Selena

by Greg Barth

  “They’ll get to know me,” Ragus said.

  “You are one crazy motherfucker, you know that? I’ve got to hand it to you. You’ve got a damn good poker face, my friend. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Don’t get up from this table, Jerome.”

  Jerome sat still. “Man, you’re fucked up, you know that?”

  Ragus finished his wine. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get up, get the ladies, and leave. You’re going to stay right here. You’re never going to approach those women ever again.”

  Ragus stood.

  Jerome got up from his chair. “Fuck you. I’ll rip those bandages off your face and finish what your bitch didn’t.”

  Ragus moved up close until he was inches from Jerome’s face. Aside from the music blaring through the bar’s sound system, their corner of the room grew silent.

  “Swing at me,” Ragus said.

  Jerome threw a right at Ragus’s face.

  Ragus caught the fist with his hand and pulled Jerome forward by his arm.

  Jerome lost his balance and stumbled forward.

  Ragus held Jerome’s fist and twisted his arm around behind his back. He turned Jerome so that the top half of his body lay forward across the table. Ragus pushed hard, twisting Jerome’s arm.

  Jerome screamed.

  “Hope you’ve got a good healthcare plan. It costs a lot to put an elbow back together.”

  “I give, yo. I surrender. Let me go.”

  Ragus pushed hard on Jerome’s wrist. Jerome screamed until he had used all of his breath. There was a loud, sickening pop.

  “Stop it, stop it,” Jerome screamed.

  Everyone in the bar was looking at them.

  “Shoulders are hard to fix too.” Ragus pushed Jerome’s arm higher up his back until the shoulder was out of joint. He continued to push.

  When he released him, Jerome fell to the floor.

  Ragus picked up his wineglass and checked it. He drank the last drop, relishing the sediment in the bottom of the glass.

  He checked to make sure his bandages were in place. He walked up to the two women standing at the bar.

  “Ladies,” he said. “Come with me. Let’s go somewhere more fun.”

  They both grinned at him and took him arm in arm, one on either side, and they left the bar together.

  ELEVEN

  SELENA

  Todd stood at the foot of the bed. He wore a shy grin framed by his short whiskers. He wore his knit hat, which I had never seen him without. He was holding a long, shallow metal pan. It was confusing.

  “Breakfast?” I said.

  He held the pan up so that I could see that it was empty.

  “Well, I’m not baking you a cake,” I said. “But happy birthday anyway.”

  “Think of this as a bedpan. Like at the hospital.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. I pulled the sheet up close under my chin.

  “Now you’re getting the picture.”

  “You can take it back out of here. It ain’t happening.”

  “You don’t need to be getting up. You have a better idea?”

  “Yeah. My idea is I get up, go to the bathroom and take care of my own business.”

  “Why are you being so shy? Like I don’t already know everything about you.”

  “Bullshit you know everything about me.”

  “Well, let’s see. I know you’ve had a lot of work done. Surgery and the like.”

  “So?”

  “I know you’re a cutter.”

  “You’ve been looking at my legs, Todd? I bet the real Grizzly Adams wouldn’t have done that. He’d have some Native American healer come take care of all that stuff.”

  “You’re a cutter.”

  “Go on.”

  He smiled. “I know you’re vain.”

  “What? I know you’re an asshole. Vain? My ass.”

  “You’re shaved from the waist down.”

  “Oh, you have been checking things out, haven’t you? You think I shave to keep from looking like a werewolf? Well maybe I do that because I don’t want to catch crabs when I screw strangers. Bet you didn’t think of that.”

  “Now who’s bullshitting?”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you’re a Nazi,” he said.

  “I’m not,” I said. “And I don’t want to talk about that. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “There is one thing I know that you don’t.” He placed the pan on the bed beside me. “This cabin doesn’t have a bathroom.”

  That caught me off guard. “What?”

  “No bathroom. So you either go in the pan, or you go outside to the privy.”

