Psychosomatic

by Anthony Neil Smith

  The world was open to them—an airport next door if they could make a flight before the cops sent out an all points bulletin, plenty of cash from cleaning out one of Lydia’s checking accounts at a gas station ATM. On the way over, with the car speakers turned to the back so he could have some privacy, he asked Lydia, “Where do you want to go?”

  She barely moved her lips when she said, “Home.”

  “Really, sweetie. Have you thought about it?”

  She turned her head to him, eyes full of surrender. Strapped into the seat without her rubber arms and legs, it was like she had lost the real ones all over again, and her plans for ruling Norm’s little empire were ruined. “Wherever you choose, it’s fine. I don’t really care.”

  “I was thinking New Mexico for some reason. I don’t know why. Hell, old Mexico is just as good. We’ve got passports, right?”

  “Did you get mine?”

  “I think so. Still, from New Mexico we can drive down if we want. I want to see Cabo. Sammy Hagar’s got a club there, loves the place. Cabo Wabo.”

  At the hotel, he parked in front of the room and got out. He took Lydia in first and situated her on one of the beds.

  “You need to pee first, something like that?”

  She shook her head.

  Alan lingered a moment, hands in his pockets. This wasn’t like Lydia to be so quiet. He needed her to lead. Up to that moment he was improvising, guessing what she would do, waiting for some guidance that never came. He wanted her to tell him what to do.

  “Did you kill those cops?” she said.

  Alan shrugged. “Not the first two. The guys in the living room, I don’t even know. I aimed low at the couch, tried to scare them.”

  She grinned faintly, enough to let him know it was the right thing to do. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Megan and Norm were both asleep. She was easy to wake up. Alan struggled with Norm, hand still wrapped in his shirt, beginning to stink, finally shaking the man conscious enough to stand up. Alan nearly carried him inside, placed him sitting up in the tub. It might be the place he would die. Standing over Norm, Alan blamed him for everything and worried about him at the same time. It was like Lydia was The Wizard all this time and his newfound boldness was an illusion. With her down, he was Cowardly Lion again.

  He knelt by the tub and lifted Norm’s wrapped hand, worked the shirt free with delicate fingering, the blood drying like glue but still tacky. When finished, Alan stared at the leftover pulp that used to be a hand. A bullet must have struck between the fingers and ripped straight through. The thumb was barely there. The pinkie, black and purple, swollen. Norm was too far gone to feel Alan as he turned the wrist gently to see all the way around.

  A voice at his ear said, “Oh my God.”

  Alan swung his head, almost bumping Megan in the nose. She was right over his shoulder. He didn’t hear her come into the bathroom.

  “Is he going to be all right?” she said.

  “I don’t know. It might heal up, it might get infected, probably get infected. He’s been in shock for a while, too. I can pour some peroxide on it, I guess.”

  “That might hurt him.”

  “Look at his goddamn hand, honey. What can be worse? Either I try a little something or we give up and pray over him. Other than that, what else can we do?”

  She crossed her arms and stood straight. The innocent act was wearing thin. Alan didn’t know what to make of her pouring on the flirt with him. Same act she pulled on Norm right before the cops knocked on the door, catching her rubbing all over him when they showed up at Lydia’s, about one base away from a homer.

  “I didn’t know this would happen. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, because if I hadn’t come along, you might’ve have had more time,” she said.

  Alan nodded. “You’re right.”

  Her face went hard fast as flicking a switch. “Well, it’s too late. I’m here for the rest of the ride, so get used to it. I can help your leper girlfriend in there when you’re not around.”

  Alan stood and shoved Megan against the wall. “You won’t call her names. You’ll treat her with respect, and if I find out you don’t, maybe you’re not as hard to get rid of as you think.”

  Megan slipped down and crawled between Alan’s legs. He tried to close them around her waist. She twisted through and sat up by the tub, running her hand through Norm’s hair. “Poor guy. And the things he told me right before we were interrupted, you wouldn’t believe.” She clucked her tongue and closed her eyes.

