by Mike McCrary
Must be.
What else could it be?
In my heart I know it’s probably been building. I think about the shakes I’ve had before. The tremors that have ripped throughout my body in the past. Those feelings I’ve had before. I lied to Lizzy. I’ve been in fights. The first time I remember was at the track in high school. It was right before I graduated and not that long after I got out of the hospital. It was a fight between me and Denise Rock. I shook. Hard. She thought I was afraid, trembling from fear. She was wrong and she realized that after I kicked the piss out of her in front of the school.
There was a long meeting with the principal.
Therapy was discussed.
Given my circumstances was said.
I’d felt the beginnings of that same thing at the bar. Not all the time, but on some nights it did flare up. When things got dicey with the boys and my bat. The attack at the card game. Mama McCluskey at the condo, and now at the diner. I remember something similar happening when I was younger, before Denise Rock, but I can’t attach that memory to anything real. I flip through the stories I’ve told myself were true. The half-truths I’ve pieced together based on evidence I’ve found about my past. Hard to know what’s real and what’s part of the narrative I’ve created. I just know there’s something that happened in the past. It is real. Can’t make out a picture or a clear memory, but this idea of a thing, this is something.
Something I remember.
Skinny Drake now double-snaps my face. “Hey, Teddy, come on back. What are we going to do?”
I’m still hazy in the head, but I look to the car, then back to Skinny Drake. The brain is running slowly, can’t find the right gear, but I’m trying to form a plan. I can see he’s afraid, trying to be cool and brave, but he’s absolutely terrified and he should be. Those assholes from the diner were just the beginning. Men from Camp McCluskey. There will more and they will not stop until either they’re dead or we’re dead.
I whip my head around to Skinny Drake. Take a moment for our eyes to meet, making sure I have his full attention. “Let’s think about this.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s take a positive inventory before we look at the negative. We have, what? Money. Weapons and a fast car. That’s not bad, right?”
“Yeah, not bad. Not bad at all,” he says, cracking a grin.
“Now, unfortunately they have the same stuff and probably more of it.”
“Yeah, that’s bad.”
“Positive side, they don’t know where we are or where we’re going.”
“Back to good.”
“But they’ve found us, three times now. If you count the condo.”
“And, then bad.”
“We need to break this little chain we’re on. We can’t keep waiting for them to find us. We need to tilt this thing in our favor.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Undecided,” I say, moving away from him, looking up at the big Texas sky. I watch the fluffy mountains of clouds drift along the endless canvass of blue. A slight breeze tickles the leaves of the trees near us. I let my mind come unclenched, watching this living painting out in front of me. The country, this country, has always calmed me. Big sky. I soak it in, letting my head drift. Close my eyes, tilt my head back—letting go is freedom.
I can hear that nervous little shit Skinny Drake pacing behind me. He’s kicking rocks and mumbling, maybe whimpering. I try not to let his shit interrupt me while I Zen the fuck out.
What do we know?
Skinny Drake snaps a stick.
Who do we know?
I hear him sigh big.
Can we get some information from anything or anyone we know?
Is Skinny Drake fucking humming Bon Jovi back there?
My head snaps forward. Eyes go wide. An idea has come to me.
“Skinny Drake, stop that shit and get your scrawny ass in the car.”
Chapter 33
Skinny Drake and I stand in the shower.
The curtain is pulled closed, the water isn’t on and the lights are off. Oh yeah, we’re fully clothed as well. There’s a shaft of light cutting through, care of the bathroom door that’s been left cracked open. A door that leads into the rest of our airport hotel room. I steal a peek from behind the curtain, pulling the off-white plastic back ever so slightly, as quietly as I can. Those damn metal things at the top of the curtain clink a bit, but not enough to draw any unwanted attention. Skinny Drake and I wait. We stand here in this dark hotel shower, waiting.
Waiting for the signal.
Waiting for the signal to come from Sandy.
She’s in the room doing her thing.
