The Mortal Nuts

by Pete Hautman

  Every now and then, one of Tommy’s carny friends would walk up from the midway to pay his respects by standing silently in front of the Tiny Tot stand, smoking a cigarette. A few of them drifted farther up the mall to exchange a few words with Axel. They all seemed to take Tommy’s death philosophically. One, Froggy Sims, the aging, chain-smoking mike man for Wee Wanda, the World’s Smallest Woman, didn’t want to leave.

  “Tommy, he was a good un. Real old-time carny, him.” Froggy put his cigarette in his crumpled mouth, made a pair of fists, clacked his rings together. The first time Axel had seen him do that, he’d wondered whether it was some obscure carny thing. He’d asked Tommy about it, and Tommy had said it was just Froggy’s way of making sure you noticed his jewelry. Tommy hadn’t cared much for old Froggy, but he’d always given him free donuts.

  Axel shifted the ice pack to a new spot on his elbow. He resented this guy hanging around, making out like he’d been Tommy’s best friend. He figured Froggy was mostly sad about losing his donut connection. The guy had about five thousand bucks in gold on him, not counting what was on his teeth, but he’d walk a half mile across the fairgrounds for free food.

  “Use to run an alibi joint, me and him. Those were the days, I got to tell you.”

  “I bet they were,” Axel said. “Listen, Froggy, you want a taco or something?” Maybe that would get rid of him.

  Froggy made a face like he was surprised. “Jeez, Ax, that’s white a you.”

  Axel smiled with his mouth and told Juanita to get Froggy a taco and a Coke.

  Froggy said, “You don’t got no Pepsi?”

  By nine-thirty the outside temperature had risen to eighty- four degrees. It was going to be a hot one, a late-summer Minnesota sauna. Every third person in the state would say, at some point, “It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity.”

  The ice helped. Axel flexed his arm. The swelling had gone. It felt almost normal. He stared across the mall at the dead hulk of the Tiny Tot stand. Tommy’s ghost was hovering over the mall, staring down at the boarded-up remnant of his life. Axel didn’t want to know what that felt like, ever.

  A familiar figure stopped in front of the Tiny Tot concession, then walked slowly up to Axel.

  “Hey, Ax,” said Sam.

  Axel looked up. “What are you doing here?”

  Sam lit a cigarette. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I couldn’t get no work done, thinking about Tom.”

  Axel nodded. He understood. Another of Tommy’s friends, paying his respects.

  “I didn’t think he’d be the first one of us, Ax.”

  “Yeah? Who’d you think it would be?”

  Sam spat out a fragment of tobacco, looked critically at his cigarette, then grinned at Axel. “Fact is, I thought it’d be you.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Axel was not amused.

  Carmen, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, woke up with a headache. It wasn’t a bad headache. In fact, it was the mildest one so far that week.

  Someone was pounding on the door. She had the sense that it had been going on for some time.

  “Just a minute!” She looked at the clock: ten-fourteen. “Who is it?”

  “Management!”

  Carmen opened the door. Bill Quist stood in the doorway and looked past her, smiling.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I haven’t heard from you lately. Is your friend still staying here?”

  “No. He’s gone.”

  “Oh. Mr. Speeter called. He says you’re supposed to go in to work.”

  “I was fired.”

  Quist shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I just know he called and asked me to wake you up and tell you.”

  “He could’ve just called my room.”

  “He’s been trying all morning.” He pointed. “Your phone’s off the hook.”

  Carmen remembered dreaming about this incessant ringing noise, then making it stop.

  “Did that key I loaned you work out?” Quist asked.

  “What key?”

  Quist laughed. “That’s what I say: ‘What key?’ You were going to give me some money, remember?”

  “No. Did Axel say anything else?”

  “Just that you’re supposed to go to work. How about you give me twenty bucks now and the rest later?”

  Carmen slammed the door.

  Quist blinked at the closed door, still smiling, then shrugged and walked back across the parking lot to his office. It was always worth asking. You never knew.

  “You’re leaving?” Sophie said.

  “I called Carmen. She’ll be here anytime now.” Axel found a paper bag and started filling it with burritos.

