by Rector, John
“Indian School,” Jacob says. It comes back to him all at once. “Fifteenth and Indian School.”
Marcus exhales into the phone. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” Jacob says. He’d only met the girl once, but she wasn’t easy to forget. Claire Reese was stunning—dark hair cut short, green eyes, and a light complexion that made Jacob think of everything he’d never have in life. The girl he saw on the phone had longer hair, but everything else was the same. “Trust me on this.”
“All right, I’ll get someone over there.” He laughs. “I can’t believe Cooper was stupid enough to come back in the same car.”
Jacob can. This was, after all, the same guy who skipped town with almost thirty grand of Decker’s money. Coming back in the same car, as far as Jacob was concerned, was par for the course. “What do you want me to do?”
“Head home, I don’t care.” He pauses. “No wait, drive around and see if you can find her. If you do, take her to your place. I’ll meet you there. We might need her.”
“For what?” Jacob says. He thinks about the ice cream melting in the car, Blade Runner back in his apartment, his entire afternoon dissolving in front of him. “I thought you only wanted Cooper.”
“If we can’t find him we’ll get his wife. He’ll want her back.”
“I don’t know, man. The clerk said he barely slowed down when he dropped her off. Maybe he ditched her for good.”
“Either way, she’ll know where the son of a bitch is.”
Jacob makes a doubtful noise. He hates the idea of driving around, looking for this girl. He’s too stoned for that kind of activity. “Aw, man, I don’t think—”
“Don’t fucking whine at me, Jacob,” Marcus says. “Just look for her. If you find her, hold her. It’s not tough.”
Jacob waits a moment before responding. “All right,” he says. “I’ll look around, but if I don’t see her I’m going home.”
“Think of it this way,” Marcus says. “If you find her, I bet Decker lets you have your job back.”
Jacob considers the possibility for a moment. It was probably true. Decker might not give him the same shift—maybe not even the same club—but he’d most likely let him tend bar at one of the smaller dives in Tempe, and that was fine by him. He needed to work again. Ever since Decker threw him out, his days had been a long string of rented movies and bong hits. And as much fun as that was, it’d begun to get old. “But I thought Decker said—”
“You bring in Cooper Reese, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Decker lets you manage one of the clubs.” Marcus laughs. “Then you can give away all the God damn drinks you want.”
Marcus is giving him shit, but still, Jacob can’t help but smile.
~
Traffic on Camelback road is light, and Jacob says a quick prayer of thanks to whatever gods handle that type of thing. He’s been in Phoenix almost four years, and he’s gotten used to the heat and the floods and the scorpions, but he’s never gotten used to the drivers. He has a theory that the heat cooks away people’s brains over time, rendering them incapable of driving safely. So far he’s seen nothing that disproves this theory. Stop signs, speed limits, traffic lights—in Phoenix they’re all optional.
Jacob, in contrast, drives slow, especially when he’s high. He’s used to people passing him on both sides, always honking, always screaming. It’s unnerving. It takes something serious to get him to drive when he’s high, like ice cream, or the possibility of getting his job back.
The last time Jacob counted, Carl Decker owned seven nightclubs throughout Phoenix, Scottsdale, and Tempe: two strip clubs, two dance clubs, and three small neighborhood bars. Jacob had bartended at a small strip joint called Whiskey Street, just outside of Scottsdale. Things had gone along great until Decker noticed the inventory not matching up with the sales and, without Jacob knowing, installed cameras and waited.
In the course of one month, Decker estimated Jacob gave away close to three thousand dollars worth of drinks. That was almost a month ago, and Jacob hadn’t worked since. Luckily, Marcus was Jacob’s cousin, and Decker and Marcus were thick. Otherwise things could’ve wound up a lot worse.
~
Jacob sees her about five blocks up from the circle K, walking along the side of the road. He’s lucky. A girl who looks like that doesn’t walk for long. There’s always someone willing to stop.
Jacob passes her and pulls into a strip mall parking lot. He parks in front of a tuxedo rental and waits for her to pass. When she gets closer, Jacob opens the door and gets out. He waves to her. At first she doesn’t seem to recognize him then she crosses the parking lot to where he’s standing.
“You still need that ride?” Jacob asks.
The girl nods and walks around to the passenger side. Jacob leans across to unlock her door. He puts the ice cream in the back. The container is already getting soft. She gets inside and says, “Why’d you change your mind?”
Jacob shrugs. “Just did.” He pulls out of the parking lot and heads back toward his apartment. “Too hot out here to walk.”
“You got that right.” She takes a cigarette from her purse and lights it. “You care if I smoke in here?”
Jacob shakes his head and rolls his window down a couple inches. The air is hot and he adjusts himself so it’s not blowing on him. “What happened back there?” Jacob asks. “The guy at the store said someone threw you out of a car.”
