by John Rector
For a moment I didn’t speak. I turned back and watched the road stretch out in front of us, the still air shimmering in the heat. Rochelle was quiet. “It ain’t something to be scared of, you know.”
That was when Rochelle started to scream.
At first I thought I was about to hit something. It was mating season, and the whitetail came across the road all the time, so I hit the brakes without looking and Rochelle hit the dashboard, hard.
That was when she stopped screaming.
I pulled off the road. “Baby, you okay?”
“What’d you do that for?”
“You were hollering. I thought there was a deer or something.”
“God Damn it, Jack. I think you broke my neck.”
Rochelle likes to exaggerate. The first time I met her I was filling my tank at the Sap Brothers on I-70 outside of Wichita. She comes up to me and tells me she hasn’t eaten in four days, and she needed money because she was pregnant and wanted to keep her baby from being born deformed or retarded. Well, it turned out she lived in one of the rooms across the parking lot and had food of her own. She’d eaten a bologna sandwich that morning and the truth was she needed the money to move back to Little Rock so she could be by her folks when the baby came. I didn’t blame her for that. Family is important.
I’m not sure what it was, but seeing her outside, and thinking about the baby she was carrying, made me think of Mary and Joseph and the story of the manger. How they’d been forced to lay down with animals because it was cold outside and they couldn’t find anyone who was kind enough to help. I think it’s important to take lessons from the Bible, especially when you’re faced with a new situation.
“Jesus Christ. I think my nose is broken.”
I tried to look, but she pulled away. Her nose wasn’t even bleeding.
“Take me back home.”
“I thought you wanted to see the house.”
She didn’t answer me, and for a while I kept driving toward the house anyway. Then after a mile or two, I decided to turn around and take her back to her room. I figured there was no point in upsetting her.
~
When we got back to the motel, she opened the door and got out.
I leaned toward her. “You want me to wait?”
She didn’t answer, just slammed the door and started across the parking lot toward her room. I watched her move. She looked so good from the back. Everything slid just right when she walked. I felt bad for looking, but I couldn’t help myself.
As she got closer to her door, a man came out of the next room and grabbed her arm. I saw her try to pull away, but he slapped her across the face and dragged her inside.
I was up and out of my truck fast, running across the parking lot. He’d left the door to the room open and I saw her sitting on the bed. He was standing over her, screaming at her. He didn’t see me coming, and I hit him hard. He flew across the bed, and landed in a pile against the wall.
I grabbed Rochelle’s hand and pulled her up. “Are you okay?”
She looked back over her shoulder. “Jesus, Jack, look what you did.”
“Did he hurt you?” I put my hand on her stomach, and she pulled away.
The man in the corner pushed himself to his knees. He looked up, but his eyes seemed distant, not really seeing us.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said.
She moved toward the man on the floor, but I stopped her. “Rochelle, let’s go.”
“Hold on a minute. I want to make sure he’s okay.”
The man was still on his knees, but I figured he’d be okay. He’d hit the wall pretty hard, but his eyes looked clearer now. Then, when he took the gun from behind his back and pointed it at me, I knew he’d be fine.
“Close that door.”
“Carl.” Rochelle’s voice had a tired whine to it. “Just leave him be.”
“You know him?” I asked.
Carl stood, bracing himself against the wall. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Jack Meese, I’m her—”
“Sit the fuck down, Jack Meese.”
I stopped talking, but I didn’t move.
He came at me and pressed the end of the gun against my forehead. “Sit the fuck down.” He talked real slow, dragging out each word, like I was stupid.
I felt the anger swell in my chest, but I pushed it back. There was a faded green couch along the far wall. I sat down, but I never took my eyes off him.
Carl turned to Rochelle. “Why don’t you sit next to him.”
Rochelle’s shoulders seemed to slump. She stood up and shuffled over to the couch, dropping onto the cushions like a scolded child.
“So,” Carl said, smiling. “How do you two know each other?”
“It’s not like that,” Rochelle said. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” He looked at me. “You her friend, cowboy?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Yes, he’s my friend.”
Carl nodded, paused. “She suck your cock, friend?”
I stood, fast. “You keep your mouth shut. I don’t know what—”
He pointed the gun at me. “You get off that couch again and it’ll be the last time.”
My chest was on fire, and every muscle in my body felt like it was going to snap. I made myself think about Rochelle and the baby. That was all that mattered, so I sat back down and tried to relax, for their sake.
Carl watched me for a while, then shrugged. “I don’t really care if she does or not, just trying to make conversation, s’all.”
“What do you want, Carl?” Rochelle asked.
“I want to know where the hell you ran off to. Why haven’t I seen you with the others? It’s been almost a week.”
Rochelle stared at her feet and shrugged. “I’m moving on, that’s all. I don’t want to stay here.”
Carl laughed, fast and short. “You ain’t going anywhere.”
I got a feeling I knew what was going on, but I wasn’t sure. I leaned over to Rochelle. “Is he the father?”
Rochelle shushed me, but Carl heard and smiled.
