Paul studied it in an exaggerated manner. "Looks like a billy club."
"No. This is a tire thumper. My old man, he had a garage in Ciudad Juarez. He did good for himself and my family. He died of leukemia when I was ten. The creditors took the garage. I stole this before they locked it up. I used to think it was a bat. My papa told me it was to test tires. But I never saw him use it. When he died, my mama worked herself into an early grave supporting me and my hermanos. We had to do things we didn't like to survive. Bad things. If my papa hadn't of died, I would have been a different man. But he did die. And here we are, Crazy Paul."
"Here we are, Tomás. I'm sorry about your father. That makes bashing our heads in completely understandable. We who are about to die salute you," Paul said with a grin.
Tomás shook his head and there was admiration in the gesture. "You're an entertaining dead man, Crazy Paul. We gonna be talking about you for a long time after this. I hope you have last words, cause I gotta hear them."
"Yeah, I have something to say," Paul replied. He delivered the words with the same unnerving expression and tone he had used with Tyler at the truck stop. "You and your amigos need to get back into that beautiful car of yours… seriously, I'd love to get my hands on her pink. You need to drive away. Now. Or you and these assholes huddled around are going to be pleading your case upstairs in a short while. Your men will go quick. I'll snap a few necks. Stomp a few heads. Bones will break. But you? You dead eyed mother fucker. We're going to have fun for a long time. You have to trust me on this, Tomás. When it comes to killing, you're all a bunch of fucking amateurs."
Tomás growled and smashed Paul's head with the tire thumper. Paul went down without a peep. Tomás leaned over and hit Paul's head three more times before straightening up. "Adios Crazy Paul."
Binh had turned away after the first blow. He had his eyes shuttered and his chin quivered. This is it. Oh God. Right behind you, Paul. Hold the gate open for me.
The tire thumper pressed Binh's chin upward. Paul's blood stained him. He opened his eyes and Tomás sneered at him. "Now, you can go quick like Crazy Paul. Or I can fetch my chainsaw from the trunk and we can start trimming shit. I can begin by giving you the same meal I gave that fat mayate. But you like the taste of cock, don't you?"
Tears streamed down Binh's face. "What do you want from me?"
"Where's my product, joto? Sweet Daddy tried to pull some fast shit. Said there was a robbery. My blow got took. All of it. He changed that tune when I took the pliers to his fingers and toes. He said that you were in on it. That you set it up and knew where my stock was. That you had cheated him."
Binh shook his head. "That's not the truth."
"Then he didn't give a shit about you. Because he gave you to us on a bandeja de plata," Tomás said. "Said you were a sneaky little chino. He offered to take care of you himself and repay us. But I told him this was on his watch. That made him responsible for it. That if he couldn't trust his own house boy, we'd have to dissolve our arrangement. And we did."
Binh didn't doubt Tomás. Sweet Daddy was the type to throw someone under the bus to save his own skin. Binh just never imagined he'd be getting the wheels. He should have known better.
"He lied to you," Binh said. "I don't know where your product is."
"We've been watching you. We saw you with that fat bitch at the diner in Houston. And the old truck driver. We know where they live."
Tomás motioned to Paul's corpse. "You gotta think about the other people in this situation. Like your parents. The dentists in Little Saigon? They shouldn't have to pay for your sins. But they will, if you don't tell me what I need to know. They will go the way of Crazy Paul here. Or maybe they'll go in a worse way. And that blood will be on you. You will own that horror. It'll have your name on it."
Binh's eyes steamed up. "I have nothing to give you. I wish to God I did."
Tomás handed the tire thumper to one of his men. He pulled a switchblade from his back pocket. "Take his pants down."
Two of the men stepped over and grabbed Binh. He started to fade. He could feel the blackness calling him and he welcomed it.
The hands slipped off of him. The men jerked away, as if pulled by a rope tied between a speeding car and their ankles. Binh warded off the sleep. He didn't understand what was happening in front of him.
Tomás' men were screaming in Spanish. Gunfire sounded. But it died quickly.
