Our Love Will Go the Way of the Salmon

by Cameron Pierce

  “You were never in.”

  “Now I’m double outs.”

  “Fine. Myrtle can come, but the profit split remains fifty fifty.” Andrew raises a toast to Jesse. “To partners.”

  “To partners. And five-hundred motherfucking thousand dollars.”

  ***

  Car lights shine through the window.

  The police cruiser has finally burned itself out.

  Andrew and Jesse are playing a song on guitar and harmonica, crooning in harmony, drunk as all get out, as Myrtle walks in through the front door.

  “Looks like you boys started without me,” she says. “The save-the-dates turned out just fabulous.”

  Myrtle tries to show the save-the-dates to Jesse, but he waves them away.

  “Myrtle,” he says, “we’re gonna be millionaires.”

  “Beg pardon.”

  “Well, okay, not quite millionaires. But thousandaires, for sure. We’ll never worry about money for a long, long time. You can have a brand new wardrobe. Anything you want, you can have.”

  Myrtle pours herself a glass of whiskey and shuffles through the save-the-dates, her forehead creased in concern. “And how is this, my sweet love?”

  “I’m helpin’ Andrew with a little job. A big job. We’re partners again.”

  Myrtle shoots Jesse the no-you-just-didn’t glare.

  “I thought you’d put that life behind you, Jesse,” she says. “Shame on you, Andrew, for tempting him.”

  Andrew twists the harmonica around in his fingers, as if nervous. “I apologize for treading on your turf, Myrtle. Really, I do. But this is a big job.”

  “Half a million each,” Jesse says, “half a million.”

  “Jesse’s right. And I want to let you two in on it.”

  “Why?” Myrtle asks, suspicious.

  “Because Jesse’s always had my back. He and I, we’ve always come out of everything alive.”

  Myrtle nods, admitting this truth. “So what’s the job? Hauling dead bodies? Drugs?”

  “Snakes,” Jesse says.

  “Snakes?” Myrtle pretty much shouts.

  Andrew nods. “Medicinal snakes. For sick people.”

  “These snakes are worth a fortune. I saw ’em with my own eyes. All we gotta do is…well, you tell ’er, Andrew.”

  “We deliver the snakes to the doctors, and then you two drive on home, half a million dollars richer.”

  “Why are doctors ordering snakes from you?” Myrtle asks, still sorting through the save-the-dates, as if she can’t get over something, some wrong feeling.

  “I’m just the delivery boy,” Andrew says, and then he grins. This is the question he’s been waiting for. “You see, there are some very sick people in this country who need a lot of help, but the government don’t want them to get better, so some very kind-hearted doctors have taken it into their hands to heal these sick people.”

  “With snake venom,” Jesse says.

  “With an antidote made from snake venom, yes. That is correct,” Andrew says.

  Myrtle wants to know what it is about sick people needing snake venom. How come she’s never heard of them before? Is this sickness that’s got people needing snakes widespread and time-tested, or is it something new?

  And Andrew, he has all the answers. “From what I hear it’s pretty localized, up in the Pacific Northwest. The government is very hush-hush. They won’t allow a single word about it to be mentioned in the news. Now I can’t tell you specifically where the dropoff will take place, but just so you know I ain’t bullshittin’, I’ll tell you it’s in Oregon.”

  Jesse snaps his fingers. “Maybe that’s it. The disease—snake venom cures it ’cause they don’t got no snakes up in the cold weather states.”

  “They have snakes in the Pacific Northwest, you nitwit. Just not these snakes, and these snakes is what they need.”

  “Will we have to get near the sick people?” Myrtle asks.

  “Absolutely not,” Andrew says. “We deliver the snakes to a perfectly sanitary medical facility and they fork over a big check. Simple as that. I figure we can drive to Oregon in two, three days tops, barring unforeseen circumstances.”

  “Like what?”

  “Come on, Myrtle, quit with all the questions,” Jesse says.

  Andrew’s unperturbed, though. He says, “Like if the government is cracking down on folks trying to bring these medicinal snakes into Oregon.”

  “Oh god.” Myrtle is just so astonished. “I can’t believe they’d keep the sick people from their medicine.”

