Mucho Mojo

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “Have you thought about this?” Leonard said. “Could be we just don’t like the bastard, and we’re tying all this together the way my uncle got tied. It looks bad, but are we seeing smoke or fog? Just because it all leads back to the church doesn’t mean it leads to Fitzgerald.”

  “I’ve thought about that,” I said. “I’ve also thought about the last week of August coming up. I’ve thought too, we play our hand before we have the evidence, the bastard could get off. He did, he wouldn’t quit doing what he’s doing, but he might get more cautious doing it.”

  “It’s not like he’s been sloppy so far,” Leonard said. “This has been going on for years.”

  “Kids like this, to some extent, they’re like prostitutes when they’re victims. They’re considered expendable. Illegitimate black kids with no hope and no future and no one to care. It’s easy to waste someone like that and not get caught. And consider that the murderer started wasting them during a period of police administration when views toward the ethnic community were less than considerate, and are maybe still that way—”

  “He could go on indefinitely.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Got a next step, Mr. Sherlock Freud?”

  “We wait until Hanson finds Illium, then we tell him what we suspect. Tell him about the Hampstead place and show him what we found, and see what he has to say.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “I guess we fix MeMaw’s porch.”

  Leonard poured us another cup of coffee. He said, “Something else is wrong, isn’t there?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I can just tell. Florida?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She went home with Hanson last night, didn’t she?”

  I looked at him. “You could see something too?”

  “They had eyes for each other. You could kind of smell it too. His musk, her in heat.”

  “Thanks for being delicate.”

  “Well. Did she?”

  “I think she did.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “She’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

  “Hey, she’s the one messing up here. You’re good people, Hap. It’s her loss. Even if Hanson probably has a bigger dick.”

  “Thanks, Leonard, that perked me right up.”

  “Hey. We friends, or what?”

  28.

  It’s hard to deal with knowledge like that. Dead kids under a house, a killer on the loose, and his prime time for new murder fast approaching, and then there was the matter of my woman done gone off and left me for an older man, and me and Leonard were building a porch.

  Fortunately, the work we were doing was soothing. I had begun to like the lumber, the feel and smell of it in the hot open air. I liked the sensation of taking something weak and insubstantial and turning it into something solid and pleasing. I liked helping MeMaw.

  MeMaw looked rough that day, but she gave us a dentured smile and invited us in for late-morning coffee. We drank it, even though we were already floating in our own. We finished that up, she asked us to help her to bed, said she felt weaker than usual and wanted to be perked for when her baby boy showed up. We helped her out of the walker and onto the bed and Leonard covered her with a light blanket and turned a fan on to circulate the warm air.

  “Won’t our hammering bother you?” I asked her.

  “Tired as I am, only one can wake me up is the Lord. And he gonna have to shout today.”

  “Rest, MeMaw.”

  She looked so ancient lying there. Not like a person, but like a praying mantis. All bone and tight-stretched skin. She was asleep before we could leave the room.

  We worked as quietly as possible, and long about noon, Leonard decided he wanted hamburgers and fries and was going to use one of Uncle Chester’s coupons to get it. I stayed to crawl beneath the house and pull out some old lumber that was under there so we could take it to the dump. It had fallen out from beneath the porch ages ago and was wet and rotten and an invitation to termites.

  I was doing that when the porch above me squeaked like a sick rat. I figured it was Leonard. I crawled back to the front of the house and out from under the porch and stood up, ready for a burger. But it wasn’t Leonard. It was a black man about my size and age, and I knew who he was immediately, though we had never met. He has wearing a cheap blue suit and was looking at me like I was a snake that had crawled out from under the house.

  “Who are you?” he said, and he had the look of someone ready to fight.

  “Hap Collins,” I said. “You’re Hiram, right?”

  He eyed me for a second. “How’d you know that?”

  “I’ve seen your picture. I’m a friend of MeMaw’s. Me and my buddy Leonard are fixing her porch.”