Things were fuzzy around the edges for Binh. He saw Tomás stand and turn around. The cartel boss went flying into a tree trunk. He crashed against it and fell to the ground. A form, its face shadowed, clutched one of the men.
It grabbed his chin and shoved his head backwards. Binh heard a crack. It sounded like a thick branch giving under too much weight. The thug spun around. Binh saw his head bounce between his shoulders. He looked like an action figure with a string neck that a kid pulled to its limit. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his mouth gaped like a fish that needed water.
Binh saw another of Tomás' men engage the shadow. The chicano was lifted overhead into the darkness by two hands. Unmercifully driven down on a knee, the man's spine broke.
"Demonio!" the thug with Tomás' tire thumper shouted as he rushed in.
The shadow jerked him up. The action resembled a toddler pulled from an expensive mess it had caused. The Mexican was then slammed hard to the ground. He landed on his belly. His terrified face found Binh.
He started to say something, but then a heavy boot came down on his head. It wasn't a forceful stomp. This was worse. Either the world was spinning in slow motion, or the owner of that boot was pervesely taking his time.
The boot pushed against the cranium. The man screamed and his eyes shut . Binh could hear the skull giving beneath the boot. It sounded like popping knuckles, at first. And then a large back crack. But as the pressure continued, the noise grew in nauseating volume. The boot pressed and the eyeballs squeezed out from under their lids. They swelled and leapt from their sockets. The man's scream turned wet and blood drowned it. A hot red flood shot out of the man's mouth and nose. Teeth splintered and exploded. The boot finally got as close to the ground as it could get as the head gave in and collapsed.
The figure that had caused this carnage fell to its knees. It was Paul. His head caved in on the right side, Paul grunted in pain. The crater in his head was deep. So deep that it forced his right eye closer to his cheekbone. Gashes on his forehead spit blood in gurgles. Paul brought both hands to either side of his head. He gritted his teeth and pushed. It looked like he was shifting his head back in place. The right eye rose and took its normal spot.
"Fuck this stings," he muttered, continuing to apply pressure.
The dent on his head began to pulse.
The world spun and tunneled away. Binh passed out.
***
Binh dreamt in his forced sleep. It was an innocuous scene. He and Sweet Daddy were putting their dream house in order. The one Sweet Daddy said waited for them on Knollwood Drive.
The pair decorated a Christmas tree with plastic green soldier ornaments. Even though it appeared to be summer through the large family room window. Sweet Daddy opened his mouth to speak. A blue penis charged out and ran down his chest. It paused at Sweet Daddy's belly and arched up. It had four tiny legs. It moved like a lizard.
"Here you go, baby boy," Sweet Daddy said.
He lifted his ugly sweater and exposed his belly button. The penis lizard darted and disappeared into the large navel.
Binh woke. He heard static. He was in a car facing the passenger window. His head lolled to the left and Paul was there. He twisted the knob on the car radio.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. Damn radio still won't work. Maybe the antenna is shot. Although we're too far from Houston and not near enough Dallas for a decent signal. I should have taken Tomás'."
Paul dialed the radio off and regarded Binh. "You okay?"
Binh stared at him for several seconds. His mind put the con
frontation with Tomás back together. There wasn't a scratch on Paul's face. His head looked normal. "Your skull got bashed in."
Paul laughed and rubbed the top of his head. "Obviously not. I do have a goose egg on the back of my noggin. I rolled with Tomás' swing and played possum. But I caught some of it."
"He hit you a bunch of times. I heard it."
"He hit me once. Binh, I've read a little on narcolepsy. Sometimes it causes hallucinations and vivid dreams. And, come on, how in the fuck would we be here if I got my skull cracked?"
"What happened? It was so quick, I couldn't focus on it."
"They were about to castrate you, from the looks of it. I rushed one of them and grabbed his gun. I shot the others before they knew what was happening."
Binh scowled and shook his head. "No. Those guys got torn apart. Crushed. I saw it."