  “You know our government. They’d piss in their neighbor’s toilet after fucking their neighbor’s wife, but they wouldn’t spare a drop of piss to soothe the burns of a man on fire.”

  Jesse leans forward. “So, Myrtle. What do you say?”

  She finally sets down the save-the-dates and smiles the smile that set Jesse’s heart aflame when they first met. She says, “When do we start?”

  “As soon as we sleep off this hangover,” Andrew says.

  “Hangover? Maybe for your pansy ass,” Myrtle says, and she pours them all another round of drinks.

  ***

  Good morning, sunshine.

  There’s a knock on the bedroom door.

  Jesse and Myrtle stir in bed.

  Pained, squint-eyed expressions cross their faces as the knocking recurs, shave-and-a-haircut style.

  Andrew calls from the other side of the door, “Time to get moving. Up and at ’em.”

  Jesse sits up, shakes Myrtle. “Let’s go, little honeybee. Time to get rich.”

  Myrtle pulls the covers over her head.

  “Did I get hit by a train last night?” she says.

  “That was just my penis, baby.”

  “If I had a dollar for every time you said that.”

  “You wouldn’t be half as rich as you’re gonna be. So come on, get up.”

  ***

  Andrew and Jesse are in the living room, looking through the window at the hearse.

  Myrtle is in the bedroom, packing for the trip like they’re going on vacation.

  “Isn’t a hearse just a bit suspicious?” Jesse says.

  Andrew frowns. “You got a better idea?”

  “Yeah, actually I do.”

  ***

  The garage door opens.

  Inside: an ice cream truck.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” Andrew says, stepping inside the garage.

  “Bought it off some bean for next to nothing. He was in a hurry back to Mexico. I been fixing her up. Built a new engine and everything. She runs real good. Fast as hell.”

  Andrew throws open the back doors of the ice cream truck, inspecting the space, weighing his options.

  “You got the pink slip?” he asks.

  “Sure do. It’s even insured.”

  Andrew nods approval. “More than I can say about the deathmobile back there. Alright, let’s load the coffin and hit the road.”

  Jesse, stoked, climbs into the ice cream truck. Andrew climbs in the back, shuts the doors, and Jesse backs the truck out of the garage, backing up to the rear of the hearse.

  They hop out and proceed to attempt transferring the coffin full of snakes from the hearse to the ice cream truck.

  Their attempts are met with failure.

  “These snakes sure are heavy,” Jesse says.

  Andrew grunts his agreement. “I hear their venom weighs ten times more than water.”

  “Fat ol’ legless venom hogs. Shoo-wee.”

  Finally, they give up.

  “I’m gonna go find Myrtle. She’s got these workout videos. Damn things have made her stronger than an ox.”

  Andrew wipes the sweat from his brow. “You do that,” he says, panting.

  “Myrtle,” Jesse calls as he steps onto the porch.

  Myrtle appears in the doorway, her face done up all pretty, her stockinged legs rising up into a sea-foam green dress like two candles stuck in a birthday cake. In each hand she holds
a rectangular suitcase made of leather that’s been cracked and beaten by time.

  Myrtle smiles at Jesse and instead of asking her to come help move the coffin full of snakes, Jesse says, “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she says. “Now what is it you need me for.”

  “It’s the snakes. They’re heavy. Venom weighs more than water.”

  Myrtle purses her lips into a smile. “It does, does it?”

  Together, the three of them get the coffin loaded into the ice cream truck.

  Andrew retrieves his single bag from the hearse and Jesse loads the two suitcases into the back.

  They pile in, Jesse driving, Andrew riding copilot, Myrtle in the back with the coffin.

  They’re rolling down the dirt driveway to the highway that will take them far from here when Jesse hits the brakes.

  “Huh,” he says.

  Andrew turns in his seat. “What?”

  “That hearse is stolen.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Seems like we might wanna do something about it before we go.”

  ***

  Myrtle hoists the rocket launcher over her shoulder and takes aim.

  There’s a great kaboom.

  The hearse goes up in flames.

