The Two-Bear Mambo

by Joe R. Lansdale

  But after the stuff in Grovetown that dream went away and I couldn’t call it up any more than I could whistle down a 747 and cause it to light on a high line. If I tried to call it up the Mexican lovely would not stay static. She went to pieces like fog. In her place I had the other dreams.

  One was of Florida wandering about. She was a cross between a zombie and a ghost. I was always walking along a highway, a road, or in the woods, and I’d see her up ahead, not looking at me, just crossing in front of me, wearing one of her short dresses with high heels, going into the cover of the trees, and I’d run after her. Only when I got to where she had gone into the woods she wasn’t there, and I couldn’t find her.

  I dreamed too of the marsh that night, and of Draighten screaming and his leg all gone to pieces. I found out a short time later he had died before the emergency crew made it. Bled to death. He deserved what he got, but I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Somewhere he had people who loved him and he’d loved them back and he’d had plans and thoughts just like everyone else. Meaner thoughts, but thoughts.

  Had Leonard not shot him, I’d have been the one six feet down in the ground and Draighten would be lying in bed, maybe watching a little wrestling on television or pulling his pud. It was something strange to consider.

  The part about him being alive and wanting to watch wrestling. Not the part about him pulling his pud. I tried not to think about that; it was too horrible to visualize.

  I was thinking about pulling my pud, when the rain picked up and I began to feel cold, even under my blankets. I got out of bed, pulled a robe over my naked self, picked up the .38 revolver from the nightstand where I kept it all the time now, and made for the bathroom.

  I brushed my teeth, looked at the wound the shotgun pellet had given my cheek. It wasn’t much. It was healing nicely, but it looked as if it would leave a small puckered scar. The doctor had put medicine on it and a Band-Aid, and I’d been doctoring it at home, but I had begun to suspect a stitch had been needed.

  Then again, wasn’t like it was going to ruin my native good looks. If I’d had any, that crowd at the Grovetown Cafe had rearranged them. I did look better than a week ago, though. Both eyes seemed to be lined up—sort of—and the bruises had changed from the color of eggplant to a sort of raw spinach green.

  I picked the gun off the sink, toted it with me around the house while I lit the butane heaters, then fixed myself a little breakfast of cereal and coffee and sat at the kitchen table with my friend the .38 snub-nose revolver and stared out the window at the rain coming down. My yard looked a lot like Bacon’s yard, without the refrigerator and the washer. There was a dead squirrel out there, though, and I’d been thinking about moving it. Another week or two, however, I figured it’d be pretty much dissolved. I thought I could hold out.

  My days had been like this for two weeks. A little coffee and cereal in the morning, the dead squirrel watch, worrying about how I was going to pay my hospital bills, then a morning movie if I could find one worth watching. All this hinged, of course, on how often I was asked to come in and see the cops. They insisted I drop by for talks.

  They held meetings in LaBorde, since it was the county seat, and the law was a Texas Ranger and some detectives from somewhere, and then Charlie, who was kind of a moderator. I even saw Cantuck a few times, going out as I came in, a big swathe of gauze over his eye, always wearing a cheap black suit that offered plenty of room for his balls. He’d smile and say, “Hap,” but keep right on walking. I even saw Jackson Brown once. He was dressed in a bright blue suit, a white cowboy hat with a beaded band, and shiny black cowboy boots. We passed right by each other. He was walking with a thin, attractive woman with tall blond hair and an empty look to her eyes. He smiled at me as he passed, said, “Tell the nigger Jackson says hey.”

  It was tempting to see if I could turn his head completely around on his neck, but I didn’t. I just walked on.

  The cops liked to talk. They liked for me to talk. They loved hearing my story. Separately, they talked to Leonard too. They liked his story. We told it so much, I thought maybe we ought to work out a dance routine, so if we ever told it together, maybe we could do a few steps in concert.

  But for now the cops seemed through with me. I had gone a few days without seeing their smiling faces, and I wanted it to stay that way. Without them, I could maintain my mind-numbing routine.