Paul leaned over and put his arm around Binh. "You dreamt it. Okay? I caught them off guard and took them down. With a gun."
"What did you do with the bodies?"
"I dragged them further into the bushes. Didn't see a need to bury them. Packs of feral dogs roam these woods. They're as bad as wolves or coyotes. Vicious and hungry. They'll clean up our mess. Started on it already, I'd bet. I rolled that beautiful car in there, too. Covered it with brush. I hated doing it. I thought about switching plates and leaving the Dodge, but it wouldn't have been smart."
Binh stared back toward the woods. There was a strange dread in his stomach. Something didn't feel right. He reminded himself that he was lucky to be alive. Paul was the Fonz and Superman rolled into one. Who cared how Tomás and his flunkies bit it? They were gone and he had Paul to thank for it.
"What now?" he asked.
"We hit that motel I told you about. Shake a few vending machines. Watch the idiot box. And we'll figure out the rest in the morning. I'm still down for El Paso, if you are. The Viva! El Paso outdoor summer shows start soon."
Binh nodded and put his seat belt on. "Let's do it," he said, with no enthusiasm.
"You okay?" Paul said. "You look a little down for someone who gave death the slip."
"I think I'm still in shock. Trying to process it. I've never been that close to dying before. I feel like I'm in a Twilight Zone episode. That this is a dream and I'm still on the ground waiting for Tomás to feed me my prick," Binh said.
"It's not a dream, Binh. You're safe and you're free," Paul said as he started the engine. "It's like Kerouac said- Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road."
Binh managed a smile. But he was still bothered.
***
They passed numerous miles to go billboards for the place before the modest arrow sign that pointed off the feeder. They finally arrived at The Red Lantern Inn.
Paul steered his car to the little office that sat in front of eight motel rooms. Two rows of four rooms stacked in two stories. The pool was a husk, circled by caution tape. The motel sign had faded to the point of just making out the name of the place.
There were no cars. A neon vacancy signed spelled the obvious. A blond woman wearing glasses read at the front desk. Paul killed the engine.
"Let's get a room," he said.
Binh followed him to the office.
A bell jiggled when they opened the door. The woman looked up. She was young. A little big at the waist and hips. But she had a beautiful farmer's daughter face. She wore a faded Keep on Truckin' shirt and Binh saw the top of her jeans before the counter cut the rest of her off from view. He could tell they were knock-offs by the sloppy gills around the pockets.
Ugh. Tacky. Spend a little money, girl.
When she saw Paul, she put the book down and took off the glasses.
She found Paul attractive. That was an easy thing to tell. If Binh were straight, he may have felt like chopped liver. But he wasn't and just wanted a bed to crawl into.
Paul stepped to the counter and picked up the paperback. He looked at the cover. "Junkie by William Burroughs. Wow. This is some heavy stuff. I am impressed. And here I thought you'd have a bodice ripper in your hand."
The woman blushed a little. "I love to read. But not that romance stuff. It's always fake," she said, her accent as thick as the humidity. "I like stories about lost people on dark journeys. People that go through hell and live to tell about it. It's the closest I ever want to get to it."
Paul leaned against the counter. "We all need a little slice of sin sometimes."
Damn. He's good. You can hear her panties drip. He wasn't jealous. After what they had gone through together, Binh no longer had any sexual interest in Paul. He would love the charming picaro like a brother. He thought he might already. He wasn't sure because he had no brothers.
Paul put the book down and gave her his hand. "I'm Paul," he said.
"Martha," she replied, grinning and squeezing his fingers.
"This is my friend Binh."
Martha shot her eyes for two seconds at Binh. She gave a squeaky Hi and turned right back to Paul.
Chopped liver.
"We need a room," Paul said.
"One room?" Martha asked, opening and flipping the guest register his way. "That's a shame."
Paul thought about it. "You know what, make it two rooms. But put us next to each other."
He turned to Binh. "I have a nasty snore. Sounds like furniture dragged around a room. It's better for you this way."
Paul winked at Martha and signed his name.
