Collected Stories

by Lewis Shiner

  I moved away from the corner and pushed my back flat against the wall. I was in the shadows, I didn’t think he could see me. He took one last look at Lane’s apartment and then spit in the swimming pool and got in his Trans Am and drove away.

  I was covered in sweat when I got home. I had to sponge myself off with a wet washcloth before I could get back into bed. Charlene was still asleep, snoring away.

  I wondered if I should call Dennis. What if he already knew Javier was hanging around? What if it was his idea? I thought about the smooth way he handled me that afternoon in his office and decided it wasn’t any of my business. If Dennis wanted to ask me a question I would answer it. Otherwise I was on my own.

  Being on my own is okay. I’ve been that way most of my life. It makes some things a lot easier. Like taking Dennis’s money.

  I got to the library about ten o’clock and went right up to the circulation desk. Lane was there and when she saw me she turned and walked away. This older woman came over and asked if she could help me.

  “I need to talk to Lane for a second.”

  “What is this in reference to?”

  “It’s in reference to I would like to apologize to her.”

  The old lady went to talk to Lane. They went back and forth a little and at one point the old lady put her arms around Lane and gave her a hug. It made me feel lonely to look at them like that. Then Lane came up to the counter. She took hold of the edge with both hands and waited for me to talk.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ve been out of work for two years. This is just a job to me.” She stared, no expression. “I thought about the things you said, and maybe I don’t trust this lawyer very much either. What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have anything to be afraid of from me. If you’re...I mean, if things are the way you say they are, I would maybe like to help a little if I could.”

  She stared a while longer, and then she said, very quiet, “If you want to help, just go away. Just get the fuck away from me and stay out of my life.”

  “I can’t do that right now,” I said. “I have this job to do and it’s the only thing I’ve got. All I want is to try to make the best of it.”

  Her eyes teared up. “Make the best of it. Oh God. What do you know about anything?”

  She walked away and there was no use calling her back. I got my true crime book again and took it over by the card catalog, where I could see her if she left the building but she wouldn’t have to watch me hang around all day. At eleven I followed her to her class at the Music building and back again after. I had an eggroll lunch while I waited and if she noticed me she didn’t let on.

  It was another nice day. I sat outside until she left at two, watching the clouds move around in the sky. She got on her shuttlebus and I sat there a little longer, wishing things were different but not knowing what exactly I would change. Just a mood, I guess. Then I started the long uphill walk back to the Dobie Garage.

  Dobie is the only place a non-student can park anywhere near the library. It’s across from Dobie Mall, which is this combination shopping center and dormitory. Kids can eat, shop, sleep, go to movies, have sex, live and die there without ever going outside. The garage is always full so I had to park on the fourth level, one down from the roof. Homeless guys, what we used to call winos, what the kids call Drag worms, sleep in the stairwells, which smell of them peeing and throwing up there. I can’t stand to see those guys, I want to knock them down to get away from them. If it wasn’t for Charlene that could be me. No work, no future.

  I got up to level four and even from the end of the row I could tell something was wrong. The truck was not sitting right. I felt sick. It goes back to my days on the rigs. Your wheels are your livelihood. If you can’t get around, you can’t work, if you can’t work you can’t feed yourself, if you can’t do that you’re not a man anymore.

  I wanted to run over and see what was wrong and at the same time I wanted it not to be happening and the two things were pulling me in opposite directions. By the time I got to the truck my heart was pounding and my eyes were blurry.

  It was all four tires flat. They weren’t cut, not that I could see. The valve stem covers were off and they’d let the air out with a Bic pen or something. In addition they had taken their car keys or something and put long, ugly scratches down both sides of the body. I walked all the way around and then I started kicking one of the tires, which was stupid. It wasn’t the tire that had done it.

  It wasn’t Lane that had done it either. She wasn’t out of my sight all morning.

  There was a note under the windshield wiper. It was in block capitals on lined yellow legal paper. It said GO AWAY.