  After the movie every morning there was lunch, usually a sandwich, or more cereal and coffee, then I’d go out on the front porch bundled up in a coat with my revolver and sit in my glider and listen to the rain until the cold got too much. Then it was back inside where I’d strip off and get under the covers again, and with my revolver on the nightstand, I’d crack open the book I was currently reading.

  As I sat that morning with breakfast, I kept thinking in time I wouldn’t feel the need to carry the gun with me everywhere I went, to sleep with it nearby, feeling greater comfort in it than I might a woman. But that beating I had taken with Leonard, and that night at the marsh with the Kluxers, had changed me and I wasn’t sure there was any going back. I wasn’t sure I could be Hap Collins the way Hap Collins used to be. I was still him, but I wasn’t him, and I didn’t know who I was or who else to be.

  I thought about giving Leonard a call, but feared Raul would answer the phone. I’d heard he’d come back, and for some reason I didn’t like the little sonofabitch anymore, though I wasn’t sure I’d liked him in the first place. Fact was, all told, I had spent little more than an hour with him, so my opinion was bullshit anyway.

  I was jealous. I had been Leonard’s friend longer than Raul had been his lover, and when they split up and Leonard and I got together again and went to Grovetown, even with all that had happened, at least we’d had each other, and it was like old times. There had been that special warmth between us, that understanding, that lack of explaining, and now Raul was back and I had a robe to wear, a gun to tote, and my dick to jerk. I wished with all the blackness of my heart right then that Raul was forcing Leonard to watch the Gilligan’s Island reunion episode, which I understood he’d finally acquired. I wondered whose dick he’d sucked to get it.

  Goddamn, Hap, don’t think like that. That’s homophobic. That’s evil. Just not nice.

  No, hell, it isn’t any of those things but the last. It’s not nice. You’re just mad so you’re thinking mean and you better not keep thinking that way or you will be mean.

  Why in hell had Raul come back anyway? I asked myself, and self answered: Because he heard Leonard was hurt and needed him, and he came back and things were all right now in their relationship. They were close again, and that was good.

  Sure. Sure it was. It was good. Liver was good, if you closed your eyes and rinsed your mouth and ate ice cream afterwards.

  Shit, don’t think like that, Hap. You’re being an asshole. Leonard’s got his right to happiness, even if his boyfriend is as shallow as a saucer and likes Gilligan’s Island. Who are you to stand in the way of Leonard’s love life? Friendship isn’t about that. It’s about being happy your friend is happy. That’s the true nature of friendship.

  I sat and wondered if I could think of any more folksy homilies, but nothing came to me.

  Me and my gun got us a cup of coffee and went into the living room and turned on the television and surfed the channels until we found an Audie Murphy Western.

  The movie was coming to the end when I heard a car, got hold of the gun and took a timid peek out the window.

  It was Charlie driving up. He got out, wearing a beige belted raincoat and a porkpie hat with a plastic cover on it. He was holding a black umbrella over his head, tiptoeing toward my door through puddles of water like a schoolgirl trying not to get her stockings wet.

  I cut the television, stuffed the gun beneath a couch cushion, hoped Charlie would have good news about Hanson. Hell, good news about anything.

  25

  I opened the door before he was on the porch. He smiled at me, closed the umbre
lla, leaned it against the porch wall and shook hands with me. “I see the squirrel’s still hanging around.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He likes it here. I call him Bob. He calls me Mr. Collins.”

  Charlie took off his hat, removed the cover and draped it over the handle of the umbrella. He put his hat back on, took off the raincoat and stretched it over my glider. All of this was done very slow and precise.

  When he came inside he tossed his hat on the couch, took off his cheap sports coat, hung it over the back of a chair, sat down beside his hat and smiled in that pleasant manner he has, loosened his threadbare tie, crossed his legs, wiggled a Kmart shoe.

  “Are those shoes real plastic, Charlie?”