She pulled two keys off the board. "One and Three. Lower left. Who's taking which key?" she said, making fuck me eyes at Paul.
"Number one works for me," Paul said, taking both and handing Binh the other.
Paul pulled money from his pocket. He peeled two one hundred dollar bills off a wad. "This cover it?"
"It's more than enough," Martha said, taking the money.
"Security. Keep the extra," Paul said.
He and Binh started to leave. "Just call me from the room phone if you need me. I'll be there quick," Martha said. "I'm here until dawn."
"Good to know," Paul said.
He steered his car to the space in front of the rooms. He followed Binh into three. Binh dropped his ass and bag on the queen sized bed. He took off his shoes.
Paul went into the bathroom. "Hey, they have a wall phone in here! Elvis could have used this."
Paul did an impression from the echoey room. "Yeah, I'm a havin' heavy and severe chest pains. You might wanna send the king an ambulance. Tell 'em to pick me up a bacon and peanut butter sandwich on the way. Thank you. Thank you very much!"
It wasn't bad. It got a snicker out of Binh.
Paul came out of the bathroom. "You want to hang out for a bit? We could see if they have a scrambled porn channel. Sometimes you can make out some of it. A tit here. A dick there."
"No. I'm tired. And I'm sure Martha would like to come over and read her book to you."
Paul shrugged. "Hey, you have to get your licks in when and where you can. The road can get mighty lonely. I'll see you when the cock crows."
Paul left.
Binh needed a shower, but he was spent. He undressed and climbed under the sheets. The light was on, but he was too tired to get up and hit the wall switch.
He reflected on the day. His life had been completely torn from his hands. Everything was different. Sweet Daddy was dead. He mourned, though the sorry son of a bitch tried to put everything on Binh. It could have gotten him killed by a drug gang; many of which, leader included, were dead now.
Of course, he had nothing to do with that. That was on Paul. Technically, Binh hadn't seen it.
His mind must have played with the sound of the conflict. His consciousness was slipping down the rabbit hole when the violence exploded. He had incorporated the noise from reality into his dream. Like sleeping when a Flintstones rerun was playing in the background. Dreaming you were in the cartoon. Sliding down that dinosaur with Fred when the work whistle blew.
That had to be it.
; He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. It terrified and yet excited him in the same stroke. Binh felt better about things. About the future. About his friendship with Paul, which felt like something that had been there all along.
The feeling of doom had left him. It was good to be alive.
Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
That was the last thing Binh thought before sleep took him into its arms.
***
Binh woke at 4am, if the clock radio on his nightstand was being honest. He sat up and shifted his legs to the floor. Binh rubbed his eyes and stood, taking the sleepy walk to the toilet. He relieved himself, having what he thought was a world record piss.
He was hungry. He dressed and stepped out of his room. Binh walked to a cluster of snack and soda machines. He had enough change for chips, mini donuts, and a can of A&W. Binh went back to his door. He dug for his room key. It wasn't on him.
Shit.
He searched each pocket again. Wasn't there. He turned toward the office. It was dark and had a closed sign slapped on the door. He gazed over at Paul's room. The door was cracked.
He walked over and drew his knuckles back to knock. He bit his lip and thought better of it. What if Paul was giving it to Martha? Binh didn't want to be a drag. Even if he had to sit on the sidewalk until morning. He opted for a peek instead.
He eased the door in. Paul was on the carpet. He was nude and brandished a hunting knife. His lean and muscular body loomed over Tomás, who was on the nasty motel carpet. He was alive. But not for long, by the looks of it. Tomás' clothes cut from him, he was gagged and hog-tied.
Binh heard a commotion and looked to the bed. Martha lay there, nude as the others, and secured to the bed posts. Her wrists and ankles were bond at each corner. Her beaver was there for the world to study. She wore a gag, like Tomás. She watched Paul in complete terror.
When she saw Binh, she jerked her head and gave a muffled cry. Now she noticed him.
This caught Paul's attention. He looked at the door and saw Binh.
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