Rovers

by RICHARD LANGE

  Antonia runs this by the other Fiends. They’re fine with giving him the girl, but Bob pitches a fit at having to delay his vengeance for even a short while, wants Antonia to call Beaumont back and find out where the rovers are staying. A quaalude and a few beers mellow him out, and soon they’re celebrating their good fortune, all of them gathered around a picnic table under a tamarisk tree at the edge of the motel parking lot. Bull’s drinking with them, and so’s the German. Johnny keeps throwing him the Nazi salute and barking, “Heil Hitler,” and the German keeps saying, “Fuck Hitler.”

  “Is that jump joint still open, out toward the lake?” Bob asks Bull.

  “Last I heard,” Bull replies.

  “What’s the name of the girl you liked there?” Bob says to Pedro. “Blond hair, big ass.”

  “Jenny?” Pedro says.

  “Let’s pay her a visit.”

  “I’m in too,” Johnny says.

  “How about you, Colonel Klink,” Bob says to the German. “You like zee puzzy?”

  “You will go on the Harley Davidsons?” the German says.

  “How else?”

  “Wonderful!”

  They ride off a few minutes later, Pedro and Bob on one bike, Johnny and the German on another. Bull goes to bed, and Antonia, Elijah, Real Deal, and Yuma play five-card stud. They talk about going to New Orleans when this is over, and Elijah tells stories about when he lived there back when Spain still claimed it.

  “Just like now, whatever you wanted, someone there had,” he says. “Every way to kill yourself you could think of.”

  Bob and the others get to the cathouse, which is really a trailer park strung with Christmas lights, a double-wide serving as parlor and bar. Jenny’s long gone, but Pedro finds another girl to his liking, and the others choose from the rest.

  The men gather in the parlor afterward to drink, play pool, and flirt with the whores. The German teaches them a drinking song, “Ein Prosit, ein Prosit, der Gemütlichkeit, Ticky Tocky Ticky Tocky, Oi oi oi,” and they sing it so loudly so many times, the bouncer tells them to hit the road.

  Back at Bull’s, the card game winds down. Antonia and Elijah go to their cabin, and Antonia settles into bed to read.

  “What’s The Other Side of Midnight?” Elijah asks about the paperback in her hands.

  “It’s trash,” she says. “Rich people doing each other dirt. She loves him, he doesn’t love her, he loves her, she doesn’t love him, they marry the wrong people. It goes on and on. The writer must’ve been being paid by the word.”

  “We sure got lucky, didn’t we?” Elijah says. “The way this worked out with Beaumont?”

  “At least we won’t waste any more time searching,” Antonia says.

  “Or dealing with Bob’s tantrums.”

  Bob and the others return, and Antonia turns out the light and pulls the shade.

  “I don’t feel like dealing with a bunch of drunks,” she says.

  “Me neither,” Elijah says.

  He lies down beside her and drifts off to the whisper of turning pages.

  After a long, fidgety day, the Fiends bust out of their cabins as soon as the sun sets. Bull grills hamburgers and sells them for a quarter—fifty cents with chili and cheese—and Bob passes a bottle of tequila.

  “Where’s the Kraut?” Johnny says.

  “He took off this morning,” Bull says. “Looked like hell.”

  Fed and buzzed, the Fiends mount up and ride to Beaumont’s place, stashing their bikes in the garage. Beaumont invites them inside. They shoot the shit on the patio in the middle of the house while waiting for Jesse.

  Antonia can tell Beaumont is uncomfortable. Dealing with the gang over the phone is one thing, having to talk to them face-to-face is another. He minces around with a phony smile and flapping hands like he’s worried they’re going to track mud on his carpet while a costumed servant named Tommy passes out drinks.

  “You shine the man’s shoes too?” Bob says to Tommy.

  “I’m Monsieur’s driver and houseman,” Tommy replies, picking up an empty glass.

  “Ooh la la,” Bob says and turns to Pedro. “You want Tommy here to bring you anything?”

  “Got any more beer?” Pedro says.

  “Hop to it,” Bob says. “Fetch the man a beer.”