“My old man.”
“No shit?” Jacob smiles. “What happened?”
“What’s it to you?” She reaches out and ashes her cigarette on the floor. “Why don’t you mind your own goddamn business?”
They are both quiet for a while, then the girl speaks. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Shitty day.” She takes a deep breath and Jacob thinks she’s going to cry. Instead she laughs. “He’s tweaking. I can’t reason with him when he’s like that.”
“Tweaking?” Jacob says. It takes a moment for him to understand. “As in—”
“Meth,” the girl says. “He needs to get high, and he thinks I took his money.” She shakes her head. “I’ve got half a mind to call his probation officer and tell her what he’s been doing. Maybe I can get the son of a bitch put back in jail. Things were so much better when he was inside.”
“Did you take his money?”
The girl smiles and blows a thick stream of smoke against the windshield. “Where are we going?” She points behind her. “Indian School is back there.”
Jacob motions toward the bag in the back seat. “I’ve got ice cream,” he says. “I need to drop it by my apartment so it doesn’t melt. Do you care?”
“How long will it take?”
“Not long,” he says. “You’re welcome to come up, get out of the heat.”
The girl turns and looks back at the bag. She puts the cigarette to her lips and inhales. “I’m not going to fuck you,” she says.
Jacob hadn’t expected her to, but still, he can’t help feel a bit disappointed. “I wasn’t trying to say—”
“I just want to make that clear, up front,” she says. “I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. Especially with strangers.”
“I understand.”
“Make sure you do.” She turns toward the passenger window and the blur of orange trees passing along the road. “You live close?”
“Only a few blocks.”
The girl nods and looks around the inside of the car. “I hope your apartment is nicer than your car.”
~
Jacob follows her up the stairs to his apartment, watching her ass as she walks. He wonders if she was serious about not fucking him. She probably was, but he doesn’t want to ask, just in case she changes her mind. He doesn’t want to sound desperate.
When they get to the top of the stairs she stops and digs through her purse. “Which one is it?”
“Number six,” he says, motioning to a door at the end of the hallway. He walks past her, shifting the ice cream bag from one hand and
shuffling through his keys with the other. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, so it’s a mess.” He reaches down and unlocks the door. “I can pick up if you—”
Jacob feels something hard press against the base of his skull. He knows what it is before he turns around. The gun is tiny, and he tries not to smile. It looks like one of those models designed for small hands, probably a .22 caliber.
“Go inside.” She waves the gun at him. “Hurry, hurry.”
Jacob can’t stop staring. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to be shot by a gun that small, the tiny bullet burning into his forehead. He’d heard small caliber bullets didn’t have much power and had been known to stay inside a person’s skull, spinning like a marble in a bowl, ripping tissue from bone. The thought scares him, and he moves quickly.
“You don’t need to do this,” Jacob says. “They only want your husband.”
“My husband?” she says, closing the door. “What the hell are you talking about?”
At first there is only a tiny spark of doubt. “It’s okay,” Jacob says. “They think you’ll lead them to Cooper. They don’t want—”
“Who the fuck is Cooper?” She moves toward him and presses the gun against his chest. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, so just shut up.” She glances around the apartment then motions toward the hallway and the bathroom. “In there.”
“Come on, Claire.”
“Who?” She pushes him with the gun. “Just shut the fuck up and get in the bathroom.”
Jacob moves slowly, watching her. For the first time he allows himself to wonder if he’s made a mistake. He tries to pull up a memory of Claire Reese, the way she spoke to him when they’d met. He remembered her sounding delicate and smart, like an Audrey Hepburn character, not like this girl, nothing like this girl.
The tiny spark of doubt grows, and Jacob feels it burn at the base of his stomach. “You’re not Claire Reese?” he asks, but once it’s out he knows the answer. Claire had green eyes. This girl’s eyes are brown, and her hair is past her shoulders. Last time he saw Claire—a few months back—her hair was cut above her ears. Not enough time had passed for it to grow that long. Jacob steps into the bathroom and slumps against the sink. “You’re not Claire Reese.”
“Hand me your wallet,” she says.
Jacob does. He stares at the water stains on the floor, thinking about what he’s going to say to Marcus.
She reaches for the door handle. “If you come out of this room I’m going to shoot you.”
Jacob starts to speak, but she slams the door. He drops the toilet lid and sits down. “Doesn’t your husband drive a blue Firebird?” he asks.
The girl doesn’t answer. He sees her shadow moving in the space under the door and hears her shuffling through his living room. “Is this all the money you got?” she says.
Something soft hits the door, probably his wallet minus his last five bucks. He doesn’t answer her.
“You got anything else in here?”
