Honky Tonk Samurai (Hap and Leonard) (14 page)

“Mom said she thought you were a fine man.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I merely opened the box of animal crackers, divided them up between us. When that was done we both had a small pile of them in front of us, along with our warm milk.

“I guess I should have got a plate,” I said.

“No, this is fine.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I could get a plate—a saucer, or something.”

“No, really. This is fine.”

“Not a great host,” I said.

“We don’t need the good china for animal crackers,” she said and popped one in her mouth. “Oh, wow, these are good. When I was little Mom would get me animal crackers and a carton of milk, put me in front of the TV, and let me watch cartoons. She used that time to drink. Still, it’s one of my fondest memories—eating animal crackers, drinking milk, and watching Ren and Stimpy, whatever she recorded for me. I had stacks of those VHS tapes, and out in the car I have a box of DVDs I’ve used to replace them. I still like cartoons.”

“I like the Road Runner in those old Warner Brothers cartoons.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s great. And Wile E. Coyote always going off a cliff, and there’s that slow drop and the big pow and the cloud of dust that floats up.”

“You bet. What kind of music do you like?” I asked.

“I’m eclectic. I like some rap, but not much. Sounds alike pretty quick. Liked more of it when I was younger.”

“You’re pretty young now.”

“I don’t feel all that young,” she said.

There was a slight darkening of tone, so I said, “What else do you like?”

“Country, some. Kasey Lansdale.”

“Oh, hell,” I said. “Leonard adores her stuff. I like it, too, but he’s a fanatic. He likes to sit around and be moody to country music, usually the older stuff. Hank Williams, Johnny Cash. I like all that, too. Patsy Cline. Loretta Lynn. And have you heard Johnny Cash’s son’s music? John Carter Cash. Man, he is different. I have a CD of his that I’ve about worn a groove in.”

“I don’t know Hank Williams’s music much,” she said. “I kind of like Hank the Third, some of it. I know who his dad is, and know songs of his sung by other people, but not him.”

“Real deal, Williams.”

That line of talk ran out, and we sat for a while drinking milk and eating cookies. I was glad I had the milk and cookies so I wouldn’t just sit there and stare at her, still trying to see myself in her.

“I have a degree in journalism,” she said.

“That’s good,” I said.

“Did I already say that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I worked at a paper for a while. I had a short story published in a literary magazine.”

“Really?’

“Yeah.
REAL,
out of Stephen F. Austin University. I didn’t get paid.”

“Still, it was accepted.”

“Yeah.”

We minced around for more conversation, but by this time the animal crackers had run out.

“I feel better now,” she said. “Sleepy.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Thanks for the milk and the animal crackers.”

“No sweat.”

She stood up from the table.

“I guess I’ll go to bed.”

“Me, too.”

“Should I put the glasses in the dishwasher?”

“I’ll do that. You go on and get some sleep. Wake up when you want.”

I think we were both trying to decide if hugging was appropriate. We decided without a word that it wasn’t. She lingered, standing by the table for a moment, then said, “Good night,” and went away.

I got up and rinsed out the milk glasses and put them in the dishwasher. I threw the box that had contained the animal crackers away. I dampened a sponge and wiped the table clean, pushing crumbs into my palm and dropping them in the trash.

I climbed the stairs, and by the time I got to the bedroom and slipped under the covers my eyes were wet with tears that I couldn’t entirely explain.

W
e still hadn’t heard from Jim Bob and Marvin.

On Sunday me and Leonard went fishing. I’m not really much of a fisherman, but now and again I enjoyed casting a line in the water. If I caught fish I sometimes ate them, but more often than not threw them back.

The main reason I went was to get my mind off things, both the case we were working on and my possible fatherhood.

It was a private lake we had access to, thanks to a friend of Marvin’s. More of a big pond, actually. We had borrowed a small boat with a motor, and the lake was infested with fish and alligators, not to mention ducks and all manner of swampy growth poking up through the water. The sunlight hit the water with a vengeance, and where the greenery was tall in the water, it made a lot of little shadows. Out in the center it was clear and deep-looking, and there was a sheen that made it look more like oil than water. On the banks birches grew, alongside a scattering of willows and elms, their roots spreading into the water where the shore had broken away.

Leonard was sitting at the bow, and I was at the stern. We both had on wide-brimmed straw hats to keep from cooking, and the brims made shadows on our bent knees. The air was stiff and hot. We were drifting near the middle of the pond, casting our rods. I always loved the moment when the cast happened and the line whizzed out and sometimes you would get a flick of silver from the sunlight falling on the business end of the line.

We had brought along a lunch in a big cooler, and besides thinking about Chance, I was thinking about food. I liked lunch. I checked my watch. Damn. Still two hours away.

“Where is the girl today?” Leonard asked.

