Authors: David Zimmerman
Logan’s face crumpled into a look of deeper confusion.
“Wondering how I figured you, huh?”
“I thought you were here gunning for me.” Logan scooched himself backwards and up, so his spine ran straight along the clothesline pole.
“No doubt you pissed somebody off before I made the scene. But looks like I’m the one you’ll have to deal with. Landed yourself in something of a jackpot here, friend.”
“A soldier?” Hayes said. No one bothered to answer this.
My mom gave me one of her patented mom looks.
Now I understand
, it said,
and I don’t like it one bit. We’ll be talking about this later
. And I sent a look back that said,
In the middle of this shit storm, you’re worried about something like this?
“Look, I just got to ask, ’cause you don’t look like the type that
usually teams up with dumbass over here.” Butthole folded his knife shut, stuffed it in the front pocket of his pants, and stood, pinching the pleats to keep them sharp. “What in the hell are you doing mixed up in all this?”
“Is this a trick question?” Logan asked. The gash on the back of his head reopened. A small trickle of blood ran down his neck and into the sparse hair on his chest.
“Might well be a trick answer.” Butthole walked over and inspected him, nudging his leg with a shiny shoe.
Back in the house, Mr. Cannon let out a long, low groan. Then the yard went silent but for regular summer sounds. The box on the telephone pole beside the house gave off a high-pitched hum. Tree frogs barked. A breeze up at treetop level rattled the dry pine needles like stick pins in a jar.
“So?” Butthole rocked back and forth on his spiffy loafers.
“Name, Logan Loy. Rank, specialist. No, well, by now they’ve probably busted me down to, never mind. Serial number …” He shook his head. Droplets of blood flew. Butthole avoided them with a quick step back. Logan mumbled out a list of numbers.
“Son, do you even know where you are? I must of rung your bell pretty good.” Butthole dropped down into a squat. He poked at something on Logan’s chest with the walkie-talkie’s antenna. “Mmm, shrapnel, huh?” His voice strangely sympathetic now. “Got a couple of them myself.”
“He don’t have nothing to do with Hayes and his stupid trouble. He’s just my friend,” I said. My own voice was small and meaningless out there in the big, sticky dark.
Mom twisted her body so she could look over at me again, wondering about something. Her face was a jumble of hard lines and wrinkles in the porch light.
“That right, jellybean? Just a gentleman caller calling on the worst night in the world?” Butthole measured me again with a
quick up-and-down of his eyes. For what, I didn’t know, but worried about it and wanted to fight it. He let out a large and dramatic sigh. “Up to me, I’d cut him loose, but I ain’t the boss of me in this …” He paused to smile toward the sky. “… this here endeavor. Only a paid employee.” He laughed at the idea, and this seemed to make those last few words into a lie. Somehow this reassured me. Not much, but some.
Logan grumbled at him. All I heard was the words “ass kicking.”
“I’d like nothing better than to see if you could manage it. Don’t mind the occasional challenge. But it ain’t to be, friend. I’m on the clock tonight.”
Butthole went back to the porch chair and sat. He took off his jacket to fuss with the tear that Logan’s weapon had made in the shoulder. I thought about the butter knife digging into my hip and what I might do with it and when. I wasn’t tied up yet, and that was something at least. Moths flew back and forth above the kitchen door, casting monster shadows on the patio. A mosquito nibbled at my ankle until I smashed it into goo. The time between the flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder got smaller and smaller. From eight seconds to seven, and then from seven to six. The first I heard of what would happen next was the barking of dogs.
T
he purple walkie-talkie chirped once and then a familiar voice said, “The dogs are approaching the kennel. I repeat, the dogs are approaching the kennel.”
A second voice broke in, somewhat softer but definitely irritated, and said, “Stop fucking around with that and give it here, you—”
Dogs barked in the background. And then continued to bark somewhere on the other side of the house. A big car, maybe two, pulled up on the street. A door slammed. Another two doors followed, almost on top of each other. The dogs went crazy, howling now like crazed women.
Butthole grinned. “Ready for the greatest show on earth?”
“Jesus fuck,” Hayes said.
“That’s right,” Butthole said, “Jesus fuck.”
“I knew there were more, Lynn. I told you.” Logan nodded his head, pleased about this for reasons only known to him.
