“Yeah. Given the special fucking circumstances. I mean, this place ain’t exactly your basic highball lounge, you know what I mean?”
I smirk. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So what’s to it, Digger?”
“Dick.”
“Dick?”
“Yeah. D. He’s tits up. Right now. I just seen him on the fucking slab.”
“Fuck me. Really? How? When? Here, have another round. On me,” Ray goes, looking back over his shoulder while he gets my round. He hurries back and leans on the bar to get the goods.
I blow air through my lips, then drain the Jack. Burn. I cool the fire with a swallow of beer. “Cops say he overdosed on pills.”
“Fuck,” Ray goes, all solemn. “I only met him a few times but he didn’t seem like no pillhead.”
“He wasn’t. Someone gave them to him. Someone he was with.”
“Where was he?”
“The Hilton,” I go, eyebrows raised.
“The Hilton? Fuck. Times have changed.”
“Yeah. Sometimes I think so.”
“And other times?”
“Other times it’s the same shit in a different bowl.”
“Got that right. So what happens now? With the money, I mean.”
“I don’t know. The Square John lawyer’ll figure that out along with his Square John friends.”
“You split it, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So you should ask for it back.”
“How come?”
“How come? I don’t know. Just sounds right. Like that’s what Dick’d want.”
“You figure?”
“Sure. You guys hung tight for a long time. He wouldn’ta had the life he had if it weren’t for you.”
“Yeah. I figure the fucking Square Johns’ll be all over it, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, yeah. Why the hell else were they hanging around?”
“Maybe they liked you.”
“Fuck you. You just said you had a hard time liking me. Why should they?”
“Hey, who can figure out the straights? They seemed like good folks when they were here. I mean, they came here. And that was before the money.”
“I guess. But what pisses me off is how they think they’re in a friggin’ movie all the time. They walk around like every fucking thing is gonna be explained for them. Like everything is gonna be what it is and all they gotta do is hang. They don’t gotta do nothing.”
“Whatta ya mean?”
“I mean they knew D was up shit creek a long time before this and that he couldn’t swim and they didn’t do nothing for him. Just waited and fucking waited and now he’s fucking dead and I hate those cocksuckers,” I go, and wave at Ray for more.
“You saying he offed himself?”
“Fuck, no. I’m saying they’re the ones with the world by the ass. They’re the ones got the tools and shit. They’re the fucking shrinks and quacks and goody-goodies who’re supposed to help guys like him and they didn’t. They fucking didn’t. All they did was try to pass it off on me.”
“You? How?”
“Said I should talk to him. Like I’m a fucking shrink. Fuck. What was I supposed to say? What the fuck do I know about why a guy won’t sleep at night?”
“Don’t know. What do you know?”
I look at him and feel the old rage inside me again like I hadn’t felt for a long time. Feel it building in my belly and pushing at the sides of my head.
“I know that shit is shit and the only one who can clean out your stall is you. Me? I got no business in someone else’s head. I got enough fucking problems dealing with my own.”
“Sounds just like them,” Ray goes.
“Fuck you,” I go, draining my draft but wondering why I feel sucker-punched all of a sudden.
One For The Dead
I SAW THE FACE of a shadowed one. I saw it in the fashioned wood of the carving Timber had made of Dick. Once the others had gone to take care of the funeral and the media, Timber took me to Digger’s store and showed it to me. It was lovely. I could see how it had once been a big log. I guess that’s what caught me first, the curious feeling of seeing the missing parts first, the log in its original form and then the magical unveiling of the man. I wondered if all art is like that, or if only those things that are hewn from love are graced with that particular magic. Anyway, I stood in the hushed light in the back of the store and saw it. Dick. He was wrapped in a blanket and staring across the open space in front of him in the way that your loved ones do when you catch them in private moments and they don’t know you’re there. Stark. Open. Naked. He was beautiful.
“It’s like he was here,” I said.