“She and Brett went to Tyler for lunch and clothes shopping. They’ll spend the day. Why I thought it was okay for us to go fishing. Course, Chance doesn’t know about the business we’re into. I mean, she knows what we do, private investigations, but she doesn’t know exactly what it is we’re working on, and I don’t see any reason to tell her there might be danger in our lives.”

“If someone were going to hit us, wouldn’t they have already done it?”

“We have some reputation, Leonard. They might be waiting for when we least expect it.”

“Good point. About the daughter thing, though. How’s Brett dealing with this?”

“Truth is she was a little shitty about having Chance there, even if she invited her, but she isn’t shitty to Chance. I think she kind of likes her.”

“She’s being shitty because of her own daughter. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Damn, Leonard. You are alert and tuned in.”

“I read a book once. It had lots of pictures, but it led to me thinking a little.”

“Oh, did I tell you? Chance has your room now.”

“I have things in that room.”

“No,” I said. “Your shit is in a cardboard box under the stairs now.”

“That’s my room.”

“You sound like a teenager come home from college to find his room is now a home library.”

“Well, it is my room.”

“Was.”

Leonard pouted for a few minutes, then said, “So you don’t know for sure she’s your daughter?”

“And if she isn’t, you want your room back?”

“That would be nice. If she is your daughter, I guess she can keep it.”

“Big of you.”

“If she is your daughter, it will change some of my thoughts about you.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“I thought you were lying to me about having sex. I though you were just masturbating and pretending to have sex. You have a daughter, that means you really did have sex. Yuck.”

“What do you think Brett and I do?”

“I don’t like to think about it. I don’t think Brett would do something like that.”

“Yes, Leonard. I may have a daughter. Fruit of my loins.”

“I was sort of hoping you were the end of your bloodline.”

That stopped the talk for a while, and we drifted in the boat and fished. We ate our lunch. When we finished eating, Leonard pulled the previous conversation out of the bag again.

“Do you want it to be your daughter?”

“Been thinking about family a lot in the last few years, like maybe I want one that’s bigger than the one I got, which is pretty much you and Brett. I even in a moment of odd weakness tried to talk Brett into us having a child.”

“Well, she looks fine, and I want to put that on record, and though it’s coming from a queer, I think I can safely say Brett has held age off better than just about anyone I know, but a little old for child rearing, don’t you think?”

“Like I said, it was a kind of irrational thought, not much weight behind it.”

“She’s got a cool name,” Leonard said. “Chance. I like that.”

“Chance told me this morning her mother had quit drinking when she was pregnant. That it meant that much to her. And that May Lynn talked about me all the time, like we had been together forever. Told Chance she thought I was the one and she had missed the boat, and that she didn’t want to disrupt my life, because except for when she was pregnant, she knew she couldn’t stop drinking.”

“You’re one of those that thinks alcohol is a disease, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you?” I asked.

“I don’t think all alcoholics are that way because their body reacts to liquor in a different way than someone who can take a drink. I think it’s true of some, but I think a lot of people just find something for a crutch, take hold of it, and support themselves with it. They can quit but won’t. I don’t think it’s always about disease. It’s like me being gay. I had no choice, it was in the DNA, but I think it can be a choice, too. I think you can just decide you want to suck dick, out of adventure or the fact that you think, hey, I’m bringing up my average of having sex with a warm body.”

“I believe they call that bisexuality,” I said.

“I don’t know if that exists or not. I don’t care. I say you want to suck dick or mess with the other, no matter what your DNA, that’s up to you. Me, I don’t get any urge to do the other. I like men, and it’s that simple. But I think for some it’s choice. Hell, prisoners fuck each other all the time, get out of prison, and never fuck someone of their own sex again. Provided they don’t end up back in prison. Everyone is looking for a warm hole, Hap.”

“Don’t go changing, Leonard. Stay the fine and romantic person you are.”

“I’m just saying how I see it. Some things are more habit than disease. And I’m not saying being gay is a disease. I’m just saying a lot of things can be by choice. Might be a bad analogy, since I don’t have any problems with sexual choice, but I’ve known some drunks who I think just liked to wallow in self-pity.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Bottom line, May Lynn was a drunk, by choice or disease or DNA or whatever.”

“When do I meet Chance?”

“Whenever you like. I guess I didn’t want to put her in with all the family until I was sure she was family. It’s a dumb thought, but there you have it. We’ve already had swabs done to check for DNA. It takes some time, though. We have a wait of a month or longer. Private business that does those tests, they’re pretty backed up. Rest of the time, well, me and Chance, we’ve been talking. I’m getting to know her, and she’s very sharp and likable. It’s like finding a puppy that has a collar and is well cared for and you put an ad in the paper, flyers, and any day you expect someone to call or knock on your door looking for that puppy. And there you are, having invested all your heart into them, and someone shows up with a leash and a dog treat.”