  I called the triple A and they sent a truck. The driver said something about those fucking college kids and I nodded along. While he was doing the tires I looked under the frame and inside the hood to make sure there wasn’t a bomb or anything. Then I had the guy wait to make sure it started, which it did.

  I stopped off at Airport Auto Supply and got some white primer and sprayed it on the scratches and it didn’t look quite so bad. Then I went home. I wasn’t shaking this time, not outside. It was all inside. It’s like the constant vibration from the rotary table out on the drilling platform. It goes right through you. The kids were already there so I went out in the back yard and looked at the dead yellow grass. There were patches of green coming through and every one was a weed.

  Call Dennis. He can get the note fingerprinted.

  Sure. Students use legal pads, but so do lawyers. Maybe it was his cocaine buddy Javier did my tires. I can handle him one on one, but I know he’s the kind of guy carries a gun.

  The house needs a paint job, the lawn needs a gardener. The kids are nearly old enough for college and I got no money to send them. I wish I had a Mercedes SL instead of a Pinto wagon and a Ford pickup truck. I need a drink but I don’t dare start. When was the last time I thought about who I am, instead of what I have? When did it start being the same thing?

  In the bedroom, on the bottom of my undershirt drawer, was my daddy’s gun. A Colt Woodsman .22 target pistol, loaded, because my daddy taught me an unloaded gun is worse than no gun at all. I went in the bedroom and locked the door and got it out. It smelled of oil and a little bit like cedar from the drawer. It felt great in my hand. I made sure the safety was on and stuck it in my pants. No, that was stupid. It would fall out or I would shoot myself in the foot. I folded it up in an old Dallas Cowboys nylon jacket.

  Charlene was home. I heard her try the bedroom door, then knock quietly. I opened it. “I need to use the wagon,” I said.

  We never ask each other a lot of questions. It’s like we don’t really know how to go about it. I could see her try to make up her mind if she wanted to ask now. She must have decided not because she gave me the keys and got out of my way.

  Judy said, “I need the wagon tonight, Dad, I got choir.”

  “Take the truck.”

  “I hate the truck. I don’t like that stick shift.”

  “Just take the truck, all right?”

  Now Judy was ready to start crying. I put the truck keys on the little table by the door and went out.

  I was starving to death. I hadn’t eaten anything since those two eggrolls before noon. I bought a hamburger and fries and a chocolate shake at Gaylord’s there on Airport and ate them in the car. Then I got worried about Lane recognizing me, even in a different car. I looked around and found a bandanna in the back seat. I took off my tie and rolled up my shirt sleeves and put on my sunglasses. Then I tied the bandanna over my head, pirate style, the way I’d seen some biker guys do. Looked stupid as hell in the rear view mirror, but at least it didn’t look much like me.

  I made a pass all the way around the apartments and then parked out of sight of Lane’s window. No sign of the Trans Am. The lights had been on behind her mini-blinds when I drove by. It was seven-thirty and full dark. A little after eight my bladder started to kill me. I got out and peed again
st the back of the apartments, which didn’t have any windows. From the smell there I wasn’t the first.

  A little after nine it started to rain.

  By ten I thought maybe I’d made a mistake. That old Pinto wagon is too small for me and the springs in the seats are shot. I hurt like hell after ten minutes, let alone two and a half hours. I could have been in bed asleep. Worse yet, Javier could have showed up without me seeing him, or in another car.

  I got out and walked up and down the parking lot. No Trans Ams. Lights still on in Lane’s apartment. The rain soaked my bandanna and got in my shoes. Half an hour, I thought. Then I either go home or I go upstairs for a look. I was about to get back in the wagon when a black Trans Am pulled into the lot.

  I ducked down and listened. The engine revved, then stopped. I could hear the hot metal tick and the rain make a softer tick against the hood. The door opened, the springs groaned, feet scraped against the asphalt. The door shut again. Silence. What if he can see me? My gun was still inside the Pinto.

