“What?” Her face went deadpan. “No flowers?” I swallowed. She spit her gum into her hand and pulled a long draw from the straw of her Styrofoam “Biggie” cup.
I dropped my head, feeling the cheeks go hot. “That’s a busted flapper ball.” My voice came out much smaller than I wanted. “You know, from a toilet?”
“Yeah, so?” She swiped the thing across the counter, shoving it out of the way. The gum magically reappeared in her mouth, the bouncing chin coming back to life. “We got them in the back. One left… I think.” She gave me a creepy smile. “Maybe even two.”
I shifted my feet, threw a quick look at my phone to check the time, pretending like I had somewhere to go, and pointed to the flapper. “I only need one.”
“I know,” she scratched the fine black hair on her forearms, leaning in a bit, forcing her low-neck line to reveal long, flat cleavage. “You from around here?”
I cocked my head, trying not to laugh, my face going hot again. “Excuse me?”
“Never seen you before.”
“I’m new in town.” For some reason when I said it I pointed out to the sidewalk, like I might live I a box out front.
“You single?”
My eyelid fluttered, a nervous tick. “Single?”
“You know,” She came back extra slow, spacing the word again, like I was helplessly stupid. “Like. Are. You. Dating. Anyone.”
“Dating?” I almost stammered.
She practically broke out into charades, nearly forming the letters with her huge arms, annunciating each word, very slow. “M, A, R, R, I, E, D?”.
“No Ma’am,” I threw a glance all around, noting thank God I was the only customer in the store. “I mean…I was.”
“Well,” she smiled and stood adjusting her bra with a horizontal shake, really bringing the flesh up and out. “Too damn bad,” she sighed. “Cause I am.” She frowned, wriggling her wedding band with a diamond the size of a crumb.
My eyelid gave another flutter. “You are…?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Married.”
“Oh!” I gave too loud of a laugh, and added, “Just think what could have been.”
Her face went all confused. She squinted one eye. “Seriously?”
My head fell to my feet and my face went hot again. She fanned the air with her hand, like she had just erased the entire conversation, thankfully. “Anyways,” she shuffled around the counter, eyes down, “I got a cousin named Valerie, we call her Val, anyways she’s a BBW just like me but with hair jet black. And you know, she is single. Divorced three times and only two kids! Monty and Petunia. She’s got a good job over at Iver’s Auto Body Shop answerin’ phones. It even comes with health and dental.”
“BBW?”
“A big beautiful woman,” she peered at me,
I pinched my lips shut and blinked. “May I ask,” I said with some confusion. “Are you trying to set me up with your cousin? Like, right here at the register?”
Her face filled with disbelief, eyebrows going high, both hands flipping in the air with exasperation. “I done told you she’s divorced,” she exclaimed. “She’s got health and dental.”
Outside in the sunshine, with a new commode flush kit under my arm and my eyes still adjusting, three shit-heads on sport bikes came blasting down the roadway just as a two, older aged silver-haired women were attempting to cross the street. The lead rider on a white Yamaha locked his smoking rear tire and lost control of the bike. He fell into a low-slide, narrowly missing both women, one who dropped her purse in fright. He rolled a couple of times and came to his feet. Ink scrawled on his neck. Calligraphy. Maybe a baby-mama’s name. With the motorcycle lying on its side, the shaver-headed, body-tattooed rider strode over and kicked the woman’s purse and hopped into her face, inches away, shouting now, “You damned, dumb old bat!”
My shoulders fell. The Karma of Story Mount was testing me this morning. First meth-monkey now this. And I didn’t want any of this. At this point I was still underweight with more a runner’s build and less of an MMA fighter. Tossing down my flush-kit, I shot right up to him and shoved him backward. “Hey dip shit,” I growled, pushing my face in close enough to catch a sour hit of his breath. “You beat up little old ladies?” The peanut-skulled youth balled his fists, sneering with gold teeth glinting and cocked his arm back. But I was a step ahead.
