Train Wreck Girl

by Sean Carswell

  “So you came by to see me.”

  Helen shrugged. “I owe you one, Danny. You saved my ass that one night. Remember? When you waited tables?”

  I nodded.

  “So I figure I owe you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate the lunch.”

  Helen took a sip of her beer. “Do you want to talk about it? About the dead guy last night?”

  I shook my head. I took a sip of my beer. It was the last thing I wanted right then. I put it back down on the end table and scratched my head.

  “What was it about that guy?” Helen said. “Why did he get to you?”

  I shrugged.

  “You really don’t feel like talking, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then I’m gonna tell you a story,” Helen said. That was fine with me. At that point, I’d rather hear someone else’s shit than think about my own. And I liked Helen’s stories.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  Helen said, “I have this friend Elena. She’s a girlfriend of mine from college. She lives down in Costa Rica. She and her husband work for a little resort, renting out bungalows on the beach. Her husband is crazy.

  “Now, you know I think most boys are crazy. But this guy is really crazy. Certified crazy. Spent time in a mental institution. For real.”

  “And why are you telling me this?” I asked. Because you never know with Helen. This could be her way of saying I was certifiable.

  “Just listen,” Helen said. “I visited with Elena and her husband for a week down there. This was earlier this year. Just before you came back to Cocoa Beach. And, while I was there, they surfed a lot. You know I don’t surf, so I mostly sat on the beach and read. When they were done surfing, I would tell them that I had watched them surf. I hadn’t really, though. Not much. But why hurt their feelings, right? When they came in from surfing, I’d say, ‘Oh, those were some nice rides you got.’ And they’d be all happy. It made everything a little nicer.

  “Maybe that’s what I’ve learned from all my years bartending: how to tell nice lies.”

  “That’s a good thing to tell me,” I said. Not that I didn’t know that she told nice lies. I knew that. It’s just different when you hear it straight from her mouth.

  Helen said, “Anyway, I did watch Elena and her husband while I was down there. And when I knew them in college, they were always fighting. Not anymore. At least not when I visited them. He’d be so considerate of her. He’d do dishes after dinner. He kept their little bungalow really clean. I even saw him iron one of her sundresses before she went to work.”

  “Hell of a guy,” I said.

  Helen nodded. “So it would seem. So I asked Elena, ‘What came over your husband? When did he get so sweet?’

  “She said, ‘As soon as we found the red bus right.’

  “That’s what they called their surf spot: the red bus right. There was a red Volkswagen bus in the jungle right off the beach. That’s where the name came from.

  “So why am I telling you this, Danny? I keep thinking that you just need to find your red bus right. Not a surf spot, exactly. Just a spot where you can find peace.” Helen paused here. She looked me in the eye to make sure I’d been listening. I had.

  “That’s a nice story,” I said.

  “Well, anyway, that’s why I opened up my garage to you. I thought maybe you could find some peace there.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Helen looked at me. I wasn’t being condescending or anything. She had told a nice story. I did appreciate her letting me use her garage. I just wasn’t in a talking mood. This clearly frustrated her. She stood and said, “Well, if you don’t want to talk, don’t talk.” She carried her mostly full beer into the kitchen and set it in the sink. She walked back into the living room and over to me. She put her hand on my head and mussed my hair. “Come to the bar later, if you want to talk.”

  “Libra,” I said.

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t last night’s stiff. It was Libra. That’s the problem.”

  “Who’s Libra?” Helen asked.

  And now the cat was out of the bag. I wasn’t sure how to tell Helen or how much to tell her. I let out the information in little bits. I said, “Libra was my girlfriend in Flagstaff.”

  “Okay.”

  “She got hit by a train.”

  “Oh, no. Did she live?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “I found the body.”

  “Whoa. Good christ.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “What?” Helen asked. “What did you do?”

  “I just left,” I said. “I just freaked out and left.”

  “You didn’t tell the cops?”

  “No. I just left.”

  “Who do you think found her? Who reported it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m freaking out. I just figured someone would’ve reported it, you know. I just assumed that. Now, with that stiff last night, I’m worried that she’s been a Jane Doe this whole time. Maybe people don’t even know she’s dead.”