  “You betcha. I don’t stand for imitations.”

  “And that hat, isn’t that like Mike Hammer wears?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Want some coffee?”

  “You betcha.”

  I fixed us both a cup, sat back in my chair and stretched my feet out.

  “Christ, Hap,” Charlie said. “Put on some drawers, or cross your legs different. I don’t want to look at your balls.”

  “That’s not why you came out?”

  “Come on, man.”

  I went and pulled on some faded jeans, but kept the robe on. I came back, recovered my coffee. Charlie was in the kitchen, pouring himself another cup. He went through the cabinets and found the bag of vanilla cookies I keep on hand for Leonard. He opened them, brought them into the living room, put the bag on the couch next to his hat and began eating the cookies.

  “Want one?” he asked.

  “Only if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  He held the bag out and I took one, dunked it in my coffee and ate it. Charlie said, “Nobody eats these with as much pleasure as Leonard.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I like to watch him eat them,” Charlie said. “He gets that look that cartoon dog used to get when he was given a dog biscuit. You know, the one hugged himself and floated up and then floated down, he was so happy. What was that fuckin’ dog on? Quickdraw McGraw?”

  “I think so,” I said. “How’s Hanson, Charlie?”

  “Same.”

  “I think I’ll go by and see him.”

  “Go by, or don’t. He won’t know one way or another. You come in there butt-naked with a feather up your ass, or dressed in your Sunday Go to Meetin’s, it’s all the same to him.”

  “What do the doctors say now?”

  “Not much more than before, only they’re less optimistic.”

  “I didn’t know they were ever optimistic.”

  “You hear them now, you’ll think before they were goddamn foolish with optimism.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Shit. Another week, they think he can go home. Might as well, he can hold down a bed there good as he can at the hospital. They’ll send some tubes and pee-bags with him when he goes. Maybe, on good days, he can be used for a doorstop. Just roll him up to the door to hold it open.”

  “Who’ll take care of him?”

  “He’s going home to Rachel.”

  “His ex-wife?”

  “Yeah. Go figure. It was her idea. She and her daughter are gonna take care of him.”

  “I thought Rachel had a boyfriend or something.”

  Charlie made a patting motion at his shirt pocket, like he was looking for cigarettes, didn’t find any, put his hand back in the vanilla cookie bag and pulled out a wafer. He waved it at me, said, “Did. And the boyfriend wasn’t keen on the idea, but she sent him packing. Believe that? Hanson and Rachel. They haven’t lived together since I don’t know when, and now she’s gonna take him home and empty his pee and make sure he’s got gruel in his food tubes, washrag his balls and wipe his ass. I don’t get it.”

  “Me neither. Must be the daughter’s influence.”

  “Maybe so. Tell you something else, Kmart is all but gone. Another week, won’t be nothing there but an empty building and the parking lot.”

  “So, that’s why you came. You want to hold a little memorial service or something?”

  “What I come to say is you and Leonard are in pretty good shape.”

  “We going to court?”

  “Only to testify against folks. I don’t think you’ll get much backlash. It’d just make those fuckers look stupid. Ray Pierce, one you call Bear, he finally broke down and named Kevin Reiley as the other Klan man, which is of course who Cantuck said it was all the time. You know, I don’t think that Cantuck is such a bad guy, you get to know him.”

  “Good. What about Brown? Pierce name him?”

  “No. There was enough business there for us to bring him in for questioning, but we didn’t nail him. And I wanted to, believe me. He’s a smug sonofabitch. White trash with money and a business degree. They’re like roaches, guys like that. They’re hard to get rid of, hard to kill …oh, and Pierce didn’t name that officer—”

  “Reynolds.”

  “—yeah, him. He didn’t name him either. He claims they did it on their own. One of them supposedly saw your car go by when you took the Grovetown turnoff toward LaBorde. He told the others, they got their sheets and came after you.”