My fist flew with a pop. His head snapped back, the body following him backward with huge drunken steps backward, tripping over his motorcycle, his ass smacking down on the cobblestone, and laying back like a white-trash scarecrow staring blankly at the sky. Kickstands down, the other two riders were off their bikes and coming for me. The freakishly-tall kid rushed in first. I threw a quick jab to his throat and he dropped to the pavement like loose laundry. Rolling, kicking, eyes popping, he grabbed at his neck to breathe. Guy number three, a mammoth red-head with a linebacker’s build and a face reptilian with orange freckles came chugging in, swinging hard and wide, arms sweeping like tree branches, nearly catching my head, the wind splitting just by my ear. The enormous momentum of the wild miss sent his body into a slow twist, exposing his entire right side. I stepped in and sunk my fist deep into his kidney, air exploding from his mouth, going rigid as a board, vibrating in space, face stitched with agony. And then glowing with rage. Amazing. A shot like that. But he didn’t drop. Instead he went bat-shit crazy. He came howling, running at me, wind-milling his fists. I tried to back away, to run, to do anything else but remain standing there dumbfounded. My body snapped. We both went airborne, setting sail in silence, then the noise came crashing in, bones and flesh clapping onto the cobblestone, bodies rolling into the curb, me somehow finding myself on my feet, him coming to rest in crawling position. Red began the slow rise to his feet on a bent knee. A swift kick to the gut and air hissed from his mouth like a slow, deflating beach toy. He rocked to the side and settled onto the road gasping for breath.
I staggered a few paces, snatched the pocketbook off the pavement and handed it back to the silver-haired old lady. Some onlookers gathered in but the entire incident was over before it began. People were murmuring, confused, pointing toward the street where the three hood-rats staggered up, spitting and cursing, and limping to their bikes and screaming off one by one. As the trio vanished down Exodus Avenue, the leader glared at me over his shoulder, and extended his middle finger.
I crouched down to retrieve my flapper-ball kit on the ground near the curb. When I stood up, the loose throng of onlookers started to drift away. An old, dusty couple smiled and gave me a little wave. I ducked my head and stalked off, wondering if small-town dynamics would ensure that my cop brother-in-law Luke would catch a whiff of what just happened. Was I responsible that the world was becoming an increasingly shitty place to live? No, this wasn’t on me. Back at my car, I jumped in and got the hell out of there.
7
Fast Hands, Loaded Gun
We was all three pushin’ the bikes real hard. My speedometer was all choppy, the needle shaking around 130 mph. Tucked tight in the saddle, hunched low in the wind roar, the road turning all liquid with speed. Faster and faster. But I couldn’t escape myself. Throat all swollen up, couldn’t swallow. My brain went all angry again. Who exactly was that asshole? That dumb, old, blind hag stepping off the curve. She coulda’ killed me. Then he come up. Never seen the fool in my life. Fucker punched me right in the eye. I saw nothin’ but a flash of light. Who was that shit head? Hadn’t no clue. But one thing was for real. I’d fuggin’ find out. Real soon. But not for now. Now I had a bigger fish to fry. Moby Dick big. Old Charlie’s money burned in my pocket. We streaked across the long straightaway. The one at Miller’s Creek Road. When the job was done I’d have ten thousand bucks. But it wan’t my money yet. What Greymore told me to do. Time to go to work.
Fast Eddie throttled up beside me, grinning ear to ear. He pulled a gigantic wheelie, al
l tall like. Like if he could tip backwards one more inch, he’d roll right off into his grave. I prayed for it. But he let nose back down and bolted ahead. I could feel old Charlie’s eyes burnin’ on me, way up high from the mountain tops, like he done rose up in the sky like a serpent, a fork-tongued, devil monster. Mama had said it herself. I could hear her voice now. She swore she could smell it on my skin when I was born, that she saw the nurses pinching their noses, overheard them giggling, saying my afterbirth stank like roadkill. Every day that woman lived on this Earth she ranted about it. She said comin’ fresh into this world, my soul was already rotted through and through. That I was born evil. I never believed it. Well…I mean ‘til now.
Miller’s Creek Road was about to end in a hard left, turning all to corkscrews and switchbacks as it jumped back into the mountains. I was gainin’ on Eddie. I shoulder checked and Ricky was close behind. I floated up to Eddie, my right hand holdin’ the throttle steady, all while slidin’ my left hand down into my leather jacket, reachin’ for my loaded .38. A pair of evil eyes in the sky burning on me. Old Charlie squinting at me. Satan himself. This weren’t nothin’ personal. Like my daddy, I was a man of business. I pulled the pistol out, careful and close, so Ricky behind me couldn’t see it come up. Then bam! Fast Eddie locked up his rear wheel, ass-end goin’ all squirrelly, black smoke tumblin’ out all over the roadway, me swervin’ to miss him, jammin’ the gun back into place inside my jacket. I hadn’t fired a shot.
Me and Ricky scrubbed off the speed, turnt, and come back. Eddie sat there, kickstand down, leaning against his bike, arms crossed, thumbin’ his phone. The bright sun catching his red hair and freckles on fire. The friendly giant. All smiles. Fancy and casual-like. Like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. I jumped off my bike, fists balled-up, then seein’ it, and relaxed all of a sudden. Being pissed off was out of place. Outta’context, I think they called it. Wan’t his fault. He didn’t know he was about to be killed. Be normal. Look normal. Stay chill. But my blood was up and my throat throbbed…right where that asshole sucker-punched me. I let my shoulders go slack and gave Eddie an easy smile. “What the fuck?”