  Helen looked at me, stunned. She didn’t know what to say. How could she? Years of bartending wouldn’t prepare you for this kind of confession. Nice little stories wouldn’t give answers to problems like this.

  I said, “For a while, there was a private investigator following me around. You know that wheelchair dude?”

  “Clay. Yeah, I know him.”

  “But I ran him off. I thought he was following me because Libra’s parents wanted me arrested. Now I’m thinking that maybe they don’t know. Maybe they’re looking for Libra.”

  Helen stared at me. She abandoned her nice little lies and said, “That’s fucked up.”

  I nodded.

  “And it gets worse,” Helen said, “because lately, a Samoan guy has been hanging around Duke’s looking for you.”

  27

  Seeing Scars

  ITINERARY FOR A SETUP

  2:31 P.M. Sister Janie will call. From her very first, “Hey, Knucklehead,” be suspicious.

  2:33 P.M. Agree to go over to dinner at Janie’s that night. Understand as soon as you agree that you’ve made a mistake. That you were supposed to have been suspicious. Too much shit is going on in your life. You’re not thinking straight.

  7:09 P.M. Get on your bike and head for Janie’s. You were supposed to be there at 7:00, but you won’t be able to get yourself to leave until

  7:09.

  7:13 P.M. Ride your bike up Janie’s driveway. The garage door will be open. Notice: one BMW convertible that looks suspiciously like a Mazda Miata and one Land Rover, Janie’s. There is also a Volvo station wagon in the driveway. Ask yourself how many cars two people need. Also notice again how big Janie’s house is. You could fit five of your apartments into this house. The same number of people live in your apartment and this house. Grumble about what’s become of your sister.

  7:14 P.M. Knock on the front door. Powell will answer. You’ve known Powell for years and you still don’t know if Powell is his first name or last name. By extension, you don’t know if your sister’s last name is Powell or not. Don’t bother cursing yourself for skipping out on their wedding. The waves were good that day.

  7:15 P.M. Powell will offer you a glass of wine. Don’t accept. You’ve never been a wine drinker. It’s always seemed like a rich man’s game to you. You’re not thirsty, anyway.

  7:16 P.M. Enter Powell and Janie’s living room. Janie will be sitting in an antique wooden armchair, drinking wine. You haven’t seen her since the day she picked you up at the bus station, almost six months ago. Even though she hasn’t seen you in six months and has only seen you once in the past four years, she won’t get up to hug you. She’s never been the hugging type. She’ll only say, “Knucklehead!”

  7:16:05 P.M. Notice Sophie sitting on the couch. Scream curses in your head.

  7:17 P.M. Sister Janie will tell the story abo
ut how fat you were when she picked you up at the bus station. Six months have passed since then. You’ve been surfing nearly every day and riding your bike a lot and eating right and working manual labor that whole time. You’ve lost those extra pounds. Janie won’t notice. Sophie will say, “I don’t know. Danny looks the same to me.” Powell will offer you a drink again. Ask him what kind of whiskey he has.

  7:19 P.M. Powell will disappear into the kitchen to prepare dinner. You’ll be stuck in the room with Janie and Sophie. Janie will not be drunk, but you’ll recognize a bit of a wine high in her eyes. She’ll start telling embarrassing stories about your childhood. Look in the kitchen. See that Powell isn’t cooking so much as reheating pre-prepared food that he’d picked up at the grocery store. Relax. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.

  7:24 P.M. Janie will say, “Hey, Knucklehead, do you remember the Robisons?” Nod. The Robisons were the foster parents you went to live with after your father died. You were four years old. Janie will tell Sophie, “We’d lived with the Robisons maybe, what? Two weeks? When Mr. Robison died. We all had to go to the funeral. Danny and me and a couple of other foster kids. And we’re at the funeral. It’s an open casket. And Danny’s looking at the body. Just staring at it. Oblivious to the line of people behind him. He even had his hands on the side of the casket, trying to pull himself up for a better look. And he asks Mrs. Robison, ‘What happened to his feet?’