“Thank you,” Timber said. “I was afraid that maybe I’d missed him.”
“No. This is definitely Dick. His hands. Even his hands the way they’re holding the blanket seem alive, like they’re ready to clench tighter.”
“Yes. It’s nearly done.”
“What else is there? It looks finished to me, Jonas.”
“You call me Jonas more now. How come?”
“I guess because I know you more now and you feel more like Jonas to me instead of Timber. Sometimes I think Timber is gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Back where he always belonged, I guess.”
“Where’s that?” he asked, sitting on a stool.
“In the past,” I said. “Everybody’s past.”
“Everybody’s past? Is there a past that belongs to all of us?”
“Yes. It lives in the forget-me place.”
“Where’s that?”
“Somewhere in our journey together where someone was left behind and it was shrugged off like it didn’t matter, like that person didn’t matter, and the rest just carried on. Every tribe has a moment in their history like that. All of us. That’s where Timber belongs. Not here. Not now. This is where Jonas Hohnstein lives.”
“I like that image. The forget-me place. Is that where Dick is?”
I looked at him. He looked like a brother trying to cope with loss, all sudden and complicated. “No,” I said. “Even if he was once, you’ve just moved him from there forever with this carving.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Definitely. This is beautiful. It’s like a song.”
We looked at the piece together and he talked to me about Double Dick. Told me about the lessons he’d learned from being in his company, from seeing his struggle and his small victories. He told me about how in the beginning he’d doubted that there was a friendship under all of Dick’s half-formed thoughts and questions. He told me how he’d watched him grow and how he’d wanted all of that to go into the piece in front of us. He told me how he’d loved him.
“It’s all there,” I said. “All of that is there in that wood.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. You can feel it.”
“Is it enough?”
I walked over and put my arms around him and hugged him. I felt his sorrow in the way his arms hung loose at his sides, like they couldn’t lift a feather. “Love is always enough,” I said.
Granite
I WAS PREPARING the tabletop for a few hours of writing: notepads, pens, water, and a waste basket. I’d made the necessary arrangements with Mac, and although the paper would run a short story on Dick’s passing, the bulk of it would come from me. There was a big commotion at the front door. Margo and I exchanged a look and then headed out.
It was James. He’d dropped his briefcase and he and Amelia and Timber were scrambling about trying to retrieve things, made more difficult by a very tipsy Digger who was two-stepping around them trying to get out of the way.
“We all have to talk. Right now,” James said when the papers had been returned to his case.
“What’s going on?” Digger asked, squinting one eye shut for focus.
“We need to talk,” James repeated.
We moved into the living room an
d made ourselves comfortable. James took an extra moment to compose himself and in that instant we all looked at each other, plumbing for clues. We had none.
“Dick left a will,” James said, clearing his throat.
“What? How the hell did he do that? He couldn’t friggin’ write,” Digger said.
“He didn’t need to,” James said. “He put it all on this tape recorder.” He pulled a small hand-held recorder from his pocket. We all stared at it like pilgrims at a shrine.
“I’m gonna need a drink,” Digger said.
“Me too,” Timber said.
“Might as well make it three,” I said, and James nodded in agreement.
I crossed to the bar and began preparing glasses. “Is it really a will? If it is, if he took the time to outline his wishes, it makes the accidental overdose angle hard to sell,” I said.
“Hey, fuck you,” Digger said angrily. “I’ve really had enough of your shit.”
“Digger,” James said firmly. “Enough. This is important and you’d best hear what’s on this tape. You need to know that this will stand as the last will and testament of Richard Dumont. It will stand because he gives specific directions as to how and where he wants his assets to go. He makes specific, clear reference to where they came from, how he acquired them, and therefore no contest can be made regarding the state of his mind at the time. Certainly there’s the question of intoxication, but he’s coherent enough. Ready?”
Margo moved to sit beside Amelia. They held hands and leaned their heads together.
“Ready as we’ll ever be, I suppose,” I said, and James played the tape.