“What’d he say?”
“He didn’t say nothing.”
Carl came over and grabbed Rochelle’s arm and pulled her off the couch. I went to stand, but he pointed the gun at me and said, “Think it through, cowboy.”
I sat back down, keeping a close watch.
Carl turned back to Rochelle. “You told him you were pregnant?”
Rochelle pulled her arm away. “This ain’t your business.”
Carl laughed, and for a minute it looked like he wasn’t able to speak, then he pointed at me. “Are you fucking stupid, boy?”
The anger flashed again. I was having a hard time keeping it back.
He kept laughing. “You must be the dumbest motherfucker I’ve ever met.” He motioned toward Rochelle. “Roach is a dangler.”
“Jesus, Carl,” Rochelle said. “Why do you have to do this?”
Carl ignored her. He came close to me and said, “You got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Roach, come over here and show this boy what I’m talking about.”
“No, Carl.”
He turned on her, fast. “God damn it, now!”
Rochelle hesitated a moment, then crossed the room and stood in front of me. She mumbled something I didn’t quite hear, then lifted her shirt and unbuttoned her jeans.
I closed my eyes.
Carl hit the back of my head. “Open your eyes, dipshit. You’ll like this.”
Rochelle did a small snake move and slid her jeans to her knees. There was a wispy thin tuft of blonde hair between her legs, and buried beneath was a tiny gray penis.
Carl laughed. “It ain’t much, but it’s enough.” He reached down and flicked her penis with his finger. Rochelle jumped back. “You’d be surprised how much money this one brings in on a good night. Some of these boys come from miles just to—”
I got up fast and swung hard, catching him right above his eye. He stumbled backward into the dresser and dropped the gun. He tried to get his balance, and I hit him again. This time he went down. I kicked the gun under the bed and reached for Rochelle.
“Jesus, Jack,” she said, pulling her pants back up. She stared at Carl. “What’d you do that for?”
“Let’s go. Now.” I pulled her toward the door, but she squirmed away and ran to where Carl was sitting on the floor. He had his head back, his palm pressed over his eye.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She knelt in front of him and held his head between her hands.
“Rochelle, let’s go.”
She turned to me and screamed through clenched teeth. “Fuck you, Jack. Get out of here.”
“Rochelle?”
She ignored me.
I stayed for as long as I could stand it, then I walked back to my truck, her voice still sounding in my head.
~
I always try to do what’s right. It’s the way I was raised. The Bible says not to hate people who do you wrong, and to love your neighbor. I understand that. The Bible also says an act of revenge is justified and not considered murder. I understand that, too, but sometimes one thing the Bible says seems to go against another, and then I get confused. When that happens, I try to find a middle ground and do what I think is right.
I went back to the motel that night and waited in the lot next door. I watched the girls move between the trucks, but I didn’t see Rochelle out there. The light in Carl’s room was on, so I figured she was inside. After a while I got out and took the tire iron from the back of my pick-up and headed over.
The door to his room was locked, so I stepped back and kicked it, hard. It exploded in, slamming against the wall. Carl was on the green couch, his head leaned back, a bag of ice over his eye. His pants were off and Rochelle was kneeling between his legs. When he saw me he tried to stand, but I moved fast, catching him across the face with the tire iron.
Carl fell over the side of the couch, slumping against the wall.
He didn’t move.
I pulled the couch back and took the heavy rubber band from my pocket.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rochelle reached for my arm. “Leave him alone—”
I pulled away and slammed my elbow into her chest. She made a low grunting sound and dropped, struggling for breath.
Carl was on his side. I kicked him onto his back, and he made a slow moaning sound. I reached between his legs, wrapped the band around his balls, tight, then pulled the hunting knife from my boot.
Rochelle tried to scream, but the sound was weak and painful.
I ignored her.
Carl’s balls were turning a deep purple, like a small eggplant.
I opened the knife.
He jumped when I cut.
Rochelle screamed and staggered into the bathroom. I heard the water run, and when she came back she had an armful of towels.
I got out of her way.
“You think you’re a real man?” She looked up at me, showed her teeth. “You’re not a real man. You don’t know what it means to be a real man.”
I waited in the doorway, watching her press the towels between his legs. The faded green motel carpet grew dark under him.
“You’ll be just fine, sugar,” Rochelle was saying. “You just rest now.” She started humming a song to him that seemed familiar. I thought it might’ve been Mockingbird, but it didn’t sound quite right.
I listened for a moment, then said, “What’s that you’re singing?”
She ignored me. The towels between Carl’s legs were soaking through, dark and red, and her humming became closer to a low moan. “Oh, sweet Christ,” she said, over and over. “Oh, sweet fucking Christ.”
There was a lot of blood, and I figured the band had come off. With cattle, that usually meant trouble, but there wasn’t much you could do. I watched them for a while, but it didn’t take too long until I’d had enough. I walked out, leaving them alone.
