by Diane Munier
It was the one that came off easy.
“Come ’ere,” he said, moving under the covers and pulling her down to lie in his arms.
“Jules, you’re not going to…sidetrack me. You’ve been up to something; I can feel it, I can hear it in your voice. You’re…excited.”
“I’m always excited around you, baby,” he said, going in for a kiss.
She did kiss him, but he knew she’d need to talk a little, and he pulled back. “It was a quiet night.”
He was moving his hand over her stomach, rubbing on her, and lower.
“What did you do?”
“Went for a ride. He—he told me what you said. Francis won’t marry him.”
Her eyes were big and dark, and they wanted to trust him. That was the best. They wanted to, so they would. “Does he know why?”
His hand stilled. “Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you?” he repeated, tugging on this thick braid of hers.
“Some of it is Francis. He’d have to help her—be persuasive. But mostly…Francis says Audie…well, ever since that first night, Francis says she’s not marrying…a gangster.”
Jules laughed. “What? Audie’s no…” He let it go. He couldn’t quite say it. Audie was wanting to make a play. Jules knew it was power. Audie saw himself going in—and he was figuring how—who.
“Hey…I been with that moog all night. How about we talk about us?”
She made a little sound, and he felt her cozy up more. She told him everything she’d done while he was gone.
Then she asked, “See any beautiful women today?”
“Yes,” he said. “Soon as I opened my eyes this morning.”
She swatted his chest, then just as quick, moved her hand over where she’d hit.
She did this a lot, moved her hands over him. “Any beautiful houses, then?”
He didn’t think she was really worried about him being in so many homes. She shouldn’t be. It wasn’t that he wasn’t looking, but he couldn’t really tell her why.
He was seeing normal. And it was an education, that’s for sure. He was seeing how it was done—families. It was amazing what you could pick up, a quick glance into someone’s home. Sure, guys told stories—the lonely, willing housewife.
But for him…he’d been shut out of normal, and now, he got these pictures. That’s all he ever needed. He learned best that way. Just a picture of people and their lives—mothers, fathers, kids. What Isbe had set up here…well, it sounded dumb…but it was on the spot. Isbe and him…they could do this…marriage… family. He saw it every day. They were doing it. That’s all.
In the course of thinking all this, she’d ended up on top of him. He was impatient with the gown. He had his way, they’d just sleep raw every night. Why not? They usually got there. He got that gown off easy, threw it on the floor.
“Now this…” he said, letting his hands smooth up and down her back, that plump ass without the underwear. He loved this, and he showed it by the way he kissed her.
She’d been waiting. She’d been waiting for him, for this. That’s all it was. She didn’t want him gone too long…too far away. He reached around the backs of her thighs, and he already knew she was ready. He felt it on his stomach.
Hell of a thing to crash beside her and think of Stan’s dick—gone.
He laughed a little, and they were wrapping themselves close as they could get.
“Jules…just when I think it can’t be better…”
He squeezed her and kissed her.
“Is it like this for the others? Is it like this for anybody?” she mumbled.
He stroked her back. She wanted the covers, but he was hot enough they’d only stick. So he did like always and just pulled the sheet, covering her only. He settled back then, and he felt the give in her, the soft, sated heart of her.
And here was this odd thing inside. He was… satisfied. He didn’t ache. He didn’t ache anymore.
Chapter 45
A couple more weeks pased. Thing of it was, he was happy. He had a buoyant personality for all the shit he’d been through, but around Gorilla, around Baboon, he’d often seemed downright serious. But he wasn’t. He just got quiet when there was someone—two someones—like the monkeys.
Baboon…now he was getting serious, the books out on Francis’s kitchen table. Dorie was like his tutor or something. But you could already see it happening, Baboon knowing more than that little bird did. Baboon was smart. It had kicked in—the smart. He was somewhat…terrified? Yeah, he looked scared, sounded scared. In the army, he sometimes walked reconnaissance, out there alone—for weeks.
That job had a life expectancy of two weeks. Baboon had come home like him, like Audie—not a scratch. Hell, Jules had garnered a hundred times more injuries living with his father than any time in the service. Not counting the time that Model-T Ford ran over him when he was a kid, fourteen, and they’d carried him into a nearby house and laid him on someone’s kitchen table—broken ribs, broken arm, and leg. He’d thought he was going to die. But he never did. Not once.
Those crutches—fastest kid on crutches, that was him. You couldn’t keep him down. Nothing could.
He wanted to live.
Gorilla…now, he was the one to watch. Jules knew—maybe Francis did too; maybe she knew more even—Audie was planning something big.
They’d be close, Gorilla and Francis—Gorilla talking up close in her face, soft-talking, and her looking at him, long looks; then she’d respond, rat-a-tat-tat, she’d say, these full lips she had being pouty. Sometimes she’d go in another room, and Audie would follow her. Oh…Audie wanted Francis. Jules had never seen him like this; any of them like this. These girls, that night at the movies, who knew—that little bird hopping over the seat, dropping next to him; who could guess what was coming…all three of them…who could guess.