  “But—” Sophie looked at the line forming in front of the restaurant, shook her head like she couldn’t believe it. “You’re leaving now? Just me and Juanita?”

  “Kirsten and Carmen should be here soon.”

  Juanita shouted over her shoulder. “I maybe need some help right now, you know.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Sophie said. She gave Axel a dark look. “Kirsten’s an hour late, and you know Carmen.”

  Axel said, “I’ll be back in an hour. Look, I’ve asked Sam to help out. He needs to be doing something. He’ll be right back—he just went to the john.”

  “Sam O’Gara? I don’t want him anywhere near here. I heard what he did to Tommy’s donut mix.”

  “It’s up to you. I gotta go, Sophie. Back in a couple hours, okay?” He added the paper sack of Bueno Burritos to his burlap bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked across the mall. He heard her shout that it was goddamn well not okay, but he kept moving.

  “Now where’s he going?”

  “How the fuck do I know?”

  “He’s got that bag with him.”

  “The money’s in the bag?”

  “Some of it is, I bet. C’mon, podna, let’s get a move on.” Dean stood up, his straw cowboy hat riding low on his forehead. He felt ridiculous. He wore a light-blue western- style shirt and a red paisley bandanna around his neck. The shirt was made of polyester or something, hot as hell, sticking to him like a sheet of glue. All three items had been purchased at a western-wear stand in the Coliseum. The only good thing was that next to Tigger he looked great.

  Tigger had selected a colorful shirt with Let’s Rodeo embroidered in rope letters, front and back. His hat was white felt with an outrageously high crown. It had cost fifty- nine bucks, but Dean figured it was worth it if it made the kid happy. He needed him, for now. But he’d drawn the line at new boots. They didn’t have time. He planned to keep an eye on the old man every minute. This was serious business, and there would be no mistakes.

  Somehow, Pork had managed to spend or lose over four thousand dollars during the few hours he’d had Dean’s jacket. When Dean had discovered how little money was remaining, he’d told Tigger to drive back to The Recovery Room’s parking lot and drive over him a couple times, just in case the beating hadn’t killed him. Tigger had not responded well to that suggestion, so he’d let it go. He realized now that it wouldn’t have been the smart thing to do. From now on, he was going to do only smart things. The plastic bag Pork had left in the chest pocket of Dean’s jacket helped. It contained several grams of meth. A few fat lines, and he’d got so smart it was like he could predict the future.

  “Don’t get too close,” Dean said. One bad thing about wearing disguises on a day like this: He was sweating buckets. The speed made his sweat smell like chicken soup. Chicken soup running down his cheeks and trickling along his ribs. He smelled like a high school cafeteria.

  “He ain’t looking,” Tigger said. “He’s heading out through the gate.”

  “Going out to his truck.”

  “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Just stay cool, podna. We get in your car and follow him, see where he goes.”

  Kirsten Lund was late, and it wasn’t her fault. It was her mom’s fault. Kirsten had made a big mistake,
a huge mistake, a mondo mistake, when she’d told her mom about the fight at the fair.

  “Young lady, if you think I am going to let you go back to that horrible taco shack, you have got another think coming.”

  Wow. Kirsten never thought her mom would get so twisted about it. It wasn’t like people got shot at the fair every day. In fact, it was probably the only time ever in history. Not go back to work? Not possible, she explained, but her mom was being a real load.

  “You don’t need the money that bad, dear. Most of your school clothes from last year still fit you fine.”

  Kirsten was horrified. “Jesus, Mom, what are you trying to do to me?”

  That was another mistake.

  “I won’t have language like that in my house! You are not going back to that awful place, and that, young lady, is final!”

  Big, huge, mondo mistake. She’d had to wait for her mom to leave for work, then rush to the bus stop. Her mom would kill her if she found out, but that was better than going back to school wearing last year’s clothes. And Sophie was going to be mad too. Everybody was going to be mad at her. She might even get fired, like Carmen.

  “What’s he doing? Can you see?”

  “He’s got a little, like, stepladder. He’s setting it up next to the fence.”