  At 11 p.m., an hour before Jesse and the others are supposed to arrive, the Fiends go out to the garage, where they’ll wait to make their entrance. Yuma sits on the floor next to Real Deal. She draws her revolver, swings out the cylinder, and spins it.

  “There was a little man who had a little gun, and his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead,” she chants. “He went to the brook and saw a little duck and shot it right through the head, head, head.”

  “What’s that?” Real Deal says.

  “Something my mama used to recite.”

  Johnny farts.

  “That’s something Johnny’s mama used to recite,” Bob says.

  “Quiet,” Antonia says.

  She’s sitting on her Harley, the gasoline fumes in the garage making her nauseous. Elijah is straddling his bike, too, arms crossed over his chest. His wristwatch has glow-in-the-dark numbers, and after a while everyone’s staring at them, mesmerized.

  The sound of an approaching car gooses them out of their reverie. They drop to the floor as headlights flash through the little window in the garage door and sweep across the ceiling. Doors slam, someone tells someone to comb his hair, and a girl laughs. The new arrivals go to the porch and ring the bell. Beaumont lets them in.

  Another half hour passes, during which the Fiends hear singing, muffled conversation, and Beaumont calling for champagne. Their pistols are out, their knives ready. One of them knocks over a broom, and the crack of the handle hitting concrete is as loud as a gunshot, but the party inside continues.

  The overhead bulb finally flashes three times, the signal for them to come inside. Antonia opens the door to the living room, and one by one they slip through.

  Beaumont, Jesse, his brother, and the girl are sitting at the table on the patio. The Fiends glide like black smoke to their positions behind the glass sliders, passing Tommy as he hurries for the front door. At a sign from Beaumont, they all step out onto the patio at once.

  An hour later those of them still alive are back at Bull’s, sitting at the picnic table again and passing the tequila as they piece together what just went down.

  “Why did you kill the girl?” Antonia says to Bob.

  “I could tell Jesse cared for her.”

  “But we promised her to Beaumont.”

  “I wanted him to hurt like I do.”

  “Okay, but what’s that say about our word?”

  “I don’t give a fuck. It was worth it to see the look in his eyes. It’s not my fault the rest of you couldn’t hold him and the retard.”

  “What happened after they got loose?” Elijah says. “After the big one got you by the throat, and Jesse laid into us?”

  What happened was, Bob fell to the ground, coughing blood, his windpipe crushed, and Edgar ran for the living room. Jesse head-butted Elijah, then went after Antonia, smashing her face into the table, snatching her pistol, and shooting Elijah between the eyes. That’s when Johnny jumped in to battle Jesse for the gun.

  Real Deal picks up the story. “Me and Pedro and Yuma chased the retard into the living room, and Yuma put a bullet in him. I went to dust him, and someone started pounding on the door. Beaumont ran out of the house, and a rover wrapped in chains and a black dude ran in, the motherfucker that shot me and Yuma.”

  Meanwhile, on the patio, Johnny was getting the best of Jesse, had him bent over the table backward, when Jesse dug a thumb into his eye and pushed until something popped. The two of them slipped on the bloody concrete and went down together. Jesse grabbed a knife and dusted Johnny, then picked up Antonia’s gun and ran for the living room.

  “And Pedro?” Elijah says.

  Real Deal reaches up to scratch his head. His fingers come
away bloody. “I was still half out of it, but I saw him tackle the brother that shot me,” he says. “He was about to finish him when Jesse ran in and blew out his candle. Right then Yuma came to, and Jesse heard. I tried my damnedest to get up, but…” He slams his fist on the picnic table, making the tequila bottle jump, then growls his next few words. “Jesse took her out, and brotherman dusted Pedro.”

  “Jesse came for us after that,” Antonia says. “Me and Elijah and Bob were still on the patio. We’d all healed and were ready to run when he appeared. Bob backed him off with a couple of shots, and we headed out.”

  Real Deal managed to join them as they passed through the living room, and they fled to the garage. Antonia got Elijah settled behind her on her Harley, Real Deal straddled his ride, and Bob started Elijah’s. The four of them made their escape, roaring out of the garage and down the driveway. They cranked their throttles when they hit the street and raced away without looking back.

