“Don’t toy with me, kid. I don’t take it kindly.”
“What’s wrong, Booty? Those boys suddenly making a comeback from the wrong end?”
Booty laughed. He ticked his fingers. “I don’t have a boss. You’re in love with one of those girls. This is all nothing but a bluff. You want me to stay away from her because you’re in love with her. I’ll tell Cray, all right, I’ll tell him real good what you been doing around here today. I’m a pussycat compared to him. Still, you have laid some good things on the table today. Things that can’t be ignored. You were the only loose ends in my entire career. I can’t stand loose ends. Sure cant.”
Hank laughed. “You can’t stand loose ends? Or those other voices that come from your mouth? You know, the dead ones you speak for? Yeah, you see, Booty, you underestimate punk kids. They can also record.”
Their eyes held. Hank kept his straight, even though he felt saturated. Finally, Booty collected the pictures, buzzing his mother at the front desk, telling her he needed the key to his safe in a few minutes. He told Hank since he had plenty of copies, he was sure he wouldn’t need those. Hank agreed.
Hank stood, knocking the balls back and forth for a second. Then he turned his back on Booty to walk away. He heard a draw opening. Hank knew the scene. It was coming back to life for him. That day in the woods, when REO turned his back, and then faced forward—the biggest mistake of his life. Hank knew how he felt now. He was doing the same thing to him. He could just feel it.
Booty had the gun pointed at his chest. He was smirking. Then he started to laugh hysterically. Hank wondered after he’d killed him and Barb, would he do their voices too? He told Hank to lift his hands, and Hank did. Then he felt for the picture and closed his eyes.
“I’m going to teach you two lessons today, boy. Too bad for you, your first lesson is going to be your last. Never turn your back on your enemy and if you do, have someone else watching it for you. Whoops, my mistake, that’ll be three lessons. Seems today is your lucky day. Now, I’m going to kill you, eat you, and shit you out, just like I said. Hanksamich. I’m a man of my word.”
Hank heard the shot. It exploded in his ears just like it had when Pistollette shot the cameras out. God Almighty, Hank thought, he didn’t even know where he was hit. He couldn’t feel anything. He was too stunned to open his eyes until he heard Booty inhale sharply and something hit the floor with a thud.
Looking down, Hank saw that one of the Newton Cradle balls had rolled from Booty’s desk onto the floor, right to Hank’s foot. Pistollette was behind him, both of those guns pointed at Booty. Barb was laying on the floor, the old lady pointing a gun at her head. She dropped it when she saw the two women at the door, masked faces, holding a gun to her.
Rotunda came in right behind Pistollette and knocked the old lady in the head. She hit the floor like a crack of thunder. Two girls at the front door, two girls at the back, and this time they were all packing heat.
Pistollette stormed past Hank like an angel out of the tempest. Her hands were already on the triggers, her arms outstretched and ready. Booty kept the gun pointed at her, but she didn’t stop. She pounced on Booty’s desk, like a crouching feral leopard jumps on a low-slung branch. She was graceful and powerful. She stood over him, putting him under her feet, never removing her stare from his. He blinked a few times, his face now as pale as a piece of paper.
She ticked her mouth at him, shook her head. Hank didn’t even notice Rotunda standing beside him until she put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Honey Hole, can you move over here please? We have to keep the doorway clear in case Pistollette needs to shoot. Thank you, kindly. Now, Hank, listen. I found out your daddy is a preacher? Is that true? It is, well, do you think he’d be upset if someone smacked you?”
Hank shrugged and then shook his head. He needed quiet, but she continued on.
“Good, that’s real good…”
She continued to talk in his ear, whispering, while Pistollette and Booty stared at each other. Booty didn’t want to put his gun down. He was terrified of her. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements. It was all written too clearly on his round, pale, sweating face. He’d heard stories about her. She was a ghost. She was a man killer. Her hands were magic. Her speed was sent from God above. She could shoot you down before you even knew you were shot, and then she’d disappear…a ghost, a ghost, a ghost.
Hank froze when Pistollette stretched her left arm out. Rotunda stopped talking for a moment, bent down and picked up the silver ball. She threw it up in the air, toward Pistollette. Pistollette never turned her face, never removed her eyes away from Booty’s.
Pistollette’s arm followed the path of the ball until it was centered between the ceiling and the floor, and then she shot it clean out the air. Booty handed his gun over to her then. Hank looked down at her feet—she was in her robbing get up, except the soles of those heels were blood red. She had murder on her mind.
Rotunda cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Hank. I have to speak to this mean ole monster now. Booty, here’s the deal, sucka’, you touch one hair on Honey Hole—Mr. River’s—head here, or any of his friends that you’ve been planning on killing for some time now, and Little Sister—Pistollette—won’t be so nice the next time she pays you a visit. You’d be wise to take my advice. You forget his face. You forget his address. You forget he is alive. Because if you don’t—” Rotunda stepped forward and pointed at his chest “—you won’t be alive to remember. She’s watching you. Ghost, ghost, ghost will come after you in your sleep. You know you won’t even see her coming.”
Pistollette slowly lowered herself to his eye level, stared at him until he turned away from her. Rotunda swiped his gun from the desk while Pistollette put hers away. She took the envelope with the pictures from his desk, ticked her mouth at him once more, and then jumped down. She stopped right when she got to the door. She motioned for Hank to cover his ears. He did.
She shot every tequila bottle from the shelf. Glass exploded and liquid flew through the air. The room filled up with the smell of gunpowder and alcohol in less time than it would take you to sneeze. After, she grabbed Hank’s hand and they were gone.
They all took shelter underneath a wide-stretching oak tree a few blocks away from Booty’s office. Knobby little acorns were spread out on the ground, little crunching seeds when they’d walk on them.
Barb and Curly rested their heads against the tree’s massive trunk. The girls hovered around them. Hank and Pistollette were having a standoff on the curb while Rotunda moderated.
“Hank, what were you doing here?” Rotunda probed. A bit of humor was laced in with the seriousness of her tone.
“I had business to take care of.” Hank’s tone was cutting.
Hank could tell Pistollette was keeping her distance from him, standing more paces away than usual. When he said it that way, though, she took a step toward him. Her eyes, even behind those dark contacts, were storming. Hank took a step toward her.
“I didn’t need you to come here.” Hank’s eyes were fierce on hers.
“Oh, really? Then why’d she have to save your ass?”
“He wasn’t going to kill me. I have too much on him.”
Pistollette stopped, looked at Rotunda. The masks hid everything, but not all—clearly mirth and a bit of incredulousness lurked behind the façade.
“Booty could care less about what you have. He’d find a way to turn the story. He owns part of the system. There’s no dealing with them unless it’s the end. Do you get my drift, Honey Hole?”
Hank moved closer to Pistollette, staring her in the eye. “I can take care of myself.”
She moved away from him, the fury evident just by the rise in temperature. Hank was sweating again. They were pushing and shoving without even touching.
“Hank, if you ever come here again, or any place like it, she swears she’s going to have to hurt you so you can’t anymore. She’d rather do it, and see you walk away, than have you
come around here again and not walk away at all. You don’t know these people, and you don’t know what’s going on. You have to stop. You have to stop putting your hand on her trigger.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He quickly glanced at Rotunda before he turned his attention back to his main source of ire.
Curly cleared his throat. “I remembered hearing it. Just didn’t know where it came from.”
Rotunda waited for Pistollette to nod. “It means, Honey Hole, that you’ve got her in a precarious situation. You’ve got the gun aimed at her heart, fully loaded and ready to blow, and you have your hand on her trigger. The trigger of her own weapon! And no one, I mean no one, puts hands on her trigger. No one puts a finger on their triggers.”
“Stay out of my business, Pistollette,” Hank said.
Pistollette took the envelope and opened it. She dug through a few. When she came to one, all the rest fell out of her hands. Hank had never seen her drop anything or lose control. She was human after all. She looked at the picture. She looked at Hank. Her fingers started tapping so hard on Rotunda’s that Rotunda had to ask her to slow down. The girls all gathered around.
“What do your friends call you, Hank?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have a nickname you go by?”
Hank looked at Barb and Curly. They shrugged. “Toots. Why?”
“I see.” Rotunda took the picture that stopped Pistollette and showed it to Hank. “What’s this man’s name?”
“I don’t know.” Hank paused. “We named him REO.”
“Honey Hole, Pistollette wants you to go to this hotel.” She gave him the information. Told him there was a Denny’s next door. And a payphone. “Stay put, you hear? No more visits to these people. You just don’t understand. You were one step away from being blown away. He was going to kill you, Honey Hole. The other one, he’s meaner and he won’t stop. Not for nothin’ in this world.”
Hank looked at Pistollette. “I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I refuse to stop. Shoot me if you want, but it still won’t stop me unless I’m dead and buried. I have to save my family.”
And then for the first time, he turned his back and walked away from her.
A little after midnight and Hank couldn’t sleep. Light snoring and heavy breathing added to his insomnia. He planted his feet on the floor, threw on his Sweet as Tupelo Honey hoodie, put his baseball cap on backward, and went for a walk.
The moon was full and high, the stars out full force—backup dancers in the worlds’ most glorious show—the wind low and smooth. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous night. For so many things. Better things than this. A night like this one was meant for truth, for love and the making of it, not for last appeals.
Hank meandered out in the hotel’s parking lot for a while, trying to figure out what to do. He stared up at the moon, walked in circles, looked for pennies on the ground. He passed the hotel, the Denny’s, went straight for the florescent lights of a twenty-four/seven convenience store filled with drifters and stale donuts. He spun a wire rack full of post cards, scanning quickly through all the little souvenirs from the Queen’s City. He bought himself a large cup of coffee and a pack of spearmint gum. And then he took the rest of his cash and went next door to the Suds & Skids Washateria.
Tired and bleary faces looked up at him and away from their spin cycles when he walked in. An eighties-style particleboard hung on the wall in the back by the change machine. A handmade sign asked: “Have you seen my better half?” A set of bloomers, old granny panties, hung from a lime green tack. Socks were hanging around it, like pictures on wanted signs.
A young girl had her baby sitting on top of one of the washers in a car seat, asleep. Hank tried a couple of times to put his money in the change machine, but it kept spitting it out.
“The other one works better,” the young girl said softly. “It’s not as fickle.”
Hank nodded and smiled, taking a gander at the little baby, who was wrapped in all pink. Hank thought she looked just like a little angel. She had a head full of thick, light brown hair and lashes that were so long and black, they curled. Her lips were full and pouty, even though she smiled in her sleep. Hank had to take a deep breath, pushing down everything he felt rising.
“She has her days and nights mixed up,” the young girl said, seeing him eye the baby. “I’ve tried everything and only the washer will do. She sleeps every time I come here during the day. I figure, why not try at night, when she’s supposed to be sleeping? The problem is, I can’t sleep here. So, I’m up no matter what.” She yawned.
Hank cleared his throat. “My Mother said my brother used to be the same way. She would drive around with him in the car until he fell asleep. When she’d go to take him out, he’d wake and cry again. Then my Granny told her to bathe him at night, right before bed, and that seemed to calm him.”
The girl looked up at the ceiling, taking a moment to answer him. “You know, I never thought about that. I always give her a bath earlier on in the day. Smart. You’re going to be a great father, if you don’t already have kids. Maybe you do and that’s why you’re so smart with babies.” She laughed.
“My…well, she’s…” Hank made a circling motion around his stomach.
“Oh, well, congratulations then, Daddy. Are you out making a late-night fetch for your lady?”
“You could call it that.”
The girl smiled. “Good luck then.”
Hank tried the other machine. Finally his cash was traded for some jingle. Oh, how fate could be just as beautiful as tragic, Hank thought as he made his way across the parking lot. There he was, finally completing the same exact chore he was meant to when Pistollette came storming into his bank. Weeks later, he did it in a Suds & Skids Washateria, in an unknown city, chasing after thugs who wanted to kill him, having no idea where the love of his life was with his baby.
At the payphone, he set his coffee down. Steam rose in the cool night’s air, like hot air from a mouth. He took out a few quarters from his pocket. He heard the dial tone and then inserted his money. He wasn’t sure how much it was going to cost, but he figured he’d start with what he had.
He punched in Delilah’s number and held his breath when it started to ring. He started breathing heavily when he heard her voice, but it was just her voicemail asking him to leave a message because she was busy makin’ pancakes. There was a long beep and Hank steadied his breath, got comfortable. He leaned his weight into the machine’s body, one arm above his head. He rested his head against the soft fabric of his sweater.
“Hello, darlin’, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been trying to sort out my feelings. It’s funny how men do that. Sort out their feelings. It doesn’t always occur to us just how we feel right away. Not like you women seem to have the ability to do. It’s something how ya’ll seem to have that over us, don’t you think? Our feelings can sort of creep up on us, and we sometimes wonder how we even missed it.
“Men, we have a lot of pride, and most of the time the words just come out all wrong. We truly don’t mean them to, but they just do. I know mine do. Especially when it comes to you. If I’m being honest, I just always want to say the right things. The prettiest words to you. And it somehow just comes out all backwards. I sometimes feel like I’m a big freight train steaming backwards on the track. I’m headed for a cliff I can’t even see.
“I just have so many things to say, and now that I’m here standing at this payphone, I’m wondering why we just don’t always say what’s on our minds? I can feel the freedom already, knowing everything in my heart I’m going to say. It’s like my heart has wings and I’m flying high. I get angry and frustrated and I chew on my damn gum instead of chewing on the situation.” Hank paused for a minute, taking out two pieces of gum, chasing away the flavor of the coffee. “Now listen, darlin’, I know you can’t hear me yet, but I want to leave this for you.”
Hank smiled into the receiver. “I loved you the moment I saw you. Did you know that? When y
ou came out of the convenience store, I swore I was swept up in some kind of reckless storm. You carried me wherever you wanted me to go. Even though you had all the power, carrying me like you did, I wanted to go more than I wanted anything else in my life. I said a silent prayer when I followed you into Jo’s that you would take me with you, wherever you were going. Your way was my way. I see now, after all my thinking, that I’ve always loved you. Even before that day. I’ve loved you all my life, is the plain truth.
“I told the boys once that you were my air. I can’t breathe without you. Believe me, I can’t breathe without you, darlin’. In that tiny moment when my life was in your hands, I didn’t quite understand it. I just knew if you walked away, I’d never be the same. Then, when we were in your kitchen and you were makin’ me late-night pancakes, I realized you were the air that kept me living. You invigorated me. I understood then how gone I’d be without you. In California, when you walked out of the room, looking so beautiful, I realized it again. You stole my breath and then gave it right back to me. Like I was the one holding it. You’re magical, that’s what you are.
“See how slow we can sometimes be? But it gets better. Tonight, I was walking around this parking lot, still sorting, thinking about after we first met, and we stopped at that little place to buy me and Curly more clothes, and I caught you staring at me.” Hank’s smile beamed from ear to ear when he thought of her face. How she was creeping past, staring like she had never seen a man before.
“Well, I think it was then that my heart was truly gone. The thought passed in my head, and instead of catching it, I was too lost to do anything right then. All these realizations are me falling in love with you—over and over. I would do anything for you. God Almighty, I’d do whatever you asked me to. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
Hank turned around with the cord, looking around the parking lot for a split second. He took another deep breath, feeling the burn in his mouth from the cool air, and the mint from the gum.
Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah Page 32