  “Has he got his bag with him?”

  “Yeah. Now he’s got a shovel. He’s throwing it over the fence. He’s up on the ladder now. He’s taking something out of the bag.”

  “Can he see us?”

  “He’s not looking this way.”

  “I hear dogs barking.”

  “Now he’s throwing some stuff over. It looks like food.”

  “Food?”

  “Yeah. It looks like tacos or something. … He’s climbing over now. He’s climbed over. I can’t see him anymore.”

  “Shit. Okay, let’s go see what he’s doing.” Dean jumped out of the car and trotted down the sidewalk, Tigger close behind. The fence, in violation of city ordinance, was seven feet high. “Okay. Boost me up so I can see,” Dean said in a low voice.

  Tigger crouched beside the privacy fence and let Dean straddle his shoulders. He tried to rise, groaned.

  “Come on!” Dean said, grabbing the top of the wooden fence.

  Tigger straightened his legs, gasped, and fell over, sending both of them sprawling onto the sidewalk. “I can’t,” he gasped.

  Dean climbed to his feet, rubbing his elbow. “What a fucking wuss. C’mere, I’ll lift you up. Tell me what the fuck he’s doing in there.” They exchanged positions, Tigger on Dean’s shoulders.

  “Can you see?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well?”

  “It’s some kind of junkyard. A bunch of cars. Shit There’s a couple big motherfucking dogs in there, man. Looks like they’re having lunch.”

  “What about the guy?”

  “I can’t see him. Wait a minute. He’s in one of them. He’s in this old pickup truck, trying to get it started. He’s backing it up now. Okay. He’s getting out. There’s—he’s—he’s standing there looking at this hole, man. Like a big hole somebody dug up, you know? He’s just looking at it… He don’t look happy, man. He looks pissed. His fuckin’ face, man, he looks like he’s gonna blow. Shit! Shit lemme down, man! Lemme down!” Tigger pushed away from the fence, sending Dean staggering backward just as something heavy hit the fence from the other side and dual howls shattered the quiet neighborhood.

  The dogs.

  The goddamn dogs. Now they were barking, howling at something on the other side of the fence. First they ruin his life, then they bark about it.

  Axel stared down into the shallow pit at the fluttering remnants of a dark-green Hefty bag. He thought, If I ever have a heart attack, please, God, let it be now. He looked up at Sam’s dogs jumping against the wooden fence and amended his wish. First, God, give me time to kill the dogs. He reached into his bag, pulled out the .45, cocked it, and pointed it toward the bellowing mutts.

  He held it on them for several seconds, knowing there was no way he could do it. It wasn’t the dogs’ fault. A week back, he’d invaded their territory carrying two bags, one filled with Bueno Burritos, the other filled with cash money. He’d given one to the dogs, then buried the other right before their hungry canine eyes. Axel uncocked the pistol and put it back in his bag.

  The dogs had started digging at the back bumper. He could almost see it, the two dogs working together, or maybe in shifts, sending a steady spray of loose dirt flying out from under the truck. Yeah, he knew a dog-dug hole when he saw one.

  But where was the money? He stepped into the pit, lifted the torn Hefty bag. Nothing. He kicked aside some dirt, thinking for a moment that perhaps this was some other doubled-up garbage bag and that the one with the money still lay beneath his feet. A corner of gray-green caught his eye. He bent down and tugged a twenty-dollar bill from the earth. Falling to his hands and knees, Axel shoveled aside handfuls of dirt, throwing some at the dogs, who had sauntered over to watch him.

  The twenty was all he found. He stood up, distastefully regarding his dirt-caked fingernails. He hated that. Dirt under his nails.

  One loose twenty. Where had it all gone? Had high wind passed through the neighborhood and blown it all away? Not likely. He threaded his way among the derelict vehicles, trying to follow the perimeter of the fence, keeping his eyes on the ground. After five minutes of searching, he found another twenty, stuck in the grille of the Dodge Charger. At the base of the fence, between the two VW Beetles, he discovered an entire roll, still held together with its rubber band, the bills slightly chewed but still spendable. The dogs? The dogs wouldn’t be able to eat an entire quarter-million dollars, even if it did smell like Mexican food.