  When they were miles away and certain nobody was following, they pulled over behind a boarded-up gas station to take stock. They looked like they’d been swimming in a lake of blood. Real Deal sat shaking on his bike, his head in his hands.

  “Can you keep going?” Antonia asked him. “We shouldn’t be out, looking like this.”

  “We should be riding back to burn that fucking house down,” Bob said.

  “We’re too beat up right now to think straight. Let’s go to Bull’s and get our shit together.”

  “I’m fine,” Bob said. “I’m a hundred percent ready to throw down.”

  “Throw down by yourself then,” Antonia said. “I’m not gonna be pushed into something stupid.”

  “You’ll come, Elijah, won’t you? For Johnny and Pedro and Yuma.”

  “Antonia’s right,” Elijah said.

  “Of course she is,” Bob snarled.

  “She is,” Real Deal said. “How long till daybreak? We go off half-cocked, we’ll all get caught out and never have a chance to get even.”

  He started his bike and rode off. Antonia and Elijah followed. Soon enough so did Bob, cussing under his breath.

  Sitting at the picnic table, the story finally straight, Antonia sips from the bottle of tequila.

  “And now here we are,” she says.

  “I’ll stand guard till dawn,” Bob says.

  “Who are you expecting?”

  “The kid and the spook who helped him.”

  “You think they’ll show?”

  “That French fucker knows we’re staying here. He’ll give us up real quick.”

  “Maybe they’ve had enough.”

  “After what I did to the girl? Jesse’s coming for me.”

  “If that’s the case, we should take off, find new rooms, and hunt them down tomorrow night.”

  “Like we hunted them down in Phoenix?” Bob says. “No. I’m not leaving, not playing any games. I’m betting the kid’ll try for me here, and I’ll be waiting.”

  “I’m not leaving either,” Real Deal says. “If you think they’re coming, I’m staying too.”

  Antonia has a belt of tequila. Nothing she says will change their minds, so it’s only her and Elijah she has to worry about. They’ve got an hour before the sun comes up—enough time to make a quick getaway. Her pride hangs her up, though.

  She and Elijah have been leading the Fiends for seven years. And while it’s true she’s sick of wrangling psychos and true she’s dreamed of splitting from the gang, to run off now, after the deaths of Yuma and the others, and leave Bob and Real Deal to face what’s coming next on their own doesn’t sit right with her. She’ll be nothing but trash if she abandons them.

  “Go in and get cleaned up,” she says to Bob. “I’ll hang out here.” She turns to Real Deal. “You too. Sleep if you can.”

  Real Deal locks himself in his cabin. The ten years he was with Yuma were the best of his life. He told her that he turned because he knew it’d take a long time to find the perfect woman, and when he did, he wanted to be with her forever. “And it was you I was waiting for,” he said. He hasn’t cried in a hundred years, not since his brother was killed, but now thinks he might never stop.

  Seated at the picnic table, Antonia checks herself for damage. The gash on her head where it hit the table is gone, and there’s no pain when she wiggles her nose.

  “You didn’t try very hard to sway them,” Elijah says.

  “They’re spoiling for a fight,” Antonia replies.

  “And we’re fighting with them?”

  “We’ve been riding together a long time. We’ve got to see this through.”

  Elijah picks at a splinter on the table. “We’ll send Bull for more ammo,” he says. “And a shotgun. You can use that other pistol of mine.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “If it was up to just me, I’d leave. We’re sitting ducks, and I don’t like putting you in danger.”

  “Isn’t that sweet,” Antonia scoffs.

  “It’s selfish,” Elijah says. “I’d be worse than dusted if something happened to you.”

  Antonia presses her forehead to his and looks into his eyes.

  “Everything comes to an end, old man.”

  “Not me, not you,” Elijah says. “Not before we go to Italy. Not before you see the—what the hell was it?—Birth of Venus?”

  They watch the road until the last star winks out. Two cars and a power-company truck pass by. Safe in their cabin as the sun rises, they drop off immediately but are wakened later by sobs—Real Deal’s, rising and falling like some strange bird’s sorrowful song, a terrible thing to hear.

