by Jim Nisbet
Horse slouched lower in the chair and sighed over the mouth of the beer bottle, now more or less permanently held to his lips. The bottle moaned softly. Fat lot of good this wet dream was doing Pauley now. He wondered how much tape the machine had in it, how long it could go on talking bullshit to a dead man. A snake stops to twiddle its thumbs, apparently, when the mouse gets about two-thirds of the way in. Did the thumbs of snakes evolve into just a memory, like their eyelids?
“…when what does Tanktop say but hey, boss, speaking of Pauley, would not that be his new Toyota pickup truck sitting right there in the middle of the freeway, that he showed to us just last Monday, new-to-him I mean, that’s he’s so proud of he’ll turn down cold your offer of this new van? You can’t miss those chintzy purple stripes, not to mention that nice load of crated-up devices of pain and pleasure neatly roped and loaded in the back, with Affliction on the packing slip as we can see with our X-ray vision, just waiting for somebody to steal?”
Horseknocker paused, his lips still pursed over the mouth of the bottle.
“And sure enough, Pauley, it was your new truck. But no Pauley in sight. And stinking? Man! Stinking like a bathhouse on the fourth of July. What happened? Toyota commit seppuku on day number two? Or was it day five? Hai! That’s pretty tough. I say to Tanktop, that Pauley’s probably out getting his money back–let’s help him out! I throw out the anchor and get this boat stopped right behind the Toyota. Took up half each of two lanes–right in the middle of the freeway! Right in the 80/101 split! I’ve always wanted to park there. Completely screwed up the freeway and it made Tanktop a little giddy to be flipping the bird to all those truckers, the little slut. Most of them just blew those air horns and made with the thumbs up: Let the faggots live! They’re so butch! A happening profession. And, well, to make a long story short, we figured out what must have happened, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t that motor on your brand-new-to-you pickup truck blow sky-high? Didn’t it? Kind of like a lemon kind of thing? Did I mention this already? And you went off in a blind rage to kill the guy who sold it to you? But first, I know you Pauley, but first you go for help to load the stuff off the freeway and deliver it to the warehouse? Only a couple of hours late? You’re not sitting in some bar somewhere forgetting the whole thing, are you Pauley? Hmm?”
Horseknocker slowly lowered the beer bottle.
“Well, check your machine and fret no more, Pauley! Me and Tanktop made short work of transferring those crates from your inventory to our inventory, the kid just loves to hump it! We got the stuff out of your truck and into the side door of the van and still made it on down to Redwood City before everything closed except when they do close that leather waterbed store on payday they like to party down. We boogied till dawn, just a few hours ago! Whew! Enough said! By the time Tanktop remembered to call you it was way too late and the next time I remembered it was way too early. So you probably had a heart attack already and will never get this message. We just this morning made it over to Iwo Jima Cellular, maybe two hours ago. So we delivered the two gross of No. 3 cock rings and boogied till dawn and got the phone installed and now we’re on the way back north to off-load all your latest and greatest torture racks safe and sound into the warehouse. The check would be in the mail, baby, but there is no invoice with the delivery. Tsk tsk, X-ray vision lied again, and I’m a slave to accounting–and so are you! But that’s just a technicality–don’t worry about a thing! By the time you get back from synagogue the racks will be in the warehouse–checked in, stacked, nothing damaged. The doors are going to be locked and we’ll be off to the Russian River for two whole weeks! There’s video in here too, with two monitors, front and back–what a machina! Do you know that Tanktop has never seen Doctor Zhivago? Never seen all that snow? Can you imagine? Never seen real snow, either, come to think on it, Russian or otherwise. Delectable Newport Beach naïf! Did you know his father is a respected plastic surgeon? Wot eez zees znow? the kid asks me. Me! The old pedagogue! Him! The poor deprived thing! What a couple! Speaking of couples, tell Celeste we think about that bone in her nose all the time! We love her! And you, too! Shoot me an invoice on Monday, Pauley baby! Or if you bring it over in person, accounting’ll cut you a check right then and there, tout de suite–That reminds me! Did I tell you already? We got Harry in accounting onto health food and exercise and plenty of sleep, no more partying with the boss after hours, and he finally got his nerve up and went down and got tested and guess what? He tested negative! Negative, baby, negative! Yes! Old Harry’s in the clear for now and accounting’s back on the even keel and he’ll cut you a check on demand. So do go get it! Forget about that truck, Pauley. Maybe you can get your money back, maybe not, but don’t worry about it. We’ll come up with something. We always do! Love you, babe.
“And, remember, the first grasshopper’s on me!
“Ciao, kiddo! See you next week!”
The static of cellular telephone transmission swelled into the room, interloped occasionally by touch-tones and the overture from Dr. Zhivago. From as if far away Willie shouted, “How do you hang up this goddamn thing?” Hysterical laughter. The connection terminated with a clatter.
The tape hissed briefly. The machine clicked, stopped, and beeped three times.
Beep beep beep.
There were no more messages.
It was a long time before Horseknocker bestirred himself in the chair. He had slouched nearly to full horizontal. The beer in its bottle reached room temperature, untouched, before he moved again.
It was the first time he’d watched a snake swallow a mouse.
ALSO BY JIM NISBET
AVAILABLE FROM THE OVERLOOK PRESS
WINDWARD PASSAGE
978-1-59020-194-7
Hardcover • $25.95
THE OCTOPUS ON MY HEAD
978-1-4683-0710-8
Paperback • $15.95
“Sure, Nisbet breaks all the rules, but that’s really the whole point. His novels are the literary equivalent of road trips, and a good road trip follows no map.”
—BOOKLIST
“Jim Nisbet is a lot more than just good … powerful, provocative … remains in the mind long after the novel is finished. Nisbet’s style has overtones of Walker Percy’s smooth southern satin, but his characters—losers, grifters, con men—hark back to the days of James M. Cain’s twisted images of morality.”
—THE GLOBE AND MAIL
THE OVERLOOK PRESS
New York
www.overlookpress.com
ALSO BY JIM NISBET
AVAILABLE FROM THE OVERLOOK PRESS
LETHAL INJECTION
978-1-59020-195-4
Paperback • $12.95
DARK COMPANION
978-1-59020-202-9
Paperback • $13.95
THE DAMNED DON’T DIE
978-1-59020-196-1
Paperback • $13.95
OLD AND COLD
978-1-59020-915-8
Paperback • $13.95
THE SPIDER’S CAGE
978-1-59020-198-5
Paperback • $14.00
PRELUDE TO A SCREAM
978-1-59020-199-2
Paperback • $16.95
“Sure, Nisbet breaks all the rules, but that’s really the whole point. His novels are the literary equivalent of road trips, and a good road trip follows no map.” —BOOKLIST
ALSO AVAILABLE AS E-BOOKS
THE OVERLOOK PRESS
New York
www.overlookpress.com
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