Not her full thing, we’re not perverts here. I asked her to do that thing of hers that involves turning men into a puddle of goo. She’s a pro and this request of mine requires little effort on her part. You see, the man in that room needs to be in a weakened state before we step out of this shower. Even though we’re both armed, Skinny Drake and I, I’d rather have this man in a position to unconditionally respond to our questions with little to no resistance.
And buddy, we’ve got more than a few questions for our boy Gordo.
Questions that need answers in a damn hurry.
While we were standing on the road earlier, I remembered that Gordo had eyes for Sandy and that he exchanged contact info with her. I called Sandy and asked her to reach out to our dear Gordo and set up a meeting. She told him about a hotel near the airport, away from the place Sandy and I work—sorry, worked. She told him she was still afraid from what happened at the card game that night and didn’t want to be near that awful place. Gordo understood, told her that her fears were only natural and nothing to be ashamed of, and then graciously accepted. He flew in from New York this morning.
What a guy.
Skinny Drake and I have been standing in this damn shower for a while now. Listening to them giggle. Listening to Gordo sound like a horny, teenaged douchebag. It’s rough to stand here and listen to a grown man reduced to baby talk. Sounding off like a complete idiot. He’ll do anything for a lay. I just heard him say, “Gordon likes” and “Gordon’s been a bad, bad wittle boy.”
What the fuck, man? Wouldn’t jerking off be more respectable?
My face heats up. I can feel the redness spread. Even though he’s done nothing, I look at Skinny Drake in disgust. Disgusted with him and his species of male. He puts his hands up, mouthing, What? I shake my head at him. I know he’d love to be in there instead of Gordo. I saw his eyes when she showed up at the hotel a few hours ago. Damn near popped out from his head. I try not to envision Skinny Drake going with the baby talk. Like to think he’d be better than that, but who am I kidding? If she asked him to fire hard-boiled eggs out of his butt he’d run to the nearest HEB, buy a carton, do a Google search on how to hard-boil an egg, fuck up the first batch, run back to HEB, try it again and then run into this hotel with eggs in hand, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind.
I punch him in the shoulder.
He has no idea what’s going on.
“Now don’t be mad,” we hear Gordo say from the other room. “I’m sorry. So sorry that I’ve been a bad wittle boy.”
Damn, Gordo.
I punch Skinny Drake again.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve seen the beginnings of this type of thing before at the bar. I guess I’ve just never been this close to the final result. I feel like going in there and bashing Gordo’s head in. It’d be out of mercy. Doing him and me a favor.
Oh yeah, I’ve got my bat on me, by the way.
I hear a zip and some clothing rustle in the other room. Here we go. My heart skips a beat. A tingle in my stomach. It’s game time. Looking to Skinny Drake, he nods back at me. He knows it too. This is it. Our signal is coming soon.
“That, sir, is the smallest one I’ve ever seen.” Sandy laughs.
“I know. Please don’t make fun of me,” says Gordo.
I rip the curtain open, jump out from the
tub and storm into the room with my bat ready to do damage. Gordon is lying back on the bed with his pants down around his ankles. Mr. Happy out. His head whips over to me. Disbelief washes over his face. This is a version of Gordo I’ve never seen. Aside from his penis being out in the open, I’ve never seen this man confused. Caught off guard. Gordo the cool is no more. Never seen his coolness removed. Not a good look for him.
“Pants up, then lie down on the bed,” I bark.
Sandy steps aside. It’s amazing. This woman is completely dressed and looks like she just woke up from a nap. She actually looks bored.
She’s a damn sorceress.
Skinny Drake moves over to my side. He has his Glock tucked in the front of his jeans just like we discussed. Wanted to make it known we are serious, but not make a big thing about it. Gordon looks back and forth between us, like he can’t believe we are together. I can see questions of his own exploding his head. His jaw literally has dropped. He still hasn’t pulled up his pants yet, however. Can’t help but notice it’s not the smallest one I’ve seen, but it’s certainly not big enough to have out hanging out here in the open for this damn long.
