Suicide Lounge (Selena Book 3)

by Greg Barth

  I munched on a salad, a petite sirloin steak cooked well done, some steamed broccoli, and garlic mashed potatoes. I was mostly concerned with the glass of whiskey that sat to the side of my plate and the effort required to get a frequent refill.

  “You like the whiskey,” Choke said. He was dressed in a black western style shirt, denim jeans, and worn, brown cowboy boots.

  “Indeed. I’m a Kentucky girl.” I smiled at him across the table.

  “We only have one more day together. Do you feel ready?”

  I thought about it while I chewed my broccoli. I took a sip of whiskey to wash it down. “I do,” I said. “I feel like I can tear through the guy in about two seconds.”

  “That’s good. Your confidence is well earned. You’ll do fine. But you must remember that he won’t fight like me. You know what to expect from me by now. When you attack this man, he won’t respond in the same way. You have to be ready for anything.”

  “You make a good point,” I said.

  “We can’t anticipate what this man will do. We don’t know what his alone time with his women is like other than they say he’s rough with them. You must be ready to strike first. Immediately. Catch him off guard.”

  “How do I get a knife in past the guards?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this too. When we finish here tonight, we’ll find a purse that will match your outfit for that evening. I can make a false bottom for it, and you can hide the knife in there. When you get in, just let him know that you need to freshen up. When you’re alone in the bathroom, you can get the knife out.”

  “I like it,” I said. “I can see that working.”

  “It’s a good plan. We’ll start working with that knife tomorrow.”

  “An edged blade?”

  “Yes. I don’t want that night to be the first time you use your weapon. I’ll fight unarmed, as I don’t expect Miles to have a knife handy when you make your move.”

  I looked at him over my glass. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Yes. And I don’t need any new scars. I hope you won’t kill me.” He chuckled.

  We had a few drinks after dinner. We stopped at a Target store on the way back and I picked out a small, red clutch purse that would match my outfit. Choke checked it out and agreed that it would hold the knife and that he could customize the purse to conceal it.

  That night I tossed and turned in bed. I couldn’t get to sleep. I longed for the fight. I was ready. I wanted to get it over with and get back home. That’s where the real fight was as far as I was concerned. I didn’t care about Lyman. I didn’t care about his daughter. I had no grudge against Miles—a man I’d never met. But I needed the connection. I wanted to make things right for Pete, and I couldn’t take on Mozingo and his crew alone.

  At some point, I drifted off. I dreamed of standing on the desert ground, naked, surrounded by shadowy figures. They came at me, and I fought them with my knife.

  I woke early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I got up, slipped on a long t-shirt, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I took light steps to avoid waking Choke.

  Once the coffee was ready, I filled a cup and stepped outside. The sun wasn’t up. The stars overhead shone by the thousands. The night air was warm. Dressed in my socks, t-shirt, and underwear, I was careful where I stepped. I didn’t want to step on some ghastly venomous desert creature.

  There was the sound of footsteps. I turned, and Choke emerged from the side of the house. He walked up to the table. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

  I shook my head. I handed him my coffee cup. He took a couple of sips and passed it back. I lit a cigarette. The tip glowed orange in the dark night. “I like the desert. Like this.”

  “Nothing else like it,” he said. “Ancient. Ghostly.”

  He reached out his hand, and I gave him my cigarette. We shared it and the mug of coffee until both were gone.

  “Lyman will be coming back today. We should get started.”

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  “I’ll be back,” he said. He went into the house. I sat at the table. The sun peeked up over the horizon. A light breeze blew.

  When Choke came back out, he wore body armor that covered him from his neck to his groin. It looked like something designed for someone in the bomb squad. Choke’s armor had seen its better days. Gray duct tape covered the many tears and tatters that marred the front of it. He carried a couple of thick leather mitts in his hands.

  He came over and handed me a knife. “I think this will suit you, but tell me what you think.” I saw that he had padded protection on his forearms as well.