  “She says, ‘What?’

  “Danny says, ‘What happened to his feet? How come you can’t see his feet? Couldn’t he afford shoes?’

  “Oh, Jesus, did that get Mrs. Robison fired up. She gave Danny such a beating. I’ve never seen a kid take a beating like that. You remember that, Knucklehead?”

  Yeah, Janie, you’ll think, I remember that. Thanks for bringing it back up.

  7:32 P.M. Dinner will be served. Eat quickly. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can leave. Janie will be in rare form. You won’t be sure if she’s trying to set you up with Sophie or humiliate you. Maybe both. She’ll drink a lot of wine, though, and laugh a lot.

  7:41 P.M. Notice that Sophie will handle the situation with a lot of grace. She’ll look at you sympathetically and give Janie polite smiles. Wonder if Sophie is really as crazy as you made her out to be in your mind. Try to remember if Sophie has always been this pretty. Have her eyes always been this root beer brown? Did her left cheek always dimple like that when she smiled?

  7:46 P.M. Powell will start in. What are you doing with your life,Danny? You’re not still picking up dead bodies, are you? Do you think there’s a future in that? Don’t you have a daughter to think about now? Wonder how Powell knows about Taylor. Remember that you told Janie on the phone, earlier that day. Make a mental note not to tell Janie anything anymore.

  7:47 P.M. Decide there’s one of two ways you can respond to Powell: you can be a smart ass or you can go on the offensive. Because, obviously, ignoring him won’t work. Say to Powell, “Are you still working at the Space Center?’

  Powell will say, “No. I’m working at Lockheed now.”

  “But you’re still an engineer? You’re still working for the defense department?”

  “Yes. And making a good living at it.”

  “So you’re basically working on bombs. Missiles. You’re working on ways to kill as many people as possible from as far away as possible. So you’re creating dead bodies all over the world and you’re getting on my case for picking dead bodies up?”

  Powell will grow strangely silent.

  Janie will scold you: “You’re being inappropriate, Danny.”

  You’ll suddenly feel like a kid again. But not in a good way. Decide that you don’t need to be where you are. Thank Janie and Powell for dinner and walk away. Do it abruptly enough so that no one will have time to protest.

  7:49 P.M. Sophie will come out into the front lawn and catch you as you’re unlocking your bike. She’ll say, “Sorry about that.” Shrug. She’ll say, “Let’s get a drink. Just me and you.” Agree to go.

  7:54 P.M. Lock your bike up to the post outside of Sullivan’s. Sophie’s Volvo will already be in the parking lot.

  7:55 P.M. Join Sophie at the bar. It’s fairly empty. Sophie has wine. She’s ordered a beer for you. Some kind of fancy brown British beer. Take a sip. It’ll taste good.

  7:59 P.M. While Sophie is talking about Atlanta, think about the sex you used to have with her. Remember the mornings when she’d grab your erection and say, “We can’t waste this.” Remember the way she’d bite down on the side of her bottom lip when you did things right. Invite her to play a game of darts before you drive yourself mad.

  8:48 P.M. After a few games of darts and another brown British beer, you’ll start to feel good. You’ll start to forget everything. Sophie will seem remarkably put together. You’ll start to feel like her bad times are all part of the past. At that exact moment, Sophie will say to you, “Why’d you leave me, Danny?”

  Even though the answer seems obvious, tell her anyway. “You were just too mean to me.”

  “I was going through a rough time,” she’ll say. “I broke a lot of things that meant a lot to you. I’m sorry about that.”

  Say, “Don’t apologize.”

  She’ll say, “No. I’m sorry about that. But couldn’t we have worked it out? I was never that mean. I was never mean to you like Janie is.”

  Point out the obvious: “You stabbed me.”

  Sophie will look hurt. She’ll look at you like, how could you say that to me? She’ll shake her head. She’ll say, “No. I don’t believe it.”