They’d had supper with the others, but they soon said goodnight cause Baboon was at the books and Dorie had her nose in them too, and Audie and Francis had disappeared…endless…endless, and Isbe gathered the dishes and he took what she told him to, and next door they went.
“Bunch of nutcases,” he said, describing their friends, and she looked at him, a little smile, but with a Sunday school face or something.
“What?” he said, cause sometimes she bought it—the innocent bit—the “I’m just a man.”
He grabbed an apple from the bowl and took a big crunch, watching her scuttle around putting food away, gathering the dirty dishes into the sink. She started to wash, and he put the core in the little can, not the big one, cause you put the garbage in with the regular trash, you might as well shit on her clean floor while you’re at it, cause she had rules, little rules about little things that could get huge real fast.
He liked to distract her when her hands were in the soapy water.
“You could help, you know,” she said while she washed the plates, but he felt her heart and her breathing pick up.
“I am,” he said, a kiss under her ear.
“Jules,” she said shakily.
“What?” he said, hands sliding up her legs.
“I…” She gripped the sink.
“Keep washing,” he said, innocent.
“Jules,” she said again, her two hands gripping white on the sink.
“That’s my name,” he sang a little, more kisses.
“Jules…Jules…Jules,” she chanted. He liked that. He liked this.
She was weak, and her knees buckled and he brought his hands to her waist, and he took her to the floor, let her drop onto his lap, his rag baby.
Later, Jules sat with his back against the bottom of the sink cabinet, holding her against him. She was limp and sweet. “How’s dat?” he asked her, soft.
She did a little laugh and moved her head enough to look at him. “You think they heard?”
Yeah, he did. Baboon at the table, he probably had Little Bird under that same table about now.
“Nah,”
he lied.
She laughed a tiny, sad sound. “Liar.”
Now he laughed. He kissed her. “It’s all right. Next time you’ll be louder—and they’ll wish this time was back.”
A few minutes later, pretzeled with him on the kitchen floor, she asked, “Where’d you learn this stuff?”
“Good imagination,” he said. “You inspire me.”
She liked that, and she wiggled and giggled, and she got on top and over, ended up putting her weight on his wrists, her nose two inches from his. She had this face, trying to look fierce, and he could see the smile breaking through, and he laughed out loud because she was just so cute.
She laughed too. “Can you imagine…”
She didn’t get to finish, because someone was at the front door leaning on the bell.
They looked at one another. Then she sprang to life, getting off of him, tucking her blouse, smoothing her hair, looking for that other shoe.
His pants were around his ankles, and his underwear was down there so deep he thought they were his socks.
He told her to wait; he’d get it.
She was trying to reach high enough to pat his hair while he did up his pants. He pushed his hair back, two hands, and pulled the door, her behind him.
It was Audie.
“What the hell?” he said. “What you doing? I just saw you.”
“Ah, Jules…I need you a minute…a…a job…sorry, Isbe,” he kept trying to look at Isbe, like everything he was saying was for her.
There was a lot Jules could say, like, “Now? A job, now?” But he didn’t say that. Instead, he turned to his wife and said, “Baby, I’ll be back. Go on, I’ll take my key.”
He could see she was going to complicate it, as if it wasn’t already messed up.
He said to Audie, “I’ll be right there,” and he shut the door in his face.
“Let’s see…I gotta…” he pointed upstairs. He had to piss, but he wasn’t enough of a disgusting fathead to say it, so he went on up and left her standing there. When he got in the bathroom and shoved the door closed, he turned on the water and leaned over the sink. He wanted to get in bed with Isbe and sleep. He was tired as hell after the long day, and he had so little time with her. He didn’t want to handle some rotten, stinking sucker tonight. Audie could do this without him. He was the one hoping to be a gangster when he grew up. Jules already had a job.
He was angry, and he took the bar of Lifebuoy and washed his hands.
He heard her come up and reach the bathroom. Then she backtracked and went into their room and slammed the door enough he got the message. He knew everything she thought, everything she’d say. He didn’t need it…the pressure. Not from her.
She wouldn’t understand.
So he didn’t go to their room and smooth it over with her. He’d do that later. He didn’t want to leave with things off; he almost couldn’t. But he wanted to get this done so he could get back where he belonged—in bed with Isbe.
Outside, Audie was still on the porch. He paced and smoked a cigarette.
“Where’s Baboon?” Jules said.
“Inside with Dorie,” Audie said, pale and tight in the face. Not like him at all.
Audie took off for the Buick and Jules followed.
“What did you tell her?” Audie said.
“Nothing.” He dug for a smoke.
“You should have said something—we were going for a drink.”
“You’re the one said it right in front of her.”
“I didn’t see her until you moved. I didn’t know she was back there.”
Jules lit the fag and breathed in deep, let it out slow. “Where we going?”
They got in, and Audie drove around the block, pulling up alongside the woods behind Isbe’s house.
Jules didn’t want to complain, but he was not in the mood for this.
“Jules…” Audie killed the engine and the lights. “I got to tell you…you need some preparation on this one, brother.”
Jules was quickly out of the car. He went to the trunk. “Get it open,” he said as Audie met him there.
Audie looked around, then fumbled for the keys. He shot Jules a quick look before popping the lock and raising the lid.