  “Where’d she get the money for that?”

  “Doesn’t need any. She paid in pie.”

  He grinned slowly, and when he grinned, damned if he didn’t have that confident air Leonard’s got, like he’s immortal and knows it. MeMaw was right. They did favor.

  I stuck out my hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “You too,” he said, and we shook.

  “She’s sleeping. Said she was resting up for you. I didn’t know she meant you were coming today.”

  “She didn’t know exactly, but I called and told her it was likely. I always come around this time of year. It’s my vacation time from work.”

  He nodded toward his white van in the drive. I saw on the driver’s door the stenciled words EASTEX SCHOOL SUPPLIES.

  “That’s right,” I said, “you’re a salesman.”

  “I can sell socks to a legless man, Hap.”

  He certainly sounded as if he could. I said, “But you don’t sell socks to schools.”

  “Nope.”

  “Pencils? Notebooks?”

  “Nothing like that. They get that stuff at the drugstore. I carry stuff like American and Texas flags, sell those on the spot. Take orders for flagpoles, podiums, sweatshirts, senior rings. That kind of thing. Mostly it’s riding around and talking and showing my teeth a lot.”

  Across the street, Leonard pulled into the drive and got out with a greasy white burger bag. He crossed over and nodded at Hiram. He said, “MeMaw’s baby boy.”

  Hiram grinned. “That’s me. You Hap’s friend?”

  “Gosh,” Leonard said, “I hate getting put on the spot like that.”

  Hiram laughed like that was really funny. You could certainly see the salesman in him, but he seemed like an all-right kind of cuss too.

  “We can split this stuff with you,” I said.

  “Naw, thanks. I reckon Mama’s got something in the box in there.”

  “Just stuff that tastes like ambrosia of the gods,” Leonard said. “Can’t figure why you’d want to eat that and not share our burger.”

  “I got a strong character,” Hiram said. “I’m gonna tiptoe in here and check on Mama. You boys take it easy. And thanks for doing this work. I wasn’t so damn tired right now, I’d help you. I been driving all over. Come in from El Paso today.”

  “That’s on the other side of the world,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Say, Hiram,” Leonard said. “We’re gonna work a little more, then clean up some of this lumber and stuff, then we’re gonna knock off a bit. We gotta run in and get some nails, a few things to finish out.”

  “Need money for it?” Hiram said.

  “It’s on us,” Leonard said.

  Hiram smiled at us and thanked us, and quietly went inside and closed the door.

  Way the world was, the things I knew about, it was good to see everything wasn’t crazy. Good to be reminded sons still loved their mamas and came home to see them. Not everyone had dead children under their house.

  * * *

  About two that afternoon, right after we’d come back from the lumber yard with nails and stuff, Hanson pulled up in Uncle Chester’s driveway and got out. He had the white cop Charlie with him.
Charlie was wearing the same sheen-green Kmart suit he’d had on last time, but he’d added a porkpie hat to his outfit. Maybe to keep that pesky fly off his head.

  Charlie stayed by the car, and Hanson walked across to MeMaw’s where we were working.

  “You boys got a moment?” he said.

  We put up our materials and crossed the street and went into the house with them. Before we could get seated at the kitchen table, Hanson said, “Charlie’s in on it, boys. I had to have some help.”

  I looked at Charlie. He looked the way he always looked. Calm, a little bored, old-looking for his age, disinterested, dumb. I figured he was about as dumb and disinterested as the proverbial fox. When we were seated, I said, “OK. How’d it go?”

  “Well, he was down there,” Hanson said.

  “Identify him?” Leonard said.

  “It’s Illium Moon. Looks like a suicide. Providing you accept the old bookmobile in the pond method.”

  “That’s unusual, all right,” I said.

  “I’ve seen weirder,” Hanson said. “I seen a guy that had frayed a lamp cord, plugged the good end into a socket, put the frayed end in a cup of water, along with his dick. Barbecued that fucker.”