  Jesse takes the rocket launcher from Myrtle as Andrew looks nervously from the highway to the charred remains of the police cruiser beside the flaming hearse. “You think anyone will spot the copper’s car from the highway?”

  “Naw,” Jesse says. “It’s pretty burned out. But just in case…” He reloads the rocket launcher from a nearby case of missiles, hands the rocket launcher over to Andrew. “The honors are yours.”

  Andrew blows up the already destroyed cruiser.

  “I want to do it again,” Myrtle says.

  “Fine by me, honey,” Jesse says, setting about reloading the rocket launcher for Myrtle.

  Now Myrtle takes aim. There’s a second explosion from the hearse, something small inside exploding, and the sudden, unexpected noise is enough to startle Myrtle just a bit.

  She pulls the trigger, sending a rocket straight through the front window of their house.

  The house explodes and Myrtle sails backwards, landing in the dirt in her pretty dress.

  Flames from the house lick the dead, dry grass.

  “Think that might spread?” Andrew asks.

  “Probably,” Jesse says.

  “Figures,” Andrew says.

  Jesse helps Myrtle to her feet and for a split moment, her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, their home going up in flames, Jesse understands that what they have together is a thing that will endure beyond anything else. They have not lost a home because they are home, in each other. But the authorities don’t understand that kind of shit, so they get into the ice cream truck with the rocket launcher and the coffin and some luggage and they hit the highway fucking stat.

  ***

  Myrtle’s weeping.

  She speaks between gasping sobs. “Everything was in there and I burned it all down.” Gasp. “I shot a rocket launcher at our house.” Choking for air. “And now I’ll never remember what my mother looks like.” Biting her knuckles. “Her picture is gone. And our save-the-dates…” Eyes pinched shut as if to call back all her tears. “They were so beautiful.”

  Jesse tries to soothe her. “Myrtle, it’s okay. We can buy another house and replace all that old junk. We’re gonna be rich, remember?”

  “Really? We can buy another one?”

  “Sure we can. Anywhere in the world you like.”

  Myrtle smiles through her tears. “Can we move to Vegas?”

  “Absolutely. Soon as we drop these snakes off, we’ll buy us a brand new Cadillac and cruise on down to Vegas, get hitched, maybe win some on blackjack, and buy ourselves a big-ass Las Vegas mansion.”

  “And brand new wardrobes,” Myrtle says, even laughing a little.

  “That’s right. All the dresses you can dream of.”

  Myrtle wipes her nose on the sleeve of her dress, which between the hard fall she took from the rocket launcher, grime and spider webs in the ice cream truck, and her fit of tears, looks like something very old and very worn, but she doesn’t mind. The misery of the present is fading. A fantasy of the future begins to show. “Out-of-towners will see us cruising the strip, having cocktails with exotic dancers and casino owners, and they’ll say, ‘Look at those folks. They must be big important people in Las Vegas.’”

  “That they will,” Jesse says. “We’ll be the cream of the Las Vegas crop.”

  Andrew interrupts the reverie. “In the meantime, if it makes either of you feel any better, I remembered to grab the car phone. We can make telephone calls to anyone in the world.”

  “I want to call the supermarket,” Myrtle says.

  Jesse cranes his head to look at her. “What do you want to call the supermarket for?”

  “I don’t know. Just because.”

  “Forget the supermarket.”

  Andrew dials a number and then holds the phone to his ear, an anticipatory smile on his face. “Hello, operator? Connect me to the nearest pet store.”

  “Pet store?” Jesse says.

  Andrew gestures for Jesse to be quiet, then speaks into the phone, “Hi, I’m just wonderin’ uh…what sorts of food do snakes eat?”

  Andrew nods, listening to someone on the other end of the line, before responding. “Rats, fish, insects…okay. What about bacon?”

  Andrew listens some more, says, “I mean snakes eat bacon, don’t they?”

  He nods vigorously, as if impatient with the pet store employee on the other end. “So you think they might, but you can’t say. Okay, well thank you very much.”

  He ends the call.

  “What was that all about?” Jesse asks.

  “It occurred to me the snakes might get hungry before we reach Oregon.”

  Myrtle frowns. “The doctors didn’t tell you what to feed ’em?”