I tried to hush him with my eyes.
Metal rattled and clunked on the other side of the house. The sounds the dogs made changed, their voices quieter but more intense. Butthole stood up and turned toward the carport. I knew I had to move. My mom craned her neck to watch me. Three steps, two seconds. I slipped the knife out of my waistband and put it into Logan’s hands while I hugged him. For whatever reason, Butthole hadn’t made his bindings as tight as the others. His hands had a little play.
“You know what to do,” I whispered against his neck, having absolutely no idea myself.
“I won’t let them,” Logan said. His eyes shined. He smiled.
I kissed him on the mouth.
“Hey, now,” Butthole shouted, all the jolly out of his voice, “none of that shit.”
“I just wanted—”
“Sit your ass down. Don’t make me—”
“Leon,” someone yelled, all hale and man-friendly, “I knew you’d wrap this shit up. ’Bout fucking time, too.” It was that bastard Marty. But I’d known all along he’d come, even if I hadn’t thought it outright.
“Yup,” Butthole said.
Marty came striding around the corner of the house and looked for a moment as though he might wrap Butthole in a bear hug and then thought better of it. Instead, he brought his hands together in a porkchop clap to give him an excuse for the silly gesture. The man looked even bigger than I remembered. Fat, yes, fat as hell, but with a broad back and big arm muscles underneath all that padding. A few steps behind him, four or five dogs strained against leashes. With all their jumping and yipping, I couldn’t keep them straight. They pulled my old friend Travis so hard he slipped and nearly wiped out coming around the corner. Burns trailed behind, hands stuffed in the pockets of his bomber jacket. A drop of rain hit my arm, but none followed.
“Hey, Leon.” Burns waved a hand, wearing a grin so wide and tight it nearly split his lips at the corners.
“If you ever call me that again, I’ll cut your dick off and make you eat it,” Butthole said.
Travis laughed.
“You neither.” Butthole pointed his purple walkie-talkie at him. In his hand, it looked like something vicious.
“Don’t worry about them, but—” Marty frowned and pointed at Logan. “Who the fuck is that one?”
“Come here, chief.” Butthole led him around the corner into the shadow of the carport.
“I’m glad we ate,” Travis said, speaking over his shoulder at Burns. “This looks to be a long one.” The dogs yanked so hard he slid a couple of feet in the damp grass. Those dogs looked like they were fixing to eat us.
“Nah,” Burns said, sitting on the porch chair so hard it screeched and shed flakes of rust, “he’ll fold up faster than that little girl. We’ll be out of here in under an hour. Tops. Look at him over there. He’s crying.”
“Fuck you,” Hayes said, but it sounded more like a question than a curse. And the man was right about the tears.
Burns jerked forward in the chair with his arms spread boogeyman-style, playing like he was coming to get him. Hayes flinched away so hard my mom let out a little gasp of pain. She muttered something to him. Hayes hung his head and stared at their feet.
“See what I mean?” Burns said.
“Hey, Hayes. H.K. got drunk and accidentally ate your finger.” Travis giggled.
“Shut up,” Burns told him. “That’s stupid.”
“Well, he almost did. That’s what Benny said.”
Burns shook his head.
“New plan,” Marty shouted, rubbing his palms together as he marched around the corner. “Come over here. Leon’ll fill you in.”
“He’s the one, ain’t he? That fat one. The one who came over the other day,” Logan said, voice raspy and tense.
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to move my lips because Marty stared at me as he came across the yard.
“Alright, then.” Logan nodded his head. “Alright.”
“You!” Marty bellowed, pointing a finger in my direction. “With
me. We got some things to discuss.”
“Leave her the fuck alone!” Logan yelled, spittle flying with the words.
Marty paid no mind. He stooped over and pulled me to my feet by the crook of my elbow. Halfway to the kitchen door, my mom made a noise and he stopped to look at her.
When the time comes, I’ve got to move, I told myself. No matter what.
“Please,” my mom said, her voice ragged and pitiful, “let her go. She ain’t got nothing to do with this.”
“That depends on you, ma’am. I don’t get any pleasure out of hurting little girls,” Marty said.
“Bullshit,” Logan said.
Marty glared at him for a long moment. Then he dragged me into the house. All the time I worried about what he meant to do with those dogs. The dogs themselves seemed to know. Their joyful, angry barks told me they were ready to go and happy to do it.