  Try to make sense of this. How could she not believe it? Try to see things from her perspective. Could she have been sleep-stabbing? You’ve gotten up and walked in your sleep before. One time, you even sleepwalked outside of your trailer and took a leak against the side wall. You didn’t remember any of it until Libra told you the next morning. Could this have been what Sophie was going through? It seems unlikely. But there’s also blackout. Even you’ve blacked out. Even you have drank so much that you don’t remember whole chunks of a night. You can’t remember even when you’re reminded. Bart and Sophie were very drunk that night. They drank more after you saw them. It’s very possible that she was in blackout when she stabbed you, that she has no first hand memory of doing it at all. Tell her, “I have about ten thousand dollars worth of medical bills to prove it.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  You won’t be able to show her the bills. The hospital has found your new address and phone number. They are hounding you again. But you don’t exactly carry the bills around with you. Be honest. You just throw them away when they come.

  8:51 P.M. Lift up your shirt. Tell Sophie, “You can see the scars.” Sophie will bend down to look at them. She’ll rub her fingers against them. She’ll stand back up and look you in the eyes and start crying. Give her a hug. She’ll put her face in that soft spot between your shoulder muscle and your chest muscle. Her tears will soak your shirt. Her breath will be warm against your chest.

  8:52 P.M. Realize that it’s ridiculous to comfort the woman who stabbed you. Especially when she needs comfort to deal with the fact that she did stab you. Let go.

  8:53 P.M. Sophie will lose a little grace. She’ll leave abruptly. Too abruptly for you to react. Stand there with darts in your hand. Ask yourself, what’s next?

  28

  Joe and the Samoan

  The next thing was the fucking Samoan. Or whatever he was. He was a big, fat guy, built like an offensive lineman, taller than me and I’m usually the tallest guy in the room. He looked Samoan. Helen called him Samoan. So I took him at that. And, anyway, the most important thing about him was that he was stalking me. Everywhere I turned, the fucking Samoan was right behind me.

  It didn’t make sense to me, to be honest. If Libra’s parents were going to be this obvious about having me tailed, why didn’t they keep Clay Barker on the job? I liked Clay. I would’ve ridden around with him and made it easier on e
veryone. But this fucking Samoan, man…

  I hopped on my bike and headed down to Helen’s garage. There, I could close the door and narrow my world down to a dim room and a single flame welding metal. Everything else would fade away. On the ride there, though, the Samoan followed me in his car.

  He couldn’t have been more obvious. Even at my fastest, I only went maybe twelve or thirteen miles an hour on that bike. Which was normal. But for a car to ride behind me at that speed caused all kinds of problems. Other cars honked at the Samoan, yelled at him, made crazy passes around him. The Samoan seemed undaunted. He just rode behind me. Blank expression. Sunglasses on.

  I tried to ignore him until I got to Helen’s. Once I was there, I locked myself in the garage and did my best to forget.

  My latest sculpture was on the workbench. This was my favorite so far. I’d taken old fenders and banged them out into a big bowl, and I’d cut up the edges of the bowl so that it looked like flames. In the center of this flaming bowl, I was welding together a figure that was seated like Rodin’s Thinker, only, of course, my thinker was a monkey. I had him sitting on his haunches, one long arm on his chin and one wrapped around his leg and, hopefully, when it was done, the monkey would look guarded and scared of his thoughts. And the world would be burning around him.

  That was the idea, anyway. So far, I only had a frame of a monkey sitting there. This was the day I’d give the monkey skin and a face. I had a busted chimney flue to make the skin out of. I took out my clippers and got to work.

  Joe came into the garage as I got started. Or the ghost of Joe. Or my imaginary friend Joe. However you want to think of him. He would come by now and then when I welded. We’d chat. It helped me deal with his death.

  I cut the flue. Joe walked by my pile of sculptures. He ran his finger along them. Ordinarily, I would’ve warned against this. Most of the sculptures had sharp edges and could cut you. Joe was beyond bleeding. He touched the sculptures as he walked down the line. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

  “I have.”

  “This is a whole lot of metal. A whole lot of work.” He stepped back and looked at the sculptures as a whole. “How much money would you have made if you had spent this time welding for Duane instead of making these sculptures?”