  Alan thought of ten things to say, finally not saying any of them. He turned and walked out of the bathroom.

  *

  Lydia was having trouble sorting awake from dreaming. It happened often the past several years but she always had the prosthetic arms and legs to bring her back to earth, keep her grounded. Without them her daydreams overloaded her brain, and even with her eyes open she wasn’t seeing the claustrophobic hotel room with the smell of orange-scented deodorizer. She was standing at the door, walking out. She was in the lobby of the hotel asking the desk clerk to call her a cab.

  When Alan carried Norm into the room and to the bathroom, Lydia’s thoughts were far away, the taxi ride only a few seconds like a TV show edit, back at her home in Biloxi, no blood or dead policemen. She sat on her couch and watched those curtains ripple liquid in the breeze. That was peaceful, the only thing that really smothered her anger.

  Megan lumbered into the hotel room, stood over Lydia’s bed with crossed arms and stared at her a moment before heading for the bathroom. It only registered far back in Lydia’s subconscious mind. The girl was from another time and place and Lydia had moved on.

  The phone ringing in her home. Ronnie apologizing. Lydia’s hand ached a little from holding the phone to her ear but it was okay. Ronnie was sad, missing Lydia while he rotted in the grave. So sorry to have been blind to her beauty, grace, and calm. She answered, “I know, it’s okay. I accept. I’m so glad you called.” Ronnie told her God had forgiven him and he was going to be let into Heaven when the time came. She was happy for him. Then an invisible boulder sat beside her on the couch, sank into the cushion. An invisible paw stroked her hair. She batted at it with her hands but they felt nothing.

  The orange fumes burned like smelling salts and Lydia jerked her head, blinking fast, flailing hands that weren’t there, but the aching still was. Alan sat on the bed with her, brushing his fingers through her hair. The lights made everything in the room look bigger.

  “Are you all right?” Alan said.

  “I can’t stay this way. You can’t carry me around in a sack or over your shoulder.”

  “I know.”

  “Then where can we get a wheelchair? And keeping the prosthetics would’ve been nice.”

  “We didn’t have time, sweetie. And you didn’t want the one that was left.”

  Lydia turned to the curtains, bland and heavy and hiding the window. The only way to regain control was pretend she never lost it. “Going back to Biloxi isn’t an option. We need to leave soon.”

  “Okay. Have you decided on a place yet?”

  “Anywhere warm with a direct flight tonight will be fine. We can start there until I’m ready to move again.”

  Alan nodded. “They’ll find us. Running around like this is all silly, but it’s the best we’ve got. Maybe Mexico will swallow us and no one will ever bother looking for us anymore. I only killed one man, after all.”

  “Two men. Cap, remember? And you tried to kill Lancaster. And you’re about to kill Norm, am I right?”

  Alan didn’t say anything. He sighed and dropped his fat chin, looking more and more like the shaky blob who showed up at her house one afternoon a couple months before, no backbone and afraid of his own shadow.

  “Alan?”

  “It’s not like he’s going to live much longer anyway. Really, his hand is a mess and he’s in shock, and if we sit here a while then nature will take care of it for us, but God knows when. Shit, th
is girl, she wants to go with us. I don’t know what to do.”

  “We might need Norm to help us with contacts.”

  “Didn’t Ronnie have contacts?”

  “That’s ancient history. We need who Norm knows.” Lydia’s eyes did a Bette Davis thing before she said, “Put me in the chair.”

  Alan lifted her from the bed, cradling her like an infant as he carried her around the bed to one of the two plush chairs. He eased her down and then knelt in front of the chair, hands gripping the armrests, ready to catch Lydia if she fell. Lydia lifted her chin, so Alan leaned his ear close to her mouth.

  “Where is she?”

  Alan said, “In the bathroom with Norm.”

  “She’s listening,” Lydia said, mumbling. It was easier to hear whispering from a distance than mumbling, she thought. Alan nodded his understanding.