“Speaking of pups, how is Buffy?”

“Tip-top. Brett actually boarded her for today. Picks her up tomorrow. Vet is giving her the once-over, checking that rib.”

“I hate to veer from all your boring personal matters, Hap, but this stuff with Frank, the car lot. Jim Bob might ought to have his tree shook.”

“We do that, a barrel racer might fall out.”

“Maybe the horse, too. But we will shake his tree. Right?”

“Right.”

“Wait a moment. Think I have a bite.”

He started reeling it in. It was a bicycle tire and wheel.

“Ah,” he said, releasing the wheel from his hook, tossing it in the boat for us to dispose of. “The rare bicycle fish.”

W
e fished, and the day slipped away comfortably. For a pond full of fish, we weren’t having a lot of luck. We threw back three fish and kept the bicycle tire. Mosquitoes were becoming a real problem.

Running the boat back to shore, we packed up and loaded the boat on the trailer. As we were driving out of there my cell rang. It was Jim Bob.

“We got to talk, Hoss.”

“You saw Frank?”

“Yep. We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now.”

“In person. Your house?”

I hung up and looked at Leonard. “Guess who?”

By the time we dropped the boat and trailer off and got rid of the bicycle tire, it was close to dark. Leonard drove us down back roads of red clay and sometimes gravel and blacktop.

Once East Texas had been the land of bears and honey and even parakeets. These days the bears and parakeets were all shot out, and the bees weren’t doing all that well, either. There were cows, though. We spotted them when we came to gaps in the trees and saw pastures. The cows looked happy and content. They didn’t know they were waiting to be hamburgers.

The dwindling sunlight wrapped through the trees and darkened into black ribbons of shadow, and by the time we broke out onto the main highway it was full dark. With the night having arrived, the air was cooler than before. We turned off the air conditioner and rolled down the windows and let the night air in. We passed houses with lights on inside them. A few cars zipped by, headlights shining bright and then gone.

Twenty minutes later we were in town and came to my street, arrived at the house. I noted there were no lights on, not even a porch light. I glimpsed flashlight flares in the yard. We cruised by, down to the church parking lot below the house. Leonard parked on the far side of the lot behind the church. You couldn’t see the car from my house.

Leonard said, “You saw them, too?”

“Yep.”

“Jim Bob?”

“Did you see his Caddy at the curb? Anywhere?”

“Nope.”

“Lot of flashlights,” I said.

“Yep. Maybe Jim Bob brought friends. The barrel racer?”

“Not unless she brought her horse and he has a flashlight, too.”

“I judge there were three lights, so at least three guys, wouldn’t you say?”

“Shall we surprise them?”

“Ain’t nothing like a surprise,” Leonard said.

“One thing first.” I dialed Brett on my cell.

She answered with, “Hap. Sorry, hon. We been shopping, got caught up. We’re going to have dinner then be home. You ought to get with Leonard and eat something.”

“I will. So you’re still in Tyler, then?”

“Like I said, we’re going to have a late dinner.”

“Okay. Well, take your time. Love you.”

“You sound a little funny.”

“Tired. Long day fishing. Talk later.”

I turned off the phone and put it away.

“So?” Leonard asked.

“She and Chance are still in Tyler.”

“That’s good,” Leonard said.

“Didn’t see any reason to alarm her.”

“Shall we see if we can give the people in your yard reason to be alarmed?”

“They could be folks looking for a lost dog.”

“They could.”

“Or kids prowling the neighborhood.”

“Also possible.”

“Termite exterminators at the wrong house.”

“Less likely,” Leonard said. “They could also be assholes out to do you and your bunch harm, too. And that would include me.”

Leonard cranked the truck, drove out of the lot by the back way. This led to a road that ran behind our house. There was a two-acre pasture of overgrown grass directly behind our house to the road. There were houses elsewhere, but whoever owned this property had never developed it. I hoped they never would.

We parked at the curb by the pasture. Leonard leaned across me and got my revolver out of the glove box.

“That’s my gun,” I said.

“You pick up a stick or something.”

“You have my gun.”

“Very observant.”

“How’d you end up with my gun?”

“Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

“What if we’re not being that sneaky and they’re in my backyard?”

“Then the surprise will be on us,” Leonard said.

Crossing the pasture, I half expected to be shot. I’ve been shot at a few times. It makes a memorable impression. There were streetlights behind us and some from houses back there, and that framed us nicely for a shot if anyone was looking in our direction.

No one shot at us. I did have some grass burrs sticking through my pants, but other than that, so far so good.

There’s a chain-link fence at the back of our property, but on the right side there’s a tall redwood fence. Someone started building it years before we bought the place but never finished. Maybe they ran out of money.