  25

  JESSE STOPS DIGGING AND SITS. JOHONA’S GRAVE IS ONLY TWO feet deep, but all the strength drains out of his arms, and he can’t keep hold of the shovel. Edgar takes his place in the hole, though, and he and the black man who showed up at Beaumont’s, Charles Sanders, keep working, so the dirt keeps piling up. Sanders didn’t kick when Jesse made him pull over to bury Johona. “I’m a Christian,” he said, “I understand,” and even picked up a shovel and pitched in.

  Johona’s body lies next to Jesse, blood seeping through the blanket he wrapped her in. He touches the bundle, finds her corpse has gone cold, and feels sick to his stomach thinking how twelve hours ago she was resting in his arms. She was like some small, soft thing that got torn apart between two dogs. He should’ve taken better care of her.

  “My brother’s the best gravedigger there is,” Edgar tells Sanders. “And I’m second.”

  “Is that right?” Sanders says.

  Jesse makes himself stand. “You two take a break,” he says. “I’ll finish up.”

  When the hole is deep enough, they lower Johona into it. Sanders asks Jesse if he wants to say anything. He doesn’t, doesn’t have the words.

  “I’ll do it,” Edgar says.

  “Leave it be,” Jesse snaps. He’s had enough of his brother’s jabber for tonight, enough for a lifetime.

  He and Sanders fill the grave while Edgar sulks.

  Sanders drives the truck back into town. Jesse keeps the .45 he took off the man pointed at his belly. No more mistakes.

  “Where are you staying?” he asks Sanders.

  “A motel near the Strip,” Sanders replies.

  “Me and Edgar will be holing up with you for today.”

  Sanders frowns but doesn’t protest. A while later he says, “How will you find the bikers?”

  “The Fiends,” Jesse says. “They call themselves the Fiends.”

  “Do you have a line on them?”

  “I’ve got Beaumont. He knows where they are.”

  “Then what? You and me and your brother go after them?”

  “He’d be no help.”

  “I can fight good as you,” Edgar says.

  “Shut up.”

  “So it’ll be two against four,” Sanders says.

  “We did all right against seven.”

  “That was luck,” Sanders says. His face is swollen from the beating he took at Beau
mont’s, and there’s a cut on his forehead. He dabs at it with a rag. “If I get shot, I die.”

  “I’ll turn you, if you want,” Jesse says. “Then they can shoot you ten times, and you’ll keep coming back.”

  “I guess you think that’s funny,” Sanders says.

  Jesse doesn’t reply. He has the man stop a few blocks from the motel where he, Edgar, and Johona have been staying.

  “Give me the keys and your wallet,” he says.

  Sanders hands the items over. Jesse opens the wallet and sees a photograph of a woman holding a child. “Is this your family?” he says.

  “My wife, my son,” Sanders says.

  Jesse points at the address on the driver’s license. “And this is where they live?”

  Sanders turns to stone, doesn’t answer.

  “If you’re not here when I get back, I’ll go to this address and kill everyone there,” Jesse says. “You understand?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Where you going?” Edgar says.

  “Stay with Mr. Sanders. You’ll be fine.”

  It’s past 4 a.m. The street is deserted. Jesse hurries along, but not so quickly he’ll attract attention. When he reaches the motel, he scans for Fiends. There doesn’t appear to be a lookout, so he jogs to the room, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. Drawing the .45, he steps inside and checks the bathroom. All clear.

  He gathers his and Edgar’s belongings and shoves them into their suitcases. He has one grip, Edgar two, the second for his toys and other junk. Jesse can only carry two bags, so he leaves most of the toys behind, fitting what he can—Matchbox cars, a few picture books, a deck of cards—into the case with Edgar’s clothes. Then there’s Abby to deal with.

  The cat hisses and recoils when he reaches for her. He considers leaving her, but Edgar will already be upset about the other missing items. He strips the case off one of the pillows and, after a battle that leaves him bitten and scratched, manages to shove the animal inside it.