I give his boys a nudge with my bat. “Pants up, Gordo.”
He moves much faster now, pulling up his pants and scooting back on the bed with his back against the headboard.
“Nope. No. Down,” I say.
He just looks at me.
“Lie your ass down on the bed. Head on the pillow. Get comfy.”
I read somewhere that lying down flat on your back is a very vulnerable position for people. Maybe that’s where that “lying down on the couch” bit with therapists came from. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I need our boy Gordo vulnerable as hell. Vulnerable and uneasy is what we’re shooting for here tonight.
Gordo scooches himself down so that he is now lying flat on the bed. I move over, standing next to one side of the bed. Skinny Drake takes a place at the other side. This is also like we discussed. Confused, off guard, vulnerable and surrounded. All boxes checked. This is how I want Gordo, because when I break it all down there is really only one question I have for him.
“What the fuck is going on?”
He blinks, eyes dancing between Skinny Drake and me. “How did you two get together?”
I give his boys another nudge with my bat. “That happens when you send two people to the same warrior training at the same time.”
He wiggles away from my bat and turns to Skinny Drake. “Damn it, kid. What did we talk about? What did we say? We said you weren’t supposed to go to Lizzy’s until, when? What did I tell you?”
Skinny Drake looks down.
“I told you not to go to Lizzy’s until I contacted you and told you it was time. Right?” says Gordo.
“I got it all jumbled in my head. There was a lot to keep up with,” Skinny Drake says.
Gordo snorts. “Shocking you fucked that all up.”
I wave my hand in front of Gordo’s face. “Okay, enough of this shit. Talk. I want to know why in the hell we were set up on this little murder and mayhem hike. I want to know what you got us into, how do we stop it and what in the name of good fuck is wrong with Mama McCluskey and her band of merry little assholes.”
“I’m going to take off, okay? Got a thing in about an hour. We cool here?” Sandy asks.
I nod to her and mouth a silent thank you. She blows me a kiss and slinks off, closing the door behind her. Gordo actually watches her ass as she leaves. Unbelievable. I give him a less than gentle tap on the head with the bat.
“Shit, Teddy.” He grits his teeth and throws me a look. “Easy with the stick. Not necessary.”
“You need to crank up the chatter on this subject or I’m going to beat your bitch-ass to death with this stick right here, right now. You hearin’ me?”
“Okay. Okay. Look, this deal here with you two, it’s a complicated thing.”
“Talk to me like I’m five.”
Skinny Drake stands to the side, silent. Just like we said. He’s doing really well, but I can tell he’s getting nervous. I toss him a look, hoping to soothe him a bit. Not sure it worked, but he gives me a crack of a smile in return.
Gordo struggles to get his thoughts together. He’s calculating his words carefully. Guess I would too if I was in a similar situation. He clears his throat and says, “All of that about the trust, the money and the beneficiaries? It’s all true, none of that’s bullshit. It’s real.”
“You left out a few details about the other beneficiaries.”
“Jonathan told you they were not nice people.”
“Not nice people? Big damn difference between not nice people and what we’ve met up with. Y’all could have expanded a bit. You left out the part about them being crazy-ass, blood-thirsty assholes who are truly motivated to kill me. Sorry, us.” I tap him again on the head with the bat. “Not to mention, you left out that I needed to be heavily armed and trained by a whacko woman and her gorgeous masturbation slave just so I would have a slight chance at survival. All that? You and John-John conveniently left all that out when I signed on the line that was dotted.”
“We might not have been as transparent as you would have liked, but—”
I crack his knee hard with my bat. He yelps, grabbing it and rolling back and forth on the bed.
“I’m going to get real transparent, real fast, Gordo,” I say, leaning down close to his face. “I need to know things. We need to know things. If you don’t give up what you know then you are useless. Disposable even. We will be forced to dump your sorry butt into a dumpster and move the hell on. Find our answers somewhere else.”