There’s no gate directly at the back. It’s on the far side, where the redwood fence dies. The gate opens between the fence and the back wall of the house. To get to the gate from the direction we were coming from, we had to cross our next door neighbor’s property. A few dogs barked, but none of them were going crazy. Maybe our intruders would think nothing of it.

We eased through my neighbor’s yard along the redwood fence. I saw lights in one of the windows of the neighbor’s house, and I could faintly hear the television. I was sweating more than the temperature demanded. My hair was dripping with it. When we got to the gate I used a key to unlock it, and we eased it open and slipped into the backyard. For once I was glad the automatic light we had above the back door was out. I had been meaning to replace it.

There was a shed out there, and it was locked. I got out my key and unlocked it and got a crowbar off the workbench. So far the only work I had done on that bench was lay the crowbar there. I had arranged some tools on the wall, none of which, except for the hammer, I knew how to use. If I couldn’t fix it with a hammer, it would remain unfixed.

I felt the heft of the crowbar in my hand. It slipped against my sweaty palm.

Gently as possible, I unlocked the back door and cracked it open. I could hear someone jacking with the front door, picking the lock, most likely.

“I’ll surprise the folks at the door,” Leonard said. “You want to check out the garage?”

“Try not to shoot anyone if you don’t have to.”

“You’re no fun,” Leonard said. He slipped inside and gently closed the door. I went back through the gate and along the grassy path between our house and the neighbors, came up alongside the garage. I guess it’s more of a carport than a garage. It’s open in the front, and there’s no garage door.

I crept and sweated along past the neighbor’s window with the glow and the television sounds coming out of it. I got out of the path of that light as quick as I could manage. I slipped forward until I got to the front edge of the garage.

I took a deep breath. There was a time when I kind of looked forward to this sort of thing. These days I just wanted dinner, a comfy bed, and Brett. I could hear someone in the garage, trying to walk softly but not managing too well. I heard someone say, “Shall we jimmy the door?”

That would be the door from the carport into the house. It led directly into a hallway that led to Leonard’s room. Chance’s room now.

I took another deep breath and let it out slow and easy and quiet. I thought about hitting someone with the crowbar and didn’t like that idea, unless they had a gun. If they had a gun a crowbar might not be enough.

Soon the one who was picking the front door lock would be in, and when he came in, there would be Leonard. It would be like expecting the lady and getting the tiger.

I heard a loud noise, like someone slapping water with their palm. It came from the front of the house, and I knew that would be Leonard. He hadn’t shot anyone, but he certainly had hit someone. Maybe they hit him, but I didn’t think so. I knew in that instant, the same instant I thought all these thoughts, that my time wouldn’t get any better than right then.

I rounded the corner and stepped into the garage as two men ran out of it and headed toward the sound. They didn’t see me, as their backs were to me. They had heavy flashlights, and they were big men. That’s all I could tell from the glow of their lights. The streetlight out front of the house was out and there was no moon and they were mostly just shapes with a light going before them.

I heard another sound, scuffling, then that smacking sound again. I saw someone fall backwards off the porch. His flashlight went flying, and I saw a beam from one of the flashlights gleam against a shaved head of one of the men in the yard. I could make out Leonard standing on the porch.

I was right behind the two men with flashlights. One of them raised the light onto Leonard, who was leaping off the porch. The man had a gun in his hand, and he was lifting it when I came up beside him and struck his gun hand with the crowbar as hard as I could swing it.

I knew from the way the crowbar felt in my hand I had broken bones. The gun dropped, the man went to his knees, sick with pain, and now the other man was turning toward me. I stepped right into the middle of him and twisted my body and hit him alongside the knee with the crowbar. He let out a scream, staggered back on an uncertain leg. I dropped the crowbar and stepped in so close we were almost in the same pair of pants. I hit him with a straight right that I knew was a good shot because I hardly felt it. He went down and tried to get up. I kicked him in the head, and he rolled over like a doodlebug, the flashlight flying from his hand and rolling across the grass where it came to rest on the concrete driveway.

I picked up the crowbar and gave it to Leonard, searched for guns, found a very large automatic on the unconscious man by the porch. The guy I had hit on the knee was unarmed except for a blackjack. I gave it to Leonard. He stepped forward and hit the man holding his knee with the blackjack, a short, sharp blow to the back of the head.

“Goddamn,” said the man, shifting his hands to his head. “My leg is done broke; wasn’t no need for that.”

“I felt there was,” Leonard said.

“You broke my arm,” said the man I had hit on the arm with the crowbar.

“I would be disappointed if I hadn’t,” I said. “And you, asshole. How’s your leg?”

“Broke, I done told you,” said the man.

“Good,” I said.

I went over and collected his gun from the driveway while the man with the broken arm bent over and threw up in the grass.

That’s when a car glided up at the curb.