What’s the holdup?
they barked to Travis, who had a hell of a time holding onto them.
We’re ready to eat these people now!
As Marty closed the kitchen door, I heard my mom ask a question and Logan answer.
F
ear slapped my senses, like Logan’s makeshift strop against the butter knife, putting a pretty keen edge on them. I could count each and every pore in Marty’s big, vein-busted nose. I smelled the barbeque he’d had for dinner. I heard the coins jingle in his pocket as those belly laughs shook his pants. The smile he showed me was so big with horrible delight that every tooth and hole showed. Marty was missing two of his bottom teeth. It made his smile a true troll’s grin.
A long smear of blood ran down the hall to the front door. Mr. Cannon was gone. Poor man, all he did was answer his door. I pointed to the hallway and started to ask him about it.
“Don’t worry. Your neighbor’s getting the proper medical treatment he needs. If you act nicey-nice,” he told me in sing-song baby talk, poking me in the belly with the antenna of his monkey-shaped walkie-talkie, “I won’t have to give you any boo-boos. Okeydoke, artichoke?”
I nodded, still thinking on when and how I could make my break for it.
Marty must of been thinking along some of the same lines but reversed because he waggled a finger at me. “Don’t be hatching up something stupid and maybe painful. Let’s us sit down and chew a little fat. You all got anything cold to drink? A tall glass of strawberry Kool-Aid would be about perfect right now. This heat is something terrible. But I don’t expect you all have any of that, huh?”
I stood in the doorway to the living room and looked at him, arms folded across my chest. I wished I had some shorts on. I’d taken them off when I heard it was only Hayes at the door earlier that night. Without any AC, the house felt hot as a stove element and sucked empty of air. But right then I wouldn’t of minded cords and a winter coat. I felt next to naked in panties and a T-shirt, even with the shirt coming down to the tops of my knees. Goosebumps pimpled up my legs and arms.
Marty patted his dark-blue sports coat in a few places. It was almost exactly like the one Butthole wore, but whereas his looked tailor-made, Marty’s jacket fit him like something picked out of the trash. Too tight across the shoulders and too long in the sleeves. It took him quite a few seconds of hunting before he found a crumpled pack of strawberry Swisher Sweets hiding in an inside pocket. He pulled one out of its cellophane and gave it a long, satisfied sniff, running the little cigar across the flabby groove between his nose and upper lip. The fake strawberry flavor came clear across the room and it reminded me of bubble gum and puke. He stuck out his yellow tongue and licked the little cigar from one end to the other. Then he bit down on the plastic nib and wiggled it at me, trying, I guess, to be comical, but I wasn’t in much of a comical mood.
“I weren’t kidding about the cold drink,” he said. “What you got?”
I opened the fridge and poked about, wondering if I could knock him out with a bottle of ketchup.
“Milk, Diet Dr Pepper, Clamato, and Wanker,” I told him, not turning around.
“What the hell is Wanker?” He sounded offended.
“Some kind of beer.”
“I’ll take the Clamato, if it’s cold.”
I went to the cabinet and poured him a short juice glass full. He sniffed it three times before taking a sip and then let out a long,
exaggerated sigh. He was chock-full of funny gags, this one. God, how I hated him.
“I expect you must be wondering the reason I dragged you into the house, huh? Very mysterious. Spooky even, huh? What you think, little miss?”
I answered him with a sour look and hoped the Clamato had gone bad and would poison him.
“Remember our chat a while back about your good buddy, Hayes?”
“Hayes ain’t no friend of mine.”
He took another sip. “To tell the truth, I don’t much care for him myself. We know him and your old ma are holding out on us. Got a little stash hid somewhere on the homestead here.”
“That ain’t true.”
“You know how I know? A dirty little birdie told me the two of them had business ideas of their own. A woman who knows your mama.”
“Who told you that trash?”
“One of them nurses over at the hospital, name of Carla, is a cousin of mine. A second cousin, maybe. I forget. Said your ex-friend Hayes thought to cut me out of the deal and sell the shit on his own. Him and your ma both, that is.”
“My mom doesn’t have anything to do with Hayes’s stupid plans. That’s all on him. There ain’t any pills here. I heard Hayes begging my mom to help him get some more and she said no.”