  “His dick?” Leonard said.

  “The rest of him too,” Hanson said.

  “About Illium,” I said. “Find the goods on the couch?”

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  “I think it’s like you guys think,” Hanson said. “A setup. It’s too goddamned cute.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “Some of those kids’ clothes were new. Could be of recent victims, but we don’t think so.”

  Hanson said, “Whoever did Moon in wanted to make him look like he killed some kids and had some souvenirs from the killings, but he didn’t want to give up his own souvenirs, ’cause I’m sure he’s got ’em. A killer like this has always got ’em. A few magazines he’s willing to lose, but the actual clothes his victims wore, that’s much too special for a dick like this.”

  “Couldn’t part with the stuff,” Charlie said, “so he went and bought some at Kmart. I checked myself. Kmart is where I like to shop.”

  “They got some deals all right,” I said.

  “Yeah, and they take shit back easy, it don’t fit right,” Charlie said.

  “I know a man likes Wal-Mart for that same reason,” I said.

  “Yeah, well,” Charlie said, “Wal-Mart’s all right.”

  “You guys through shopping?” Hanson said.

  “He’s always business,” Charlie said. “He don’t get any recreation.”

  Hanson ignored him. He got out his sloppy-ended cigar and put it in his mouth and did the side-to-side routine with it. He said, “Some of the jeans are brands and styles not made until this year. There might be one authentic piece in there, something belonged to one of the dead boys, but that’s it. And I’d stake my career on it.”

  “Actually, way this is going,” Charlie said, “you’re staking my career on it too.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a loss?” Hanson said. He turned to us. “Newspapers are gonna be bad to Moon, I think. I can’t do anything about that. We can hold off what we found a little while, but not long. Best thing we can do is prove the truth here, show he’s been set up. You boys look at the files?”

  “Sure.” I said.

  “Anything?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Don’t be coy,” he said, “we had a deal.”

  “Still do,” Leonard said. “The deal is we let you in on what we know when we want you to know it.”

  Hanson took the cigar out of his mouth and put it in his coat pocket and took a deep breath like his chest hurt. I hurt with him. I wasn’t sure we were right in holding anything back. I was still going by Leonard’s rules, but I wasn’t certain how much longer I could do that. I was getting scared.

  “Listen,” Hanson said. “I’m playing with you guys ’cause I think you got something and I want it and I don’t want to climb mountains to get it. But you start thinking we’re too cozy, start thinking this is all play, I’ll wring your fuckin’ necks for you. I’ll throw you so far under the goddamn jail you’ll be wearing a coolie hat.”

  “Damn,” Leonard said, “I think my pulse just jumped a little.”

  Hanson seemed to swell. “Fuck with me, you smart-ass motherfucker, just fuck with me, see where it gets you.”

  “I wouldn’t fuck you with Hap’s dick,” Leonard said. “Hell, I wouldn’t fuck you with Charlie’s dick.”

  Hanson moved toward Leonard, and Charlie caught him, and I put an arm across Leonard’s chest. I said, “Boys, let’s ease off, now.”

  Hanson took a deep breath. He tried to smile but made a face like a man that had just found a dog turd in his mouth. “All right,” he said. “All right, I’m OK. I’ll play your way. But only for a little while. A very goddamn little while.”

  29.

  A night of heat lightning. A giant bed.

  Leonard had found that the couch was more to his liking for some reason, so the bed had stayed mine. That had been all right when Florida was around, but now I felt I ought to try and get him to trade. I decided that would be an important topic of conversation tomorrow. Why I should have the fold-out couch and he should have the bed. It was the time of night when stuff like that seemed significant.

  I lay there and counted sheep, tried to remember the name of every dog I had ever owned, attempted to let my mind go blank, all the stuff you do when you’re restless, but I still couldn’t sleep. I thought about Florida. The way she smiled and talked, the nights we had spent together. That special first night we had made love, that night out at the overlook when I thought our relationship was cementing.