  No, he knew who had his money. He just wasn’t sure what he should do about it.

  Chapter 34

  The walk from the bus stop to the mall would normally take about three minutes. Carmen stretched it out to forty. She did not want to go to work. The tactile memory of the texture of a flour tortilla gave her the shudders.

  Also, it had kind of bothered her, being fired by Sophie. Fired by her own mom.

  It was getting so she couldn’t count on anybody.

  She stopped to watch a yellow Skyride capsule pass overhead. All day long, the Skyride ferried people, two to a capsule, from the Horticulture Building, at the head of the mall, to Heritage Square, at the far corner of the fairgrounds. Carmen had worked under the cable for five seasons and had yet to ride it herself. She didn’t like the idea of being locked in a bobbing capsule, riding along an unchangeable route.

  She couldn’t count on any of them. Not Sophie, not Axel, and certainly not James Dean. Now that he was gone—gone for sure this time, she thought—she really needed to firm up her position with Axel. If he wanted her to work with Sophie, then that’s what she’d have to do. At least for now. She opened her purse and took two more Valiums from the prescription bottle, swallowed them, and lit a cigarette. The two she had taken back at the motel didn’t seem to be working. She decided to wait for these to kick in before giving herself up to the Taco Shop.

  Carmen noticed that the Tiny Tot stand was boarded up, then remembered that Tommy Fabian had been killed. She’d forgotten all about it. She couldn’t count on him, either. Next thing she knew, Axel would go and die on her too.

  “How’s this?” Sam O’Gara held up his latest effort at rolling a Bueno Burrito.

  Sophie groaned. “Would you eat that?” she asked.

  Sam frowned at the lumpy, leaking wad in his hand, shrugged, and tossed it into the trash. “I never claimed to be a goddamn cook,” he said. “Besides, those tortillas are like wet toilet paper. Don’t take nothing to rip ’em.”

  “Try again, only take your time with it. And be gentle. You’re not changing a tire; you’re making someone’s dinner.”

  “If you wasn’t so goddamn picky, I’d be doing fine.” Sam was in an ugly mood. This was turning into one of the worst week
s of the first half, or two thirds, or fifteen sixteenths, or whatever the hell fraction of his life it was that he’d lived so far. First thing, Axel waking him up, then finding out that Tommy had finally got hisself killed, then the damned dogs dig up the yard and make the worst goddamn mess he’d ever seen. It had taken him near an hour to clean it up. And then his Chevy wouldn’t start. Nor his truck. All those vehicles, and every last one of them a junker. What a guy ought to do, a guy ought to go buy himself a horse. He’d had to take the bus to get to the fairgrounds. Axel was going to owe him big for this one. Make no mistake, Axel would pay big time for this.

  “I’m not picky,” Sophie said. “It’s just that we have certain quality standards here. Kirsten doesn’t seem to have any problems with it. At least not when she decides to show up for work.”

  Kirsten wrinkled her brow. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t make up for lost business.”

  “Now ladies,” Sam said. “Bitchin’ ain’t gonna get the people fed.”

  Sophie threw up her hands. “Fine. Fine. Kirsten, will you please give Mr. O’Gara a lesson?”

  Kirsten smiled at Sam. “It just takes practice is all.” She rapidly put together four Buenos, had them folded and wrapped within seconds. “I can do them as fast as Carmen now.”

  “Faster,” Sophie amended.

  Sam snorted, a flapping sound that made both women jump. He had to get out of there, and the only way he was going to do it would be to find himself a replacement. He pointed across the mall.

  “What about the little princess? You gonna leave her stand there all day?”

  Carmen, wearing her sunglasses, stood a hundred feet away, leaning against the white cinder-block wall of the Food Building, facing them, smoking a cigarette. “She’s been holding up that wall half an hour now. And what about that little Mex gal was here? Where’d she take off to?”

  Sophie said, “If you mean Juanita, she was only scheduled for the morning shift. As for my daughter—if she wants to work, all she has to do is ask.”