  “Holy god. Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  I threw the covers off. I was stark naked except for the bandages on my upper chest. I held out my trembling hand. “Don’t just fucking stand there, asshole. Help me up. I’ve never seen a real live privy before.”

  He took my hand. “Easy,” he said.

  He pulled me gently as I sat up. The pain in my chest was not as bad as I expected. It was more of an aggravated, dull ache than an explosion. That was good.

  Once I was sitting up, he helped slide my legs around so I could get my feet on the floor.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Oh god. Is that smell coming from me?”

  “Just sit there for a minute.”

  “I have to pee. Sitting here is not going to help.”

  “I brought you the pan.” He was being defensive.

  I looked him in the eye. “You like watching girls go to the bathroom or something?”

  “What? No. I won’t watch.”

  “The pan is going up your ass if you mention it again. Sideways.”

  “Jeez.”

  I reached out my arm. He knelt down low enough for me to get an arm over his shoulder. He lifted gently as I stood.

  We stood there for a few seconds. He was much taller than me, so he had to stoop down. “You’re doing good,” he said. “Try a couple of steps.”

  I remembered the walker I had used several months back during my physical therapy. I hated the walker at that time, but Todd and I could have used it.

  He helped me take one careful step at a time.

  The rough floorboards felt good under my bare feet.

  We went through the bedroom door into a combination den, kitchen, and dining area. It was a well-built hunting cabin, but it was rustic. There were no luxuries. A couple of old chairs sat in the den. An open fireplace was along one wall. Hunting rifles and shotguns hung on the wall adjacent. A tall, thin bookshelf stood in a corner and held old paperback books, hunting and fishing magazines, and boxes of ammo. There was a woodstove and small table with a couple of straight-back chairs in the kitchen. There was nothing inside the cabin that required electricity.

  A compound bow and a quiver of arrows hung from two deer feet on the wall by the door. “You shoot that?” I said.

  “Oh yeah,” he said.

  “Can you teach me sometime?”

  “Sure. It’s not hard to learn. I may have to adjust it to make it easier to draw. You’ll like it.”

  “Cool. Something to look forward to.”

  He helped me to the front door. “You want your shoes on? Clothes?”

  “No. I’ll be alright.”

  He opened the heavy wooden door. We stepped out onto a covered porch built of rough lumber. The view was incredible. The sun shone bright. The sky was pale blue. The leaves in the trees all around were fire red and orange. We were on the peak of the mountain. For the most part the mountain top was bald of trees.

  “You clear this off yourself?”

  “No. These balds are a bit of a mystery. Nobody knows why they stay so clear. Could be lightning, freezing rain, acid rain. Maybe the Native Americans cleared them off. Who knows? But they stay this way somehow. I have some fruit trees planted that do okay up here.”

  Max came running up to the porch. He
woofed softly and sniffed at my bare legs.

  “Hey there boy,” I said. “You miss your master, don’t you?”

  He woofed again. Poor thing.

  Todd helped me down the steps. They were made of split logs and felt rough under my feet.

  “I feel like a nudist out here,” I said.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t always button up before going to the privy myself.”

  “How long you been up here?”

  “Years,” Todd said. “When I came back from Afghanistan and got out of the Army, I had a rough adjustment. I spent a few months on the Appalachian Trail. I spent the winter that year in Maine, then I walked back southbound in the spring. It was...good for me. I knew Grandpa owned pretty much everything you see in front of you here. We had a talk about it, and...well, here I am.”

  “How do you survive?”

  He chuckled. “Not sure I could survive anywhere else. The winters are hard. I get to town when I need to, but I stay healthy and it’s not so bad up here.”

  A beaten path of dry, brown dirt led the way to the privy. It was a good fifty yards from the cabin. For good reason, I supposed.

  “But you don’t have a refrigerator or anything.”