Once I was out the door, Rochelle yelled to me. “You run away, Jack. You just run. You ain’t a real man. You ain’t ever gonna be a real man, not ever! You hear me?”
I heard her, but then, halfway to my truck, the wind picked up and I didn’t hear her anymore.
Folded Blue
Harry opened the door.
Jules stood on the porch holding a brown paper bag. “Thought we could throw back a few.” He looked past Harry into the dark apartment. “You alone?”
Harry nodded and stepped away from the door.
Jules came inside and went straight for the kitchen. “Mind if I put these in the fridge?”
“Go ahead.” Harry closed the door and walked back to the couch in the corner of the room. The ashtray on the coffee table was full and overflowing. “You bring any smokes?”
“I don’t smoke, man, you know that.”
Harry did know that, it was one of the reasons he didn’t like Jules. For a drunk, Jules was far too concerned about his health to be that good of a friend.
Harry thumbed through the ash tray, picked out a half-smoked cigarette, blew off the filter and put it to his lips. “You got a light?”
Jules came out of the kitchen with two beers and handed one to Harry. “I think I might.”
“Doesn’t smoke, but carries a lighter.”
“No lighter,” he said. “But these will work.”
He held out a black and gold pack of matches. Harry knew them well. They were from the Moonlight Tavern off 76th street. Rita used to work there.
“When were you at the Moonlight?”
“I stop in now and then.”
“You see Rita?”
“Not for a couple days,” he said. “She’s off somewhere, you know how she gets.”
Harry nodded and took a drink of his beer. It was warm, but it tasted good.
Neither of them spoke.
Harry leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. Outside, the noise from the street drifted into the room like the sound of an angry sea.
Jules coughed.
Harry opened his eyes. “You sick?”
“Nothing serious.”
“What’s nothing serious?”
“I don’t know,” Jules said. “Nothing serious.”
“Don’t come over here when you’re sick.”
“Christ, Harry, it’s just allergies. They always kick in come August.”
“If you say so.”
Jules shook his head. “You’re a fucking hypochondriac, you know that?”
Harry ignored him.
They finished their beers and opened two more.
“You got plans tonight?” Jules asked.
“Just this.”
“What about later? You feel like going out?”
“No.”
Jules paused, looked down at the bottle in his hand. “Yeah, me neither.”
Outside, someone screamed, followed by laughter.
Harry finished his beer then got up and walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were two left. He opened one, said, “Last two, you ready?”
“Keep it,” Jules said. “I’m going to take off.”
Harry took the last beer back to the couch. “Thanks for stopping by, Jules.”
“You sure I can’t get you to come along?”
“Come along where?”
“Anywhere,” he said. “Just thought you might want to get out of here for a while.”
“No, I’m good.”
Jules stared at him for a moment then set his empty bottle on the floor beside the chair and stood up. “If you change your mind—”
“Sure.”
Jules walked to the door and stopped. “You know, Rita feels real bad about the other night. She didn’t mean to embarrass you like that.”
Harry nodded.
“She thinks you’re a great guy, Harry, a sweetheart.” Jules hesitated. “Just not her type. You understand?”
&n
bsp; “Yeah, I do.”
“She asks about you.”
Harry took a drink. “Tell her I said hello.”
Jules nodded slowly. “Sure, Harry. I’ll tell her.”
Harry waited until he was alone, then got up and walked to the bathroom. One of the fluorescent lights was out, and the remaining bulb buzzed behind the glass like a chorus of flies.
He sat on the edge of the toilet, pulled back the shower curtain, and looked down at Rita, naked and folded blue in a pool of red.
He stared at her, his pants growing painfully tight, then he stood and leaned over the tub, bracing himself against the shower wall, and unzipped.
After he finished, he cleaned himself up and walked back to the living room.
For the first time that night, everything was quiet.
Harry listened to the silence. Then he twisted the cap off the last beer and drank.
The Firebird
July. Phoenix. Hot.
Jacob pulls into the parking lot of the Circle K and gets out. There’s a girl at the payphone next to the ice machine. She’s crying. As he walks by she slams the phone on the cradle and shouts, “Fuck.”
Jacob looks away, pretending not to notice. He opens the front door; the cold air from inside feels good against his skin. He pauses and looks back at the girl. There’s something familiar about her—he’s seen her before. “You okay?” Jacob asks.
The girl takes a deep breath. “No, I’m not fucking okay,” she says. “I’m in really deep shit.”
Inside the store the clerk shouts at him to close the door. Jacob ignores him. “You want something to drink? Some water?”
The girl looks up. Mascara snakes down her cheeks and tiny black tears drip on her t-shirt. “Can you give me a ride to Indian School and Fifteenth?”
Jacob frowns. Buying her a bottle of water when it’s a hundred and eighteen degrees is one thing, but giving her a ride, especially when he’s stoned, is something completely different. Indian School and Fifteenth might only be a mile or two away, but it’ll seem like a million in his mind. He had a hard enough time driving the eight blocks from his apartment. “Sorry,” he says. “But if you want some water? A Coke?”