“Aw man,” he laughed at his cell phone and texted all fast. “Amber wants a booty-call.”
Ricky came off his bike and walked toward us. I slid my hand back into my jacket. But Eddie spun ass-end around, hopped on his red Yamaha. “See you bitches later.” And just like that, he peeled-off and shrank to the size of a dot, takin’ that hard left sweeper where mountains swallowed him right up. Gone. Business-wise, my pop called this sort of thing “contingencies,” like the extra plan put in place when the first one failed. Plus, I wagered one dead body is better than no dead body. We were out in the open. A car could appear quick from either direction. Doin’ it here, standing like this, was too risky. I narrowed my eyes at Ricky. “Let’s roll brother, you lead.”
He winked, straddled the bike, and let off. I fired up my bike and let off. I know’d the route he’d take cause it was our habit. We crossed over the section nick-named the Pine Spine, top of the mountain and full of Pine trees. Up and over the pass, we come to the next that two-mile straight shot right on the county line, where Exodus County becomes Lincoln County. Ricky eased off his speed, his t-shirt blowin’ around his head, him trying to tuck it back into his jeans with one hand, holdin’ real still. Bad move Ricky. I come up on him fast. With the t-shirt tucked back in his pants, he revved the white Kawasaki Ninja, the engine shrieked and his speed went all fast again. But my bike was faster. I crept in all slow, nice and easy, like a snake slitherin’ in on its belly. My stomach jumped. I could smell it now. That stink my mama talked about all along. The stench of me being born. I wanted to run away. Like just keep going and not ever stop. Like California maybe. Leave the evil back here in the mountain woods. In those black valleys that never see the light of day. To run, run, run and never turn back. The back of Ricky’s head come up within inches.
Left hand, I pulled my pistol up and out. My arm went all crazy inside the gusty winds, the nose of the gun jumpin’ this way and that. I forgot all about speed. So I moved in more, bike movin’ in tight as I dared, wonderin’ at what point my front tire could touch and in a flasf, find me dead. But this shot. There was no missin’ this fuggin’ shot. Ain’t nobody gonna’ mix me in a bucket and pour me out into the woods. I went in a little deeper. Close. And then even closer. Standin’ on my pegs, leaning forward over the handlebars. The gun bobbin’ and weavin’. And then still. Calm. I fired. And missed. Ricky threw a glance over his shoulder, mouthing fallin’ open, eyes all confused.
I went stiff, aimed hard and pulled the trigger. Ricky’s head jerked. A blood cloud popped out all over my face like motor oil sprung from a hose. His body flopped backward like a ragdoll, stretched out on his back, his arms all danglin’ loose and dead at the sides, his bike instantly lost speed, and drifted down and under my front wheel. I was still extended, gun raised. Face soaked in blood. And I heard it. A small crunch, like an empty beer can crushed. The two motorcycles came together with a small kick, and then the world got tore in half. It ate me up, my ear drums exploding, my skin ripping from the bone, pain shootin’ across my eye, then a pretty shower of sparks filled with screams. My screams. Black numbness. Then, nothin’ at all.
I opened my eyes. A hawk hovered and disappeared behind a tall tree-line. I didn’t have no idea where the fuck I was. Except outside. I’d dozed off. A nap. But I didn’t know nothin’ about the day. I couldn’t recollect when I got up or got dressed. My face was all pins and needles, I rubbed it, all pancake syrup sticky, and come up with my palms all bloody. A deep breath and pain knifed me in the side. The thought come slow. I been in a damned motorcycle wreck. I sat up,
I sat up, palms flat on the warm pavement. Motorcycle scraps was scattered everywhere like garbage, all twisted-up metal, and white plastic shards. The smell of blood, motor oil and cooked asphalt kicked up. I looked just to my right, and Ricky laid on his side, starin’ at me with half his face blowed out, like as to have a conversation about how nice it is to be layin’ in the middle of a state highway in the middle of the day with half his head missin’. Fuck. I done shot Ricky. I scrambled to my feet, took a step, and fell down. My right motorcycle boot was ripped like a banana peel and my foot was turnt the wrong way. I jerked it back in place. An electrical shock of white pain hit me and I screamed so hard it sounded like it come from somebody else. My heart jackhammered. Real panic spread over me. Ricky’s bike was tore to pieces. I glanced all around. Mine was…gone. Like a ghost tore off the damn earth. I staggered to a bent place in the guardrail with a long scratch, peered down the ravine, past the pine trees and into the forest below. It was possible. The I went stiff. Holy fuck. Where’s the gun.