  I thought about Hanson. I wanted to be mad at him, but he hadn’t done anything but respond to what was there to respond to. Hell, I liked the big bastard. Really. He was a swell guy. I just hoped his dick would fall off.

  I got up and sat by the window awhile and watched the heat lightning leap around. When that bored me, I watched the drug sellers and their clients. The clients came and went as brisk as patrons at a drive-through hamburger joint. I attempted to listen in on conversations, but all I could hear was talking that sounded like bees buzzing, that and occasional bursts of laughter and the sound of their music, which from where I sat was mostly the throb of the bass line; I felt it more than I heard it.

  When I tired of that, I put on my sweatpants and did a few Hapkido moves, shadowboxed a bit, then turned on the end-table light, stretched out on the bed, and tried to get back into reading The Hereafter Gang.

  I was managing to do that when along about midnight I heard a noise, like whimpering. Then there was a slight banging under the house, followed by silence.

  I listened a moment, and it didn’t repeat itself. I figured a dog had gotten up under there, bumped its head, and moved on, but I was too nervous to let it be. Lately, with the stuff we’d found and the assholes next door, a bird chirped, Leonard cut a fart, I was ready to leap.

  I turned off the reading light, got out of bed, put on my shoes, got my .38, and went out into the living room.

  Leonard was up and putting on his shoes. I wasn’t the only one hearing things. There was enough moonlight in the room I could see his face. He nodded at me. He went over to the closet and opened it quietly and got the twelve-gauge pump.

  “Front or back?” he said.

  “Front.”

  “Get the door, count twenty-five slowly. That’ll time us close.”

  I went to the door and quietly as possible freed the locks. I was up to fifteen on my counting when I heard Leonard open the back door and slip out. The shitass was counting too fast. I opened the front door and darted onto the front porch, bending low.

  The outside was lit with starlight and the clean silver rays of the moon, and off in the east was the heat lightning. I could see quite well, but there wasn’t anything to see.

  I held my position and listened,
felt a little silly. All I could hear were the assholes next door. Their voices. Their music. I looked over there. The porch light had been turned off, but I could see a couple of people on the porch. I could hear them talking. They weren’t looking in my direction. I eased down the porch steps and stopped to listen again. And heard something this time.

  The whimpering. It reminded me a bit of a dog I’d had when I was a kid. It had been fed glass in raw hamburger meat by our next-door neighbor who didn’t like it digging in his flowerbeds. The dog died. When my dad found out what happened, he worked the neighbor over with his fists and tried to feed him about three feet of a garden rake handle. He finished up by using the neighbor’s head to plow the man’s flowers up. My dad liked animals. For petunias, he didn’t give a damn.

  I eased toward the sound, which was consistent now and had turned to a moaning. I went around the side of the house and saw Leonard down on his hands and knees. He had put the shotgun on the ground and was crawling through a gap in the skirting around the house.

  By the time I got over there, Leonard was backing out and pulling something out with him. It was a kid. He had the boy by the pants, and when he had him tugged out from under there, I recognized him in the moonlight. It was the boy who had gotten the shot of horse on Uncle Chester’s front porch, the boy who’d ended up with a beeper.

  The boy was shaking and his eyes were rolled up in his head and he was making the sound that had reminded me of the dog. He was in a bad way and didn’t seem to know where he was. He’d crawled under the house like a wounded animal, seeking the dark, the cool pressure of the ground. I thought it odd that the gap in the siding, the place he’d chosen to hide and try and ride out his pain, was beneath the flooring Leonard and I had built. He had been lying not far from where Leonard had discovered the trunk with the pathetic little bones inside. I realized now in my dream, when I had visualized the child in the trunk, the bones dressed in flesh, it had been the face of this boy I had seen.

  “He don’t seem to be injured,” Leonard said. “I don’t see any blood.”

  “Overdose,” I said. “He’s riding the merry-go-round, hard.”