  I heard his footsteps move away. I could see his black leather coat as he went in the gate, Javier for sure, headed for the stairs. I waited until he was blocked by the corner of the apartment and then I crawled in the wagon head first. I stuck the little Colt in the back of my pants and jogged over to the other set of stairs, putting the jacket on as I ran.

  By the time I got to the corner of the building, Lane had her door open. I heard her say, “There you are.”

  “You look nervous.” Javier’s voice. “Something wrong?”

  “What do you think, you fucking prick? I’m going to welcome you with open arms?” I couldn’t get used to the language she used. It just didn’t fit with the way she looked.

  “It’s like raining out here, okay? Are you going to let me in, or what?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to let you in.”

  A second later I heard the door close. The locks went again and then there was a crash and a muffled shout and then silence.

  I couldn’t just stand there. Even if it was none of my business, even if I was carrying a gun I had no permit for, even if somebody in that apartment had trashed my truck and left me threatening notes.

  I turned the corner and tried to see through the blinds. Nothing. I heard voices but I couldn’t tell male or female, let alone what they were saying.

  Christ Jesus. It’s happening right now, and I can’t let it go on.

  I knocked on the door. It went so quiet in there I could hear the raindrops ping on the railing behind me. I stepped back and kept my hands away from my sides, away from the gun stuck down the back of my pants. I don’t know how long I waited but it felt like at least a minute.

  Something moved behind the peephole and the door opened on the chain. It was Lane, fully dressed, not a mark on her. I suddenly realized I was still wearing the bandanna and sunglasses. She laughed and it sounded more nervous than anything. I wadded up the glasses and bandanna in my left hand.

  “Just go away,” she said. “Don’t pull any knight-in-shining-armor numbers, don’t give me any shit, just go away. Tell your lawyer friend it’s over. I’m dropping the charges. The law sucks, you can tell him that too. Happy now? Go fuck yourself and stay away.”

  She started to close the door. I stuck my foot in, I don’t know why. I couldn’t let it end that way.

  “Look,” I said, “I just want to say—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” She leaned on the door, and it hurt.

  To hell with it. “Let me get my foot out and I’m gone,” I said.

  She eased off on the door and right then something crashed in the back of the apartment and I heard Javier’s voice, muffled, yelling.

  “Oh shit,” Lane said. She took a step back.

  A woman’s voice from off to the side said, “Bring him in.”

  All of a sudden Lane’s apartment didn’t seem like such a good idea. The door slammed and I heard the chain come off and I turned around and ran for the stairs. Something hit me in the back of the knees and I skidded into the railing at the edge of the walkway. Then something metal poked me in the ear and a woman’s voice said, “Get up and go inside.”

  My knees hurt where I’d slid. I got up real slow and the woman got behind me where I still couldn’t see her. I walked back to the apartment. I was so scared that everything looked tilted and the light hurt my eyes. Then I was inside and she pushed me and I went down on my knees again, next to the far wall of the living room.

  “Put your hands on your head,” the woman said, “and turn around and sit against the wall.” I did what she said. There was the gun still stuck down the back of my pants. All I wanted was out of there. If I could get the gun out without getting shot in the process, maybe I could walk away.

  Lane was there, and two women I didn’t know. The one with the gun was close to six feet tall, heavy, with crewcut blonde hair. She wore jeans and a plain white sweatshirt and a green flannel shirt over that. The sleeves of the flannel shirt were rolled up to show the sweatshirt underneath. The gun was some kind of little automatic and there was a silencer screwed on to the end of the barrel. That was when I realized for the first time that I was probably going to die.

  The other woman was closer to my age. She had on jeans and a bulky orange sweater. Most of her hair had gone white. She had a pair of pliers which she was taking apart a plain wire coat hanger with. I could see a wad of paper on the breakfast bar that she’d torn off the hanger.

  Against the wall across from me, behind the door, was Javier. They’d done something to his hair, cut a lot of it off the front, and it gave him a startled look. His hands were behind his back. One of his shoes was off and the sock was gone. His mouth was taped shut with silver duct tape. It looked like there was something in his mouth behind the tape. They’d run the tape all the way around his head a couple of times. I figured out where the missing sock was and decided I would be quiet.