  I held the knife in my hand and inspected it. The blade was tanto style and about six inches long. The steel was blackened. The handle was made of rigid black rubber. It was heavy in my hand, but it had a good balance to it. I tested the edge with my thumb. Razor sharp.

  “Too long,” I said. “Won’t fit in the purse.”

  Choke nodded. “It’s ten inches overall. It fits. I tried it already.”

  “It’s a good knife,” I said.

  He slipped the leather mitts over his hands. They looked like round disks. There were slices and scars across the thick palms. “Let’s go,” he said.

  I looked down at myself. I was wearing a long t-shirt, panties, and socks. “Like this?” I said.

  “Come on,” he said.

  I got up from the table.

  We circled each other in the dirt yard. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.

  “I don’t want you to either,” he said. He slapped at me with one of the leather mitts.

  I backed up, pulled my face away. The swinging leather scraped the tip of my nose. I stepped forward quickly and thrust with the knife, catching him in the sternum.

  “Good one,” he said. “That’s a kill.”

  I pulled away and got ready for the next attack. I stood with my legs apart, on the balls of my feet, the knife low at my side.

  Choke put his hands up like a boxer.

  I put my blocking arm up in front of my face. I stepped forward. Choke jabbed at me with his leather-clad fist. I pulled back, but he was faster. He caught me on the jaw. I fell backward, my ass hitting the ground. My shirt fell back over my bare thighs. I pushed with my hands and leaped back on my feet. I ducked my head, came in low, and thrust with the knife. It was a good thing his padding covered his groin, because that’s where I put the point of the blade.

  “Another good one. If you hit the femoral artery, it’s over for him. Even if you don’t, you’ve given him something to worry about.”

  I rubbed my jaw where his fist had caught me. “How come I don’t get to wear padding?”

  “Because you have the knife. And you’re the one that will be fighting for your life. Nothing we’ve done so far has been real. When you get in that room with Miles, it will be real. It’ll be over quickly, but your adrenaline will be pumping. You have to make the right moves.”

  We worked at it until the sun was high in the sky, and dust covered my body.

  “Let’s break,” Choke said. “You’ve learned what you need. Let’s get showered and dressed. Lyman will be along soon.”

  “If I don’t get a chance to thank you before we leave, I want you know I appreciate you teaching me.”

  “These are skills I hope you never have to use again,” Choke said.

  “Well, they’re good ones to have, even if I don’t need them. And I like this knife a lot.”

  We were inside with the swamp cooler blowing on high when Lyman arrived. The dust cloud that trailed him blew over his car when he stopped in front of the trailer.

  “Let’s go,” Choke said.

  I grabbed my bag and we went outside.

  Lyman popped the trunk, and I put my bag in the back.

  I opened the door, sat in the passenger seat. The splash of air conditioning felt like heaven. “Look at you,” I said to Lyman. He wore a straw cowboy hat and amber-colored shades with large lenses. A matchstick was stuck between
his teeth. He had a western style shirt with the top three buttons loose. A bolo tie with some silver and a chunk of turquoise was loose around his neck. I looked down and took in his large silver belt buckle, faded jeans, and boots.

  He removed the chewed up matchstick and said, “What? You never been west of the Mississippi before, have you?”

  “I just hope the AC doesn’t go out in this thing and you with all those clothes on.” I was dressed in loose cutoff denim shorts, a light blouse unbuttoned down the front and a sports bra. I had sandals on my feet. My hair was done up in pigtails to keep it off me.

  Choke got in the back seat. “You going back with us?” I said.

  “He is, but we’ve got something special lined up for you first,” Lyman said.

  Lyman didn’t point the car toward what passed for civilization in this part of the country. He drove us further into the desert. The gravel road turned to dirt. The dirt road narrowed to a one lane track. We wound around over the rough country. On either side of the car oddly shaped rock formations loomed over us. The brown and gray desert was dotted with waxy, olive-colored scrub brush.