  Lydia went on. “Tell her she can come. Keep telling her until we’re ready. You need to be strong for me and end her for me when I ask you too. Don’t you hate the way she looks at me? Like she wants to take my place. What can she do for you better than me?”

  “Nothing,” Alan mumbled.

  “She doesn’t care about you like I do. You believe I care, right? This whole time we’ve been together—”

  “I know, sweetie. You’ve shown it everyday.”

  Megan appeared in the bathroom door, a frown on her face.

  “Kiss me,” Lydia said.

  Alan kissed her, a needy kiss that she tried to return with equal energy. She closed her eyes a moment, then fluttered them open to watch Megan’s frown crimp into disgust before she turned to the door and walked out to the parking lot.

  Lydia allowed Alan to keep kissing her after she was ready for it to stop. Let him take what he needs, she thought. Fill him up like a camel.

  *

  Megan sat on the bathroom floor after Crabtree left trying to think of how to get to Lancaster before these people could kill him. She needed more information about him and his friend, more than these liars were giving her.

  Until meeting Lancaster, Megan had nothing in life that really compelled her—it was the same every day, no reason to wake up.

  Then Megan saw this man who was exactly like the man she daydreamed about when imagining The One. The relationship that would change her life by making her feel alive and passionate and lustful and damn-near-anything again. It was this guy, the one with the bloody arm and the muscles and the square jaw.

  The fire alarm scattered everyone and she lost track except for seeing Crabtree go after a minivan. She was glad she paid attention.

  She almost had more info from Norm, him ready to spill everything he knew for a chance to fuck her. So so close. Then the cops showed up and everyone scrambled and Norm got shot and these other two weren’t going to tell her a damn thing.

  She glanced at Norm, still dead to the world in the tub. Megan reached behind her for a towel hanging from the rack, pulled it down and spread it over Norm so she wouldn’t have to look at that hand. All that about feeling sorry for Norm and wanting to get him some help—it wasn’t all false. She felt sorry for him.

  Killing him now would probably be a good idea, though, if she wanted Crabtree and Lydia to consider taking her along. It would make things more urgent. She glanced around the bathroom, looking for something sharp. It was a typical bare bones hotel bathroom, round edges and everything screwed tightly. She still had the paper from the cop’s pad out there in her nurse’s uniform, one of the pockets. Even if Lancaster’s friend lied and gave a false address and number, calling it wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  Megan pushed herself up the wall until she was standing. She heard low talking in the main room, unable to make out any words. She peeked out and saw Crabtree on his knees in front of Lydia, now sitting up in the chair, more circus freaky than ever. Lydia watched Megan a moment over Crabtree’s shoulder, then said something to him. He leaned in for a kiss.

  Megan felt nauseous.

  In the car she found the paper with the phone number, smoothed it out on the seat. It was hard to read in the dark, so she climbed out and found a good spot near the streetlight. The number had a 601 area code, not a Coast number, not a local call, probably a pizza joint or something at random. At least it gave her something to do besides sit in there with The Human Blob and the Limbless Lady. She needed to hurry before Crabtree came looking.

  Megan went back to the car and found a quarter under the driver’s seat, along with old French fries and dried lettuce strips. She found a dime in the ashtray and hoped pay phone prices hadn’t risen since the last time she used one. There was one by the streetlight, next to the fence separating the hotel parking lot from the nearly abandoned shopping center next door full of nameless marquees and boarded doors. She looked back at the room, no one peeking through the curtains yet, then hightailed it to the phone.

  She dropped the money in and dialed collect. The electronic operator asked her to say her name at the tone, something those guys wouldn’t know, so Megan slammed in, “I need to talk to Lancaster” before it cut off. Then the voice told her to wait while they connected. Whether the person on the other end accepted or not, at least it would answer one question, Megan thought.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Lancaster told Terry the pros and cons of fucking virgins—less chance for disease, more chance the girl would be a boring lay.