I limped and hopped, makin’ zig-zags, diggin’ through the debris. I froze in my tracks, cocked my head. I heard a strum in the distance and headlights glinted on the horizon, where less than a mile off, a speck of a car crested up over the hill and come right for me. I took to my hands and knees crawlin’ crazy fast, patting the asphalt, the car closing in, I could see now that it was black, not a pick up truck or an SUV. Back to Ricky, my heart thumped fast and faster. I clawed at the trash, at the broken shards, at the plastic bits. The vehicle approached now, the engine downshifting, the driver probably now saw a very serious accident. I shrieked inside my head. Where the fuck is it? I shuffled over to Ricky, low on all fours, grabbed his shoulders, tugged his head and pushed his hips, and finally rolled the body over. And there it was. My pistol. I wrestled it into my pocket. The car come at speed so fast I could make it out plain to be a black Chevy Impala. If I saw them, that meant they might see me too. So down I went, body long and low on the pavement, arms stretched out and began to roll, rolled through the pain, rolled across the emergency shoulder and rolled under the guardrail where I slid headfirst down the steep ravine into the forest below.
Up on the street, that Impala came to a dead as
s stop. A woman started screamin’ all crazy just like the louder she got the bigger chance Ricky might wake up. But all the carryin’ on in the world couldn’t wake up a man missing half his head. I wished I’d knowed before hand it was some dumb woman inside that Impala. No doubt unarmed. I’da played possum and shot her in the face when she drew up. That Chevy looked fresh. I pictured drivin’ off in it. Like a daydream. I drifted. And realized for the first time since the crash I might be really hurt. Like need a hospital hurt. The lady was yellin’ and shoutin’ into her phone.
I knowed then it was high time to pull out. I crawled across mounds of dead, wet pine needles on all fours, rolled onto my ass and pulled out my buck knife where I worked a young Sassafras tree, carved off the young limbs, slid them deep into my boot like splints, and pulled the boot latches as tight as I could so I could stand. My bike was down here somewhere, but my head started to swim again. I snatched a broken branch off the ground for a walkin’ stick and limped off, sinking deeper into the woods back toward town. I kept seeing Ricky’s face. I wanted to feel bad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel nothin’. And I wondered if somethin’ was wrong with me. Around late dusk, with the last light about to give into darkness, I came to the peak of Boogie Mountain. Story Mount flickered in a bowl just on the edge of the black Cumberlands. A man born with nothin’ had to risk everything. One down, one to go.
8
Bait and Switch
The heat came from deep within. Like my soul was on fire. Like my bones were cooking the meat from the inside out. The choking thump of each heartbeat in my throat, not being able to get enough air. Then the scream. Shrieking over and over. Emily. Emily. Emily. Legs locked in twisted sheets, I barrel rolled out of the bed, meeting the floor headfirst. Me still screaming. Then stopping like I always did, wondering if I woke the kids. Or if Vanessa and Luke were tuned into my nocturnal terrors. The dream always started the same. I’m on the empty streets of Chicago, but everything is hot and red like Mars. It feels like an oven. Emily is ten blocks down. I can see her but she can’t see me. I’m sprinting, legs pumping, a crazy thirst descends on me, unquenchable, tongue dry like sandpaper, all the veins pulling away from my body. Madness. I’m so close now. A block away. Waving my arms, screaming. No sound come out. Emily is barefoot, she shifts and raises her toes over the curb, taking that step into space. I sprint harder, my stomach folding into itself, the fear hitting me like a buzz saw, screaming harder in muted silence. Her head turns toward me as she steps forward, face smiling. I’m flailing both arms, breaking into dead-ass sprint. A black shadow crosses over the pavement, drinks in all the light. The shadow crosses over her, the black line spreading across her shoulders and neck, her leg swinging out fully now to take that step. The truck barrels down. Her eyes never leave mine. Smiling. There is no noise. The truck just takes her. She vanishes. I scream Emily, Emily, Emily, something in the road wraps around my ankles, tripping me, tangling me. My screams are no longer silent. Mortal terror breaks from my ribcage. With a sound so loud, my head might explode. It suddenly occurs to me I am the last person alive in the galaxy. I’m sitting in the middle of the street. Cradling an urn in my arms. I unscrew the lid and eat the ashes, my mouth turning black as the truck turns…and heads directly for me.
Skin the Cat Page 6