  “I’m not in communication with the doctors,” Andrew says.

  “Then whoever gave you the snakes. The snake suppliers. They must’a told you something or given you a bag of snake food. Come on, think man,” Jesse says.

  “Maybe they’re like Gandhi and they don’t eat food,” Myrtle suggests.

  “What kinda stupid idea is that?” Jesse says. “Snakes like Gandhi.”

  Myrtle shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought because they’re medical snakes…”

  “Gandhi wasn’t a doctor anyway,” Jesse says.

  Myrtle disagrees. “Gandhi was too a doctor. A healer.”

  Jesse turns to Andrew. “A girl reads some magazines and suddenly she’s an authority on everything.”

  “I didn’t learn about Gandhi from any stupid magazine. I learned in college.”

  “You didn’t go to college.”

  “My sister did, and sometimes when our mama was working, she took me to school with her.”

  “Yeah, but you were just a little kid. You weren’t doing any learning.”

  “I did too learn. Kids younger than five learn the most. That I did read in a magazine.”

  Jesse’s face is reddening. He’s getting angry now. “If kids under five are the smartest learners, then why isn’t a five-year-old president of the United States? Huh? Answer me that, smartass.”

  Andrew’s on the car phone again.

  “Big Jer, it’s Andrew.

  “Sure has been a long time, Big Jer. No, I don’t remember the money I owe you, but listen. I got a favor to ask.

  “I knew you’d say that. Come on, Big Jer.

  “That time in Dallas was an exception.

  “That time in Tijuana don’t count.

  “Hey, you and I remember that time in El Paso a little bit differently and frankly, I side with me.

  “Look fine, I’ll put my cards on the table. I got a girl.

  “Yeah, a real fine bitch.”

  Jesse and Myrtle say together, “What?”

 
Andrew winks at them, continues. “Yeah, she’s real pretty. Young, blonde. Oh yeah, good tits.”

  Jesse slaps Andrew in the arm, mouths, “Cut it out.”

  But Andrew doesn’t cut it out. He’s still talking to Big Jer. “What I’m askin’ is simple. You got catfish. I got pussy. I’ll trade you ten cats, filleted and iced in a cooler, for half an hour with the broad.

  “An hour? I’m askin’ for catfish, not honey-baked ham.

  “Fine. Forty-five minutes. I’m an hour-twenty from your place. Be ready.

  “You sick ol’ dog. Sure, I’ll warn her,” Andrew says, laughing and making a grossed-out face.

  Andrew ends the call, still laughing.

  “What the fuck was that?” Myrtle says.

  “Yeah, what the fuck, man?” Jesse says.

  Andrew raises his hands like presto, I just pulled a white rabbit out of a black hat. “That, folks, was my good friend Big Jer. You’ve been out of the game for a long time, Jesse, but if you’d stayed in another couple years, you woulda had the privilege to meet the greasy, gross specimen of a man known as Big Jer.”

  “I don’t like this,” Myrtle says. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “Calm down. Everything is under control,” Andrew says.

  Jesse, who was already getting worked up over the Gandhi thing, is pissed. “Everything ain’t under control if you’re sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’.”

  Andrew doesn’t back down. “Hey now, Big Jer may be greasy and gross, but that comes with his trade. He’s a catfish farmer. He ain’t no scumbag. He’s a trustworthy dude. Hell, if he wasn’t such a fatass, I may’ve invited him along on this adventure instead of you. Big Jer would be the one making a mint, not you. So you shut your mouth about Big Jer.”

  Through gritted teeth, Jesse says, “Fine. Tell us the plan.”

  “Here’s how it is. We need snake food and we need people food ’cause as you dummies might have noticed by now, we forgot to pack food for ourselves. I don’t know how much money you’ve got on you, but personally I’m broke. I’m assuming we’ll need all the cash you got in your wallets for gas. That means, if we want to keep these snakes alive and maybe eat a little somethin’ ourselves before we reach Oregon, we need to pull a favor or a robbery. Personally, I think favors tend to be a little less fun, but I never miss an opportunity to see Big Jer. Especially if I can fuck him over good.”