“Do you know Cooper Reese?” Jacob asks. “Blue Firebird? Bulls eye on the—”
“Man, shut the fuck up.”
He hears something heavy slide across the kitchen counter and then the sound of glass shattering and the metallic rush of coins across linoleum. The girl is muttering something, but Jacob can’t make it out.
“I don’t have anything,” Jacob says. “You don’t have to break stuff.”
There’s another loud crash from the living room. Jacob hears cables being pulled and he stands up. “Come on, now,” he says. “Don’t take my VCR.”
“Shut up.”
The noise becomes frantic and Jacob cringes. He imagines her tearing the cable from the wall, pulling the jack out of the TV. He reaches for the doorknob then stops himself and steps back. “Just be careful, will you?”
A few minutes later he hears the front door open and softly click shut. He waits, then says, “Hello?”
No answer.
He presses his ear against the door.
Silence.
He turns the doorknob and inches the door open, peeking through the crack. The shelf above his TV is down, and his collection of shot glasses is scattered across the living room floor. He walks out slowly. All the shelves are empty. The coffee table is upside down, and his Sports Illustrated and Maxim’s are heaped in a pile by the couch.
His VCR is gone.
In the kitchen, his change jar is broken, and the floor is littered with pennies. The Ice cream is still by the door. A thin, milky pink liquid has leaked through the bag and soaked into the carpet.
Jacob sweeps a shot glass out of the way with his foot and walks to the front door. He pulls it open slowly and looks out. The hallway is empty. He hears a car start in the parking lot and he feels his pockets for his keys. “Oh, shit.” He jumps over the coffee table and looks out the window.
The girl is in his car, backing slowly out of the parking lot. She’s struggling with the clutch, and the car jerks and stalls. She restarts it and the car lurches toward the exit.
“Hey!” Jacob shouts to her. He turns and runs out the door and down the hallway. He takes the stairs two at a time, the dry wood moaning under his weight. He misses the last stair and falls forward. The hall carpet scrapes into the side of his face and Jacob inhales a dry mist of ancient dust. He pushes himself up and touches his cheek. The skin is raw and burning.
When he gets to the parking lot his car is gone. He sits on the edge of the walkway and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.
A moment later, Marcus pulls up, and Jacob laughs under his breath.
He’ll tell Marcus there was no sign of Claire, that she must’ve found another ride. A girl who looks like that? He’ll believe him.
Marcus parks in one of the visitor spaces and gets out of the car. He walks toward Jacob. He’s smiling.
He’ll tell Marcus someone broke in while he was looking for her, and when he got home his apartment was trashed.
And they took his VCR.
Hopefully he’ll believe him.
When Marcus gets close he holds his hands out over Jacob’s empty parking space and asks, “Where’s your car?”
Jacob shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to explain the car.
Marcus smiles, and Jacob sees the laughter in his eyes. He looks away. He hopes Marcus will keep quiet, but he knows he won’t. Marcus lives for these moments.
Still, maybe this time Marcus will see things are different. Maybe he’ll lay off.
Jacob hopes so.
He gets enough shit from Marcus as it is.
A Season of Sleep
Mattie watched from the porch as the fat man lurched up the dirt road. His left leg, twisted at the knee, dragged and buckled with each step. Behind him, a thin trail of dust drifted white in the breeze before dissolving over the cornfields that lined the road. He moved slow, keeping his head down, and when he reached the driveway he stopped and stared at the house.
Mattie walked to the edge of the porch and squinted against the setting sun. The man didn’t move. She raised the rifle to her shoulder and studied him down the length of the barrel. He stood for a moment, looking from the road to the house and then back again, before stepping onto the driveway.
Mattie took a deep breath and began to count. “One… Two… Three...” She squeezed the trigger and the back of the man’s head opened onto the road. A second later his body dropped hard into the dirt.
A scatter of crows rose from the cornfield then drifted down again like ash.
The fat man didn’t move.
“Did you recognize him?” The voice came from the upstairs window. Mattie didn’t turn around.
“I think it was Mr. Cavender,” she said. “I’m not sure.”
She was sure.
Mr. Cavender had been her Freshman Lit teacher the year before. There were rumors that the district had to widen the restroom doors by the teacher’s lounge to accommodate his girth. Mattie didn’t know if this was true,
but it wouldn’t have surprised her.
“So, they got to the school?”
Mattie didn’t answer. She stared at the body at the foot of the driveway and searched for movement. There was none.
“Mattie?”
“Close the window, Nathan. Get some rest.”
They were quiet for a moment, and then Nathan spoke. “Have you seen him?”
Mattie turned toward the window. She saw a flash of blond hair and felt her stomach sink. “No,” she said, turning back to the road. “Not yet.”