Double Dick
I NEVER WANTED you to worry. I guess you did anyhow on accounta you always worry about me. But I hadta walk. Sometimes it helps me to walk on accounta my head don’t gotta focus on one thing an’ I can look around and feel less trapped by stuff. That’s how I felt that night. Trapped. I been trapped a long time an’ I had to leave so I could figure out how to get myself free. See, I done somethin’ bad one time. Somethin’ real bad an’ I ain’t never been able to really get away from it even though I left where I was when I done it. I can’t talk about it now. But maybe when I get back from Tucumcary I will. Maybe when I spend some time in the sun an’ walk around down there I’ll be able to find a way to get away from this an’ tell you all on accounta right now it’s hard an’ scary an’ I don’t know where to start. But it’s how come the Ironweed movie freaked me out. On accounta it was almost the same an’ I thought it was talkin’ to me. But I ain’t got no place to go back to to try’n make things right, not like the man in the movie when he went an’ talked to the woman after all that time. I ain’t got no place where anyone ever wants to talk to me again or see me walk down the street on accounta what I done was so bad. All I got is Tucumcary. So when I come back I’ll try’n have more to say about that.
But that’s not how come I’m doin’ this. That’s not how come I’m talkin’ into this tape. I wanna tell you all about what I’m think-in’. I wanna tell you what I wanna do on accounta everybody’s got somethin’ they do now except maybe One For The Dead, who looks out for us an’ that’s kinda been what she done all the time an’ she still wants to do it so she does, but me I got nothin’. Nothin’ except watchin’ movies, an’ I wanna do somethin’.
I like talkin’ to people. Sometimes they figure I’m a loogan on accounta I don’t get stuff right off the hop but I like talkin’ anyhow. So I thought I could be a visitor at the Mission an’ the shelters an’ drop-ins an’ stuff like that. Just go down an’ talk on accounta more than anything people wants to talk an’ I know all about the life on accounta I was a rounder for so long. Am I still a rounder, Digger? I get confused about that on accounta the money an’ the house an’ stuff. I hope so. Bein’ a rounder’s all I know about. That’s how come I could be a good visitor. ’Cause I’m a rounder. Anyhow, I figure that’s what I’d be good at an’ it don’t take no school or nothin’ an’ I don’t gotta make no money, so why not?
That’s what I wanna do. But first I’m goin’ to Tucumcary like I always wanted to do from the time I was a kid. Tom Bruce said it was a dream place. So maybe goin’ to a dream place means I can swap the one I been carryin’ for another one. A better one. Like swappin’ a movie you watched too many times. I done that a few times an’ it worked out good.
But when I get back I wanna do somethin’. Somethin’ important. Well, more than one thing but I gotta talk about one first on accounta talkin’ about two or three’ll just confuse me an’ I don’t know how long the batteries last on these things. Okay. Let’s see. Oh, yeah. Digger.
I know you don’t need nothin’ an’ you probably don’t want nothin’ neither on accounta you like things simple like you always said, but I want you to buy a Ferris wheel. I want you to take some of my money from Mr. James an’ get one of them things an’ put it up where people can ride it an’ you can run it like you done before. I know you miss that. Buy some land somewhere an’ put your wheel up in the sky again an’ ride it like you done before. Ride it like the best wheelman in the world. Then you can show me how to run it maybe, an’ I could give you a ride an’ other people could ride it too, whenever they want on accounta Ferris wheels always make people happy an’ if we’re not usin’ all that money to help make people happy then I figure maybe we didn’t learn nothin’ from all the time we was rounders on the street an’ didn’t have nothin’. That’s what I think anyhow, an’ wouldn’t it be nice to have a Ferris wheel in the neighbourhood to go an’ ride any time we wanted? Maybe it would give people dreams like the kind they had when they was kids. That’s a nice present, huh? For everybody.
