that operation and would be here any day. I’d need another trailer for them.
“Two years, tops,” said Slushy. “Which means that with overcrowding from illegal immigrants, he’s out in ten months. Still, that’s a long time to miss a productive member.”
Ford grinned at me. Damn, that man was handsome. That’s the only word you could use. Handsome, like his half-brother Lytton. Ford Illuminati was just born to control an empire. “We’re gaining another productive member of society.”
I ran my hand through my hair and said modestly, “Well, I don’t know how much you’re gaining in me. I can give someone CPR, or a PET scan if I had the equipment. Maybe brain surgery eventually.”
Maddy poo-poohed me. “Oh, it’s not brain surgery or anything,” she mocked.
Lytton said, “You did the hugest service to the club by getting rid of that evil chemist, Tutti Morgan.” Lytton was also known as Dr. Driving Hawk due to his PhD in chemistry. “His fake weed Spice concoction was literally sheer poison. I can’t believe that shit is legal, but recreational pot isn’t.”
Maddy said, “Oh, Tanner. I have a little more information from Dr. Stofferahn on the body parts you brought back, if you want to hear.”
The murder of Lavinia Dock seemed like ages ago, but I knew I’d always be curious if I didn’t hear her out. Unity was safely a hundred yards away directing the installation of fake turf, so she didn’t need to be traumatized all over again. “Sure.”
“She had blunt force trauma to the head prior to being shoved over the edge. And, of course, her hands being cuffed meant she couldn’t break her fall. But listen to this weirdness. She died of a heart attack before hitting the bottom. I know how the heart reacts when it’s startled."