Jules looked inside and there—oh, shit. Yeah, shit on a cracker.
And then that dead man moved.
Chapter 46
It was the hand that moved, the fingers.
Jules was still staring when Audie slowly closed the trunk. Click.
That threw Jules a little. He wasn’t sure if they should try to move this bloody bastard to the backseat, but doing so might hasten the reaper.
“When?” Jules said to Audie.
“When—what you mean, when?” Audie stammered.
“When?” Jules repeated, looking at Gorilla and feeling bigger—bigger—first time in his life.
That one—Audie, took a shallow breath. Was he worried? No—no, he was…eager. Like he had a prize.
“What—you gonna kick up your heels?” Jules asked.
Audie laughed a little. “I was…in Francis’s room… heard a car pull up in front, never shut off; pulled away, went to look…had a feeling and…I went out there…checked the trunk…and…” He rapped his knuckles on the trunk.
Jules pointed a finger; he was so thrown by all this he could barely keep his hand still. “You…brought it to the house. You.”
“Me.” Gorilla wasn’t swallowing that without a fight, Jules knew. So he didn’t hang around; he was already getting in the Buick.
Jules followed just as quickly; two doors slammed and a second of pissed-off silence followed. “Drive it. Move,” Jules said. They needed to get this broken piece of shit somewhere.
“Get off my can; I’m going,” Audie said.
“You got all the answers—gangster.” He spat this pretty much, because he didn’t know how this came back to Isbe.
“Get out, then,” Audie said, slamming the brakes, jerking them around.
“Fuck you.” They could fight now, really go at it. It had been coming—it had. Jules didn’t know until now.
“Go home. I don’t need you,” Audie said.
“Drive this fuckin’ coffin,” Jules said again.
A little stare-off.
Audie cracked a smile. “How real is this?”
Jules let out a breath, dug for a fresh smoke.
Audie pulled off, too loud and fast, laughing like a monkey fiend.
“You’re gonna kill him. Shit!” Jules yelled.
Then just that quick, out of nowhere, that old urge—laughter—this moog dying in the trunk. Jules had to rub over his mouth to keep the laugh off, cause it was horrible to ride around with your father-in-law dying in the trunk of your car. That’s what.
“Should I take him—where should I take him?” Then Audie answered his own question. “Redvers.”
“Why would he want that?” Jules said. Why would anyone want this and all its tracks and stains? Why?
Audie drove for a minute, silent, reckless, in Jules’s opinion. They didn’t need to be pulled over.
“He’ll go along. I been throwing Jerry some action.”
“You and Jerry?”
“Little things. He’s top-drawer.”
“Oh—top-drawer? Yeah, it’s all top drawer for Cabhan, Audie. Like this. Top fooking drawer.”
“I don’t want anyone messing this up, because this is beautiful for me,” Audie said.
“You’re screwed in your mind, you know dat?”
“No, baby, this copper taken out, it’s a rainbow—a sign.”
“You gettin’ religious?”
“I am now.”
“You got a woodie for my wife’s old man?”
“Maybe. What’s your stake?”
“She’s my wife,” Jules said. “This comes to my door, where my wife…Dorie. Francis. You gotta ask me this?”
“I thought you’d dance on his grave,” Audie said.
Jules didn’t comment.
Gorilla was yammering away. “Redver did us straight. He bet straight, saved our money and took shit from Seth without giving it up. Redver’s all right. He’s smart when you get to know him. And he hates Cabhan. Hates his guts. We’ll see what happens.”
Jules didn’t want to talk about this. They were in it now. They were doing it. So they drove in silence until they hit a light and Audie looked at Jules, a grin breaking out, and he made that monkey sound that meant he was ready to rattle the bars.
“It ain’t Christmas,” Jules said, growing more pissed off. Audie had pulled Jerry into his criminal activity when that kid already had a trade. Here Jules was with a debt to work off, one he took on like a weak pansy-ass, needing to hang on to Audie so he’d settle somewhere good before he went over a cliff and couldn’t get back. So what did this ape do? He got another partner.
Jules looked out his window. There was no cause to celebrate, and Audie needed to calm the hell down.
It took a while to get out of the city, even with a gorilla’s foot on the pedal. When they reached Redver’s, Audie bypassed the station and drove in back of the darkened bays up to Redver’s trailer.
This…like it or don’t…that man back there…that miserable, crooked jackass…was related by blood, and that put another complication on it. Isbe. Always Isbe. He nearly groaned, he was so deep in.
So, Jules wondered what he should do here. He wondered what she would want, and he knew he had a log in his eye, and it was her.
She was better off without Clark. And he, Jules, certainly was. She’d never have the commitment to kill her old man, and he wouldn’t want that in a million years.
He remembered what she’d said—she’d tried to honor Clark. She’d tried, but Clark hated what she loved. She seemed to think honor was like forgiveness, hand in glove. So “honor” was a tricky word, thicker for her than for him.
According to Jules’s old man, honor meant he could piss in Jules’s mouth, and Jules had to swallow.
“Separate the man from his deeds,” he’d heard. Some well-meaning goof in one of the churches the old man pastored—that was what this old boy had said to Jules.