Next is One For The Dead. I always wanted to buy you a dress. I used to look at you when we was rounders an’ think to myself that you really needed a nice dress. A really nice dress kinda like the ones we seen in the movies sometimes. The ones that make women look like dream women on accounta most dresses don’t got that kinda magic. Purple maybe, on accounta you told me one time that purple is a special colour in your Indian way but I forget what that is on accounta I don’t remember stuff like that for very long no more, but purple would be nice anyhow. A nice light kind of purple like you see in the sky after the rain goes away an’ the sun comes out to set an’ remind us that there’s always one more comin’. One more day comin’. Nice light purple. Like hope feels sometimes when you get it. You always give me hope an’ even though a dress ain’t nearly a big thing like a Ferris wheel I know you’d think it was on accounta you always think like that. An’ you could wear it when we go ride Digger’s wheel. An’ maybe I could get one of them suits like the dancer guy wore in that movie with one of them fancy kind of hats, the gloves, an’ the little cane thingamajig. Yeah. That’s what I’d get you an’ I want you to have. Miss Margo can help you look on accounta she’s so pretty an’ knows about all that stuff.
Anyhow, before I forget what I’m doin’ I gotta talk to Timber. Timber, you gave away all your money on accounta you wanted to take care of your missus that you never done all them years on accounta you was a rounder and you forgot to do that. I thought that was nice. She’s a nice lady. Kinda quiet an’ scared kinda, but a nice lady anyhow. You gave her all your money because you remembered that you loved her an’ that it was the right thing to do. Me, I don’t need no money on accounta I can’t figure what this millionaire thing is supposed to be all about anyhow an’ I never did wanna do nothin’ but watch movies an’ now go talk to people an’ that don’t take no money no more. I got a house to live an’ I won’t ever be hungry on accounta One For The Dead wouldn’t let me, so I wanna give you back what you gave away. Get it from Mr. James on accounta he takes care of my loot. I want you to have it an’ get everythin’ you need to make your carvings. Maybe even get your own place like Digger’s got an’ show people what you do. That’s what I want.
The rest of my money goes to Granite. Whatever’s left. You never say much about your life an’ sometimes I think
you’re just like me on accounta you got people you carry around with you too. An’ you sold your nice house. So I wanna give you my money so you can buy it back an’ go there with Miss Margo an’ be happy. See, when I used to walk around all alone them evenings after we split up an’ went our own ways, I used to kinda spy in people’s windows while I was walkin’ an’ try’n get a little glimpse of what they was doin’ in their houses an’ see how they was livin’ on accounta the house I lived in wasn’t like them big houses at all an’ livin’ in a shack has gotta be different than what goes on there or even in the nice house made out of stone that you lived in. I thought maybe if I figured it out that I could get that for myself too, sometime. But I never could. Maybe I just didn’t see enough when I looked. I don’t know. But I do know that people like you don’t got no business not havin’ a place that’s just for them. You ain’t no street guy an’ you don’t think like a street guy even though sometimes you kinda feel like one of us on accounta you lost so much. But people like you need to be where everythin’ ever happened for them. It’s history. I like that word. History. Did you know that if you kinda split it into two it makes “his story”? Well, when I got to thinkin’ about you I thought that for Granite that big stone house was “his story” an’ I figured that he hadta be where his story was. When you got somethin’ that’s part of your story, you gotta hang on to it as hard as you can or it’ll go away an’ you’ll spend all your time from then on tryin’ to get it back but you can’t on accounta time don’t work that way. You gotta go home, Granite. You gotta go home on accounta you gotta finish your story. When you got one, you don’t gotta look for any other ones on accounta you got the only one you ever need to tell. So have my money on accounta I don’t got no home an’ I don’t got no story to finish but maybe I could come there sometime an’ be a part of yours. Go home, Granite, go home.
Digger
“GET WHAT YOU WANTED, Rock?” I go once the tape stopped.
“What?” he goes.
Ragged Company Page 36