“Nobody else can tell you, not really. Not like me,” he says, pushing his words out through the pain.
“Then talk,” I say, slamming the bat down on the bed near his head.
He jumps up from the bed, putting up a hand, asking for a moment. Skinny Drake puts a hand on his gun. I raise my bat, motioning for Gordo to lie back down.
He climbs back onto the bed as he talks. “Like I was trying to explain, the trust is real. The arrangement with the beneficiaries is real, for better or worse. The surviving members of the trust get everything and there’s much more than what you have, okay? You understand? There’s a lot more money on the table. That make sense?”
Skinny Drake and I nod.
Gordo clears his throat and continues. “The other beneficiaries? Mama McCluskey, as you call her, and her sons don’t like to share, but the trust as it’s written makes them share with the two of you. The trust was set up very specifically under some older trust law, but it’s still iron-clad and Jonathan, my brother, wanted it set up a very specific way.” He drifts, shuts his eyes, shakes his head, then continues. “I tried to talk him out of it, but…” Gordo trails off a bit as he opens his eyes. They are glazed over. First signs of moisture forming in the corners. “He’s a bad man. He’s made a lot of money off the blood, the pain of other people. Some deserved it, but many others did not. As he’s gotten older his mind has… changed. For lack of a better term.”
“What does changed mean?”
“Again, it’s complicated. Even before his brain started to betray him, he was talking about guilt. Things he’d done. Wishing he’d done things better. Been kinder. Been a better person. A better father, just to name a few regrets of his. It all weighed pretty heavily on him.”
“Explain his brain started to betray him a little better for us.”
“He suffers from early-onset dementia. He’s fine one day and off in space the next. He wants to go to war with his enemies on some days and wants to cure cancer and feed the poor the next. It was during this confused time he put together the trust.”
“Thought there was supposed to be something about ‘sound mind’?”
“That’s TV, movie bullshit. If you’ve got the lawyers and the money you can get whatever you want done. The trust was set up with everything going to surviving members of trust. He wanted the trust to be so that
only members of his family who survived had access to the money.”
“Survived what? Again, talk to me like I’m five.”
Gordo takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. “The beneficiaries are family, and family only.” He opens his eyes, letting them slip toward me. “All of the beneficiaries.”
Chapter 34
“Say that again,” slips out from my mouth.
Gordo stares at me then looks to Skinny Drake. “It’s the truth. Every one of the beneficiaries are family, including you two. Sorry about the delivery, but it’s the truth and you sort of forced it out of me.” His eyebrows rise and he gives us a tiny shoulder shrug.
My head caves in on itself. All of the air escapes the room. I can feel my face scrunch into a ball, my brow twitch, my stomach turn over and over and over.
“What?” asks Skinny Drake.
Gordo looks straight at me. “It’s true, Teddy.”
My eyes are locked on his, but I’m not looking at him. My head is trying to put out the fire Gordo just started with a can of gasoline and blowtorch. Skinny Drake is absolutely right. What? is the correct question, the only question.
I decide to ask it in a different way.
I slam the bat down hard on Gordo’s gut.
He wasn’t expecting it. The air from his lungs says, Fuck it. He folds up like a lawn chair, legs bent and in the air. His face contorts then rolls to one side, looking a lot like he might throw up all over the high Egyptian thread count of the hotel bed.
“Answer his question,” I bark, feeling the spit fly from my lips. “The man asked you what? So now you need to reply, answering what. That’s how this
works. It’s a conversation, right? A back and forth. Now, motherfucker, he’d like an answer. What? What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I can feel that thing again.
The heat.
My vision is growing spots.
White globs.
I step back, dropping my bat on the couch next to the window.
Skinny Drake’s head jerks toward me, saying, “Breathe.”
The look on his face is surprisingly calm. He’s just as confused as I am right now, but he’s handling it better. He presses his palms downward in the air, letting me know to bring it down.