  “So, there’s nothing to prove anybody else had anything to do with what happened?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t believe it. I got a feeling that whole nest of Klan assholes knew where we’d be, and not by seeing us go in that direction. I think Brown was involved, and those boys aren’t talking ’cause he’s paying them not to talk, and maybe he’s giving them a little something to worry about besides jail. Like what might happen to their families.”

  “There’s nothing to prove you were set up, is what I’m saying. But the Klan not only found you and Leonard, they found that black fella helped y’all out. He got his the next night.”

  “Oh no, Bacon? I hadn’t heard.”

  “I didn’t think you needed to before. You were dealing with enough. Handful of Klan members went out to his house and jumped him. Tarred and feathered him, locked him in his car trunk, drove him down to the river bottoms, tossed the keys and left him there. He’d have died of exposure if the trunk had been any good, but it wasn’t and he was able to kick it loose, hot-wire the car and get out of there. They say he was hurt pretty bad. He was in a hospital over in Longview couple days.”

  “Ah, hell. He was scared to death they were going to catch up with him on account of us, and they did. How’d the Klan find out?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Maybe Cantuck can tell you, or the Ranger on the case. I don’t know they know. Can’t say. Damn, I wish I had a cigarette. I think about smoking now and then, you know, sneaking one, but my wife, she smells it on me. I don’t care I do it outside in a high wind, little gets on my jacket, in my hair. She smells it.”

  “And no pussy.”

  “Yeah. I been thinking about striking up a relationship with the cat. Is that some kind of incest or something?”

  “Bestiality.”

  “Well, I tell you, I’m tired of whackin’ off. Funny thing is, you know you’re not gonna get any, it’s all you think about. Pussy. Pussy. Pussy. When I used to get it now and then, not knowing when, but figurin’ I would, I didn’t whack off near as much. You whack off a lot?”

  “Just once or twice a day. Would you like to know about my bowel movements?”

  “Naw, I was just interested if you whack off. Some of the guys at the station, they think it’s odd if you whack off. They all say they quit that shit when they were fifteen, or when they started gettin’ pussy.”

  “Everybody whacks off. I don’t care what they say, they whack off. Maybe if they’re poking someone every night they don’t, but when they’re not, they whack off. But on a less serious note, about me and Leonard not going to court. You sure? We’re okay?”

  “Looks like it. I can’t guarantee anything. Not really. But Cantuck spoke for you again, sai
d you and Leonard didn’t have any choice but to do what you did, tells how you saved him, drove the car through a storm, all that shit. You know the story. Same one he’s been telling. You’ll talk some more to the law, but I figure you’re all right.”

  “That’s good. How’s Cantuck?”

  “Well, his eye didn’t grow back. He’s still blind, and he’s got a patch. He looks like a pirate turned pig farmer turned smalltown cop. He’s taking it well enough, I guess. Oh, you or Leonard will have to pay a little fine for having those guns you used. Hidden weapons. I talked to the Highway boys. They agreed to let the rest of the guns in Leonard’s trunk get lost so it wouldn’t look like you were loaded up and spoiling for a fight. That damn near caused you trouble, all them guns, but Cantuck stood up for you again. He can talk a pretty good line of shit, he wants to. Even if he does refer to Leonard as ‘a good nigra.’ ”

  “That’s high praise from Cantuck,” I said. “Will Leonard get his guns back?”

  “Don’t try to skin your rabbit and keep it as a pet too, Hap. They agreed to lose ’em, not oil ’em and give ’em back to you with ammunition. Be glad you’re not paying big fines and doing a little time. This is serious shit, killing a fella.”

  “Leonard didn’t mean for Draighten to die. He had, he’d have shot his head off from the start. It’s not that he gave a shit, frankly, but he didn’t kill him outright ’cause he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. In the long run, it was self-defense, plain and simple.”

  “That’s why you’re not doing time, you and him. This is Texas, after all. And you did save an officer of the law from being killed, and you got him to safety and a doctor. Shit, Hap, you and Leonard, you’re goddamn heroes.”