  Terry said, “What if she had AIDS because her Mom did when she was born, or some blood transfusion? Or hepatitis from a mosquito?”

  “I said less chance, not none. And what the hell is life without risk anyway? You’re a fuck. I see now how you are, talking your way out of shit to stay safe. That’s not as cool as I used to think it was.”

  Terry’s face was swelled and he held ice in a cloth to his face. Stung like hell. Lancaster hadn’t said another word about it. Terry sat in the chair and stared at TV. Lancaster even started telling him what he could and couldn’t watch—“No more dating shows, fucking game shows, man. Get us some music. We got music? I want BET or something.”

  So Terry suffered through ten minutes of Rap City while Lancaster got dressed. He thought Lancaster was more into Motorhead or AC/DC. Terry glanced at his watch again. Lancaster was acting like he was getting ready for a night out in the clubs rather than a fucking escape. The scarred bald scalp was freaky enough without the guy was primping shirtless in front of the mirror.

  Then Terry’s cell phone rang.

  “I thought you got rid of that thing,” Lancaster said.

  “I got rid of the last one. This one I took off Tompkins. I needed something, you know, in case I went for a burger and your doctor wanted me.”

  Lancaster whipped his head around and turned sinister. “You gave a doctor a real fucking number?”

  Terry shrugged. Third ring on the phone. He flipped the cover while saying, “I forgot I had it after we left the hospital. I thought it was temporary.”

  “Maybe the doctor remembered and gave it to the cops.”

  “I should answer it.”

  “Why?”

  A shrug. “Don’t you want to know for sure?”

  “I don’t care. You shouldn’t care. They’ll trap us, buddy. It’s all their game plan.”

  Terry pressed the talk button and said hello. The voice on the other end spoke. Terry blinked, a little shocked, and pointed at Lancaster. “Yeah, sure.”

  He listened another moment, then said, “Hold on.”

  Terry brought the phone to Lancaster and said, “It’s for you. A girl.”

  Lancaster took the phone and grunted into it. He listened to the girl on the other end. He said, “I remember.”

  A couple of minutes later he said, “You hold tight, then. See if you can—well, stall them, then. I don’t care. No, I care, but you do what’s best.”

  Lancaster closed the phone and tossed it on the floor. “Crabtree’s in New Orleans. He might be trying to fly out of there.”

  “How do you know that?”

&
nbsp; “She told me.”

  “Who’s she,” Terry said.

  Lancaster shook his head, bared his teeth and sucked air. The he said, “She says she was in the ER with me, a nurse in a white dress. I remember her. I swore she was an angel or something. She touched me, made the pain go away. That’s crazy, right?”

  Terry picked up the cell phone. “I saw her too, man. She came to the waiting room and told me you were going to be all right. I was half asleep, thought I was dreaming.”

  Lancaster stood and walked to the dresser. He pressed his fingertips on the mirror, leaned over until his cheek touched the glass. Terry watched without expression or words. Lancaster closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth so loud. “Had to be an angel,” he whispered.

  “It’s a little convenient. Maybe that's part of that trap you were talking about,” Terry said. “How did she get the number?”

  Lancaster pushed off the mirror and paced the floor. “She knows things, man. I believe her. Can’t explain it.”

  “Shit, you were doped up, I was half asleep. Maybe she’s the bait, an undercover cop or something.”

  Lancaster came hard at Terry and shoved him to the floor. “You don’t talk about her like that!”

  “We need to be careful, that’s all.” Terry propped himself up. His back hurt. “Can’t you stop for a minute? I’m not the one you want to kill, so ease up, man.”

  Lancaster leaned over and grabbed Terry’s shirt. “What? I didn’t hear that. Maybe I’m losing my hearing, but I didn’t hear you.”

  Someone knocked like thunder on the door along with muffled shouts of “Police.”

  Lancaster dropped Terry. “Look at that. Now you go and make us late so we have to face this bullshit.”