  I hoped I’d passed Lyman’s test, or, at least, that he knew I was going to give it my best shot. I didn’t want to wind up buried in a shallow grave in the desert because of some unknown misstep.

  The dirt track played out, and we were driving along a flat plain in the middle of some godless nowhere.

  Lyman broke the silence. “So I got you something. It’s tucked under your seat there.”

  I reached under the edge of the seat and felt something heavy wrapped in rough paper. I pulled the object out. I opened the bag and inside was a fifth of Buffalo Trace bourbon. “Shit.”

  “Choke tells me you like bourbon. That you’re a Kentucky girl.”

  “You guys have been talking about me,” I said.

  “Text messaging,” Choke said from the back.

  I flashed a wide grin at Lyman. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me, haven’t you?”

  He raised the brim of his straw cowboy hat. “I hear you’ve been doing exceptionally well.”

  “Slow down, boss,” Choke said from the back.

  “Yeah. We don’t want to make like Thelma and Louise, now do we?”

  “This is it,” Choke said.

  “What the fuck are you...” Then I saw it. It was like the earth opened up in front of us. The breath caught in my throat. “Is that...holy fuck—”

  “Parents never took you to see the Grand Canyon when you were a girl?” Lyman said.

  “Oh my god. It is,” I said.

  “Technically this is federal park land, so we really shouldn’t be here like this. But hell yeah. You’re looking over the rim of the Grand Canyon, dear.”

  The car slowed to a stop.

  “Can we get out?” I said.

  Lyman and Choke opened their car doors and stepped out. I was right behind them. It was dead quiet. We walked together up to the rim. The earth went from level ground to dropping away for what had to be a couple of thousand feet in one step. There were rocks barely clinging to the side, but a single step would take me to the bottom. I couldn’t get over the immense width of it. There was so much space right there in that deep, open void.

  The colors of the canyon walls were like nothing I’d seen before—the dull reds, tans, and browns woven together like some ancient tapestry.

  It was eerie. The canyon seemed to swallow all sound. I stood right on the edge and looked down at the muddy river so far below. I watched an eagle soaring a hundred feet below me.

  I felt small.

  I felt insignificant.

  I felt peace.

  “This is amazing,” I said.

  Choke took the bottle from my hand. I’d forgotten I was holding it. He pulled the cork plug, took a long drink, and passed it to Lyman. “This is an old place, Little One. The old gods, those that walked the earth long before the first man, they live here. You can feel them sometimes in the silence.”

  “I don’t know about all that, but I wish we had some weed,” I said. I was feeling a little frisky. It had been awhile for me, and something about being at the canyon in the evening was kindling a small fire.

  “Damn straight,” Choke said.

  “I got some shit in the trunk. It’s heroin. We could burn some, suck up the smoke. Pretty good high,” Lyman said.

  “I have to watch my opiate intake,” I said, and took a drink from the bottle. The men stared at me. “What? I OD’d a couple of weeks ago. It was kind of a shitty experience.”

  “What happened?” Choke said.

  “Some friends found me. Couldn’t wake me up. And you know how people worry. They were afraid I’d stop breathing. They got me to the ER, and they gave me the Narcan there. Talk about a fun slide down Shit Mountain.” I lit a cigarette and passed it to Choke. I lit another one for myself.

  We stood in silence and smoked. I could have stood there, watched the canyon forever, and been content.

  Choke finally broke the silence. “Did you see anything?”

  “When I overdosed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like near death shit?”

  He drew on his cigarette and nodded.

  “I don’t think so. It was just...black...blank...I don’t know...numb I guess.”

  “The Mescaleros have an old ghost legend,” Choke said. “When the Apache were put on the reservation, Shamanism was more important to them under those circumstances than before. They used peyote and saw great visions. Peyote is a difficult substance to overdose on, but too much of it is hard to tolerate.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger. “The warriors that participated in the ceremonies told of seeing the risen spirit of Ela-Nalin.”