  “Don’t need one.” He pointed with his free hand to a spur trail leading off from the path we were on. “I’ve got a stone springhouse right down the hill there. I buy butter in town, that’s where I keep it.” He pointed to a small shed built of rough lumber. “I’ve got a smokehouse there. I don’t keep livestock up here, but I kill game or buy meat locally, I can salt it down or smoke it. Keep the bugs out, the meat stays good. I’ve got a garden and some fruit trees. I keep root vegetables in the root cellar. I do okay.”

  “You grow pot?” I said.

  He laughed.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Of course I grow pot, girl. I don’t have a TV.”

  “Do you have a well or something for water?”

  “No well.” He pointed to a small windmill over by a covered shelter, which had a tub under it. “I’ve got that mill that pulls water up from the spring. I can fill a tub there in the shelter. When you’re up to it, you can get a bath there. I also direct the water to a raised cistern by the cabin just by turning a knob. I have to drain the tanks and unhook the mill in the winter. But I can carry water up from the spring.”

  “I’ll take you up on that bath soon. I reek.”

  We made it to the privy. He helped me inside. It was small and cramped. A thin slit in the wall let in some sunlight. There was a wooden bench to sit on with a hole in it to relieve myself in.

  “You see how it all works?”

  “Uh…looks simple to me. What’s to explain?”

  “Ok. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  I sat down. “Get out. Shut the door.”

  I’m not even remotely a shy girl, but there was something about the unusual setting that made my plumbing lock up. It wasn’t the pain in my chest or my level of dehydration or exhaustion. It was the eerie silence. I knew he was right outside the door.

  “Todd?” I said.

  “Yeah?” he said through the door. I could see his shadow moving through the cracks in the boards.

  “Can you run some water or something?”

  He laughed. “How about I walk away and give you some privacy.”

  “Okay.”

  I sat there and waited. I sure as hell was not going to use the pan. After a few minutes things, started moving around. I looked around for a roll of toilet paper—didn’t see any.

  “Todd!” I shouted.

  TWELVE

  RAGUS

  “Thanks for coming,” Malucci said.

  They stood outside of a closed door in a storage area in the back of an adult bookstore in downtown Johnson City. The room was cluttered with DVD boxes, sex toys, lingerie, and mannequins. A couple of scantily clad girls that worked the massage area and peep show booths were smoking meth at a table on the opposite side of the room.

  “So where’s the fire?” Ragus said.

  “Look, we’ve got trouble. I don’t want you to be totally caught off guard or anything, but I don’t have time to go into detail. Joey is fucking pissed.”

  “What’s it even about?”

  “That girl, Selena?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No body.”

  “What?”

  “They found the truck, they found the old man. They found a lot of blood by the creek and a trail of it going off and away, but they didn’t find that girl.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me. Two in the chest, man. At least two. And one to the head. You know what that means.”

  “Ever hear of Zach Bass? Fucking guy got chewed up by a bear and left by his friends to die. He survived and came out of the mountains.”

  “First of all, that was a fucking movie, okay? Richard Harris? And second, I didn’t fucking shoot Zach what’s-his-ass. Nobody shot him. I killed this girl. Got it?”

  One of the dancers walked over to them. She was tall and lean. Pretty. “Either of you guys wanna go have some fun? I can run a special.”

  “Get the fuck out of here, hon,” Malucci said. “Can’t you see we’re talking here? You don’t wanna hear this shit.”

  She turned and left.

  “Hey,” Ragus said. She turned and came back over. He fished in his pocket and came out with a fifty-dollar bill. She held out her hand and he pressed it into her palm. “I want you to promise me that you will spend every dime of this on something that makes you feel good.”

  She smiled and offered a sultry giggle. “You know I will, baby. And I’ll give you something that makes you feel good too.”

  “Yeah? Tell you what, put it as a credit on my tab.”

  She walked off.

  The men watched her from behind as she went.

  Malucci leaned in. “Thing is,” he said in a low voice. He pointed at the closed door. “This guy thinks you fucked up the job. That’s our problem.”

  The door opened. Joe Faranacci stuck his head out. “You two get the fuck in here,” he said.