  “You know him?” the one with the gun said to Lane.

  “He works for Asshole’s lawyer. He’s the one with the truck you fixed this afternoon. He’s nobody, just hired meat.”

  “Scum,” she said sadly. “What would make somebody take a job like that?”

  “Money,” the woman with the coat hanger said. “It’s all about money. Even Asshole there, women are just property to him. Right, Asshole? Like cattle or something. You can do anything you want to them.”

  That was when I finally got it. “He’s the one,” I said.

  The woman with the gun gave me a funny look. “I think Dr. Watson over here just figured something out.”

  “Javier,” I said. “He’s the one that...”

  “Raped me,” Lane said. “That’s right. He raped me. Do you mean to sit there and tell me you didn’t know?”

  “I didn’t know. But...I saw him here the other night. You called him by name...”

  “Jesus,” said the woman with the coat hanger. She sounded disgusted.

  “Yeah, I know his name,” Lane said. “I knew him before he raped me. So what? Because I know who he is, does that give him the right? I bought some coke from him, okay? And now my lawyer says he’ll probably get off because of it. Even though he raped me. You want to hear about it? He pulled a knife, and he cut my clothes off, and he made me lie on my stomach, and he fucked me up the ass.” She took two steps and kicked Javier in the face. She was wearing boots and she caught him on the cheekbone.

  The woman with the coat hanger said, “Careful. Break his nose and he’ll suffocate.”

  The woman with the gun said, “That’d be a real pity.”

  “Kind of misses the point, doesn’t it? If we just kill him?” She had the hanger straightened out now and she was twisting one end into loops. It looked like a letter at the end of the straight piece of wire. It was a letter. It was the letter R.

  “What are you going to do?” I said. Nobody paid any attention to me.

  The woman with the coat hanger took it into the kitchen. I could see her through
the breakfast bar. She took an ice bucket out of the freezer and set it on the counter. Then she bent the long end of the hanger double to make a handle. Then she got down a potholder, it was a red potholder, quilted in little diamond shapes, it fit over her hand like a mitten. Then she turned on a gas burner, turned it up to high. The flames were blue and the potholder was red.

  Suddenly Javier started to spasm and make choking noises. There was a sour smell and he snorted a fine spray of vomit onto his clothes.

  The woman with the coat hanger put it down on the stove and hurried over to take his gag off. The woman with the gun knelt on his legs and shoved the silencer into his crotch. “Don’t make a sound,” she told him. “Or you’ll never fuck anybody again.”

  They were all looking at Javier. I got the Colt out. I was shaking again. It seemed like it was a million degrees below zero in that apartment. Javier spit puke on the floor and Lane ran into the kitchen for paper towels. She ran right past me and didn’t even see the gun in my hand.

  I stood up and the woman with the gun turned around. “What do you think you’re—” She saw the Colt. Her face didn’t change hardly at all. “So you want to play cowboy.”

  “I just want out of here. Let me walk out the door and you’ll never see me again.”

  “I’d rather kill you,” she said. I could tell she meant it. “I don’t do anything with a gun pointed at me. So you can either use it or you can put it away.”

  We stayed like that, just looking at each other, pointing our guns at each other, Javier on his side, gasping, Lane with a handful of wet paper towels, the woman in the orange sweater standing to one side with a look on her face like she was only mildly interested. I tried to imagine myself pulling the trigger and knew I couldn’t do it. It was the first rule my daddy taught me, that you don’t pull a gun unless you’re willing to use it, and here I’d gotten it wrong. I wondered how much noise her gun would make, with the silencer and all. I wondered if it would hurt.

  “That’s better,” the woman with the gun said. I looked at my hand, saw my daddy’s Colt now pointed down at the floor. My legs had gone weak and I eased down onto my knees and put the Colt on the cheap brown carpet between us.