  “Nice name,” I said.

  “Ela-Nalin was a young Mescalero maiden who lived before the defeat of the Apache. The story is that one day while the men were away making war with the cavalry, Ela-Nalin wandered from her camp to gather for her family. She strayed far from her people. Her path crossed that of a mixed-breed scout who worked for the Buffalo Soldiers. The story is, he killed little Ela-Nalin with his knife. He killed her and scalped her. But he also desecrated her corpse. He carved the skin from her face and gouged her eyes from her head. He cut her in places that one should not think about.”

  “That’s some fucked up Buffalo Soldier,” I said.

  “What the Apache warriors saw during their Mescaline trips with the Shaman was the ghost of little Ela-Nalin. They say she came to them during their deepest trances, her blood red face, her eye sockets black and empty, the hair on the crown of her head removed, her skull glistening crimson. The hair on the sides of her head remained; the black locks fell over her shoulders. They say her teeth were missing. In the trance, she would offer her hand. No man was ever brave enough to take it, fearing where she may lead them.”

  I took a drink from the bottle. “Well fuck that,” I said. “I don’t want any peyote. I don’t want any heroin either. I do wish we had some weed though.”

  “The legend is that Ela-Nalin lives between the spirit world and the physical world. If you walk the path between those two worlds, you may encounter her.”

  “I’m sure I was all over that path when I OD’d. I don’t remember seeing her, though.”

  Lyman turned back away from the canyon. “Look at the sun,” he said.

  I looked back behind me. The sun was a giant, crimson ball, sinking over the western horizon.

  “Have you ever seen it from the other side this time of day?” Choke asked.

  “You mean from the east rim looking west, watching the sun set?” Lyman said. “Yeah, I have. It’s like the crossroad of the cosmos or something. The sun moving one direction, the canyon the other. Either that or it was some damned good shit we had that evening. We chased that dragon like a motherfucker that day.”

  “There’s nothing like it. It doesn’t get better.”

  “Chasing the dragon? Smoking heroin?” I said.


  They chuckled. “No, Little One,” Choke said. “Watching the sun set over the Grand Canyon.”

  I scoffed. “You guys just don’t have enough imagination. I can think of something way better than that.”

  “Oh really?” Lyman said.

  “Yeah, really.”

  “What could be better?” Choke said.

  I turned away from them and walked along the edge of the canyon. I slipped my shirt off and dropped it behind me. I took a few steps then pulled my sports bra over my head and tossed it to the side. I loosened my pigtails and threw the scrunchies to the ground. I shook my hair out. I turned to face the men. I raised my arms and flipped my hair back. “Getting fucked like an animal by two men at once on the rim of the Grand Canyon while the sun sets. Heroin is optional.”

  Lyman took the matchstick out of his mouth. He turned to look at Choke, raised an eyebrow.

  Choke shrugged.

  They came at me.

  SIXTEEN

  Selena

  I SAT IN the back of the limo and watched the Vegas Strip blur by through the tinted glass. A huge throng of people was on the street, a thick mass of them in a line, moving like a single organism. They were in their summer clothes, shuffling along, miserable looks on their faces. Whatever satisfaction they sought in Vegas, it eluded them. The heat outside was stifling, but the air was cool inside the car.

  I was ready to close the deal with Lyman and get back to my people. It’s not that I longed for home. I didn’t really have one. And once the Johnson City situation was settled, I’d be leaving there as well. Too many people in that part of the country were looking for me to answer for the crimes I’d committed.

  But I sure as hell didn’t belong in Vegas either.

  I had fresh makeup on, my lips a bright shade of red, my eyelids darkened. My perfume was right. I was chewing spearmint gum instead of smoking, dressed in a short, plaid skirt like a school girl. I wore a skimpy white blouse, tied above my navel, and unbuttoned low from the collar. Sheer white knee socks and cheerleader sneakers. I held my purse in my lap.