  They stepped inside Faranacci’s office. The room was dimly lit. In one corner was a king-sized bed with black sheets and pillows, a long bar with a fully stocked liquor cabinet behind it. A couple of leather couches faced his desk. Everything in the room, including the walls, was black.

  Faranacci didn’t go behind the desk. Instead he propped himself against the front of it. The message was clear. This was going to be a stand-up meeting. Confrontational. Nobody needed to bother with getting comfortable on the couch or mixing a drink.

  Faranacci was a tall man. He had thick, muscular shoulders and a barrel chest. He had short, black hair that he wore slicked back. He had dark eyes, a large beak of a nose, a strong chin, and a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks even though it was before noon. He wore a black leather jacket over a tight gray pullover shirt. He wore black jeans and a pair of black leather boots.

  Faranacci was the only man on the planet that intimidated Ragus. It wasn’t just that Joe Faranacci was the epitome of the alpha male. It was that Crazy Joey was willing to do anything. Anything.

  “Look, boss...” Malucci said.

  Faranacci stepped forward. He put a thick finger in front of Malucci’s face. “You. You just shut your fucking trap right now. Do not say one single fucking word. I will deal with you later.” He turned his gaze to Ragus. “What? You cut yourself shaving, fuckup? Cause I don’t want to hear some shit about some little pissy-ass girl out there who ain’t got forearms enough to give a big man like you a handjob being able to somehow manage to shoot you in the face with a goddamn twelve gauge. You understand me?”

  Ragus held Faranacci’s gaze. He glared at Faranacci but didn’t speak.

  Faranacci stepped forward more. He stopped just four inches from Ragus’s face. Both men were tall, but Faranacci was a good half-inch taller.

  “You fucking answer me when I talk to you. You w
anna waste somebody’s time? Get a lap dance from one of the girls out there. But when you’re in here, talking to me, you do not waste my time. Now, let’s try this again. Do you understand me?”

  Ragus swallowed. “Yes sir. Cut myself shaving.”

  “Good. This shithead standing next to you pay you for this job?”

  “Malucci paid me. Yes.”

  “You fucking took his money like you did a professional job? That’s supposed to mean you got the job done. He pays you good money. Good money. He don’t use you to deliver pizzas. You’re a professional. He don’t pay you to fuck up the job. Yet you fucked this one up.”

  Ragus shook his head.

  “You did,” Faranacci said. “You did. Yet you took his money.”

  “I have a picture.”

  “Oooohhhhh. I see. You got a picture. I mean, forget all the empirical fucking evidence we’ve got to the contrary, you’ve got a picture.”

  “How about I show you.”

  “Yeah, fucking show me. Fucking Fannie Leibovitz here with the photography.”

  “Who? Fannie? You mean Annie?” Malucci said.

  Joey stepped forward, planted his feet, and lowered his head. He leaned in, pivoted his body, and threw an earthshaking punch to Malucci’s gut. Ragus heard the breath leave Malucci’s body in one sudden burst. Malucci gasped and fell backward to the floor.

  Ragus reached into his pocket. He didn’t bother moving slow. Faranacci was not threatened by such moves. Didn’t matter if Ragus came out with a piece—Faranacci could counter anything he threw at him.

  Ragus took out his phone. He tapped on the screen until Selena’s dead face came up. Her eyes were unfocused and dilated. Her mouth was open. She was covered with blood. Ragus handed the phone to Faranacci.

  Faranacci took it and studied the screen. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? She’s not dead. What this is, see. This is her orgasm face. Chick was getting off on the bullets you put in her. This look? This look is pure pleasure.”

  “I can’t explain it. But I killed her,” Ragus said. “You want your money back? That’s not going to happen. I did the job. I did the job like I always do.” If he showed any sign of weakness, he knew Faranacci would kill him.

  Faranacci’s gaze rose from the phone display. He looked Ragus in the eye. He stared at him for a long, uncomfortable period of time that may have been seconds but felt like years.