Corrosion

by Jon Bassoff

  I walked over to the bed, sat down on covers and sheets all twisted together from last night’s sin-fest, and pulled out a can of snuff. I snorted a healthy pinch, sneezed a couple of times. I watched her all curled up in the fetus position, sobbing silently. Five, maybe ten minutes passed before she finally pulled herself to a sitting position. She moved against the wall, beneath the window. Her face was a pulpy mess. Got a cigarette? she asked.

  I reached into my shirt pocket and tossed her my last bent cigarette and a lighter. She lit it and inhaled deeply, eyes drifting back into her skull. She smoked greedily, quickly. She didn’t look scared anymore, just resigned. Did that make you feel good? she said.

  I shrugged my shoulders. There’s no pleasure in inflicting pain, I said.

  She blew out some smoke from the corner of her mouth, said, So what’s next?

  Don’t know, I said. Maybe you can start by telling me the truth and we can go from there.

  Truth? What version of the truth are you looking for?

  The only one. Tell me about Victor the Vaquero. More than just a fling on a lonely night, huh?

  She looked up at me, bemused. Yeah, she said. More than just a fling.

  How long?

  Three years. On and off.

  I got up from the bed, paced across the room. Lilith sucked on her cigarette and watched me from the corner of her eye.

  And your husband. Nick? He wasn’t as abusive as you made him out to be, was he?

  Smoke trickled from her nostrils and she half grinned. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You saw the way he was in the bar, the day we met.

  Yeah. I saw. But that night, when you showed up at my hotel room, all bloody and swollen. He didn’t do that, did he?

  Lilith crushed out her cigarette on the floor and shook her head. No, she said. He didn’t do that.

  Then…

  Victor gave me the beating. But it was my idea. Every last punch.

  Your idea, huh?

  You were too hesitant to do what you needed to do. I needed you to be mad. Mad enough to kill.

  So it was all a setup.

  Not a setup. An opportunity. Surely you can’t blame a young woman for taking an opportunity.

  I laughed at that. An opportunity? You killed your husband. And for what? A little insurance money?

  Correction. You killed my husband. And don’t be so cynical. It’s not just about the money. I might love Victor. He might be a good man.

  I shook my head, said, There’s no such thing as a good man. We’re all guilty from the time we’re born, and what God ought to do is stop us before we ever get going.

  That’s a pretty sentiment, Joseph.

  It’s not a pretty world, now, is it?

  I didn’t say anything else for a while and neither did she. I felt tired, very tired. Finally said, There’s something else I want to know. Something I’ve been wondering about.

  Yeah?

  Why me? Why’d you choose me?

  Lilith stared at me for a long moment, and then she shook her head. Boy, you are stupid, aren’t you?

  I never did anything to you. I was only trying to help you.

  Help me? Wow, you’re so noble, Joseph. Trying to protect me from my husband. Trying to protect the country from the terrorists. What a hero! Only I didn’t need your protection. I needed your violence. See how useful you can be?

  She was goading me on, that much I knew, but somehow I couldn’t muster any more rage. Because she was right. She’d played me for a fool and won. And so had my country.

  I could have cut my losses right then and there. Accepted my fate and walked out the door. Let Lilith live, let Victor live, wait for the jaws of justice to clamp around my throat. But I couldn’t. Because the truth is that a man’s gotta believe in something, whether it’s God or love or justice. And I believed in retribution.

  This Victor, I said. Where does he live?

  What do you want to know that for?

  Cause we’re gonna pay him a little visit, that’s why.

  A little visit, huh? And then what? Gonna beat him up? Gonna show me what a man you are?

  Don’t know yet. Might. Might not. Nothing much to lose, one way or another.

  She nodded her head slowly, wiped the wisps of hair from her eyes. No, she said. Nothing much to lose.

  CHAPTER 31

  My mind was splintering and my memories were somebody else’s. War scenes from a B-movie.

  Lilith drove the pickup. She’d changed into blue jeans and a flannel shirt. The shotgun was on my lap and bubblegum pop was on the radio.

  The sun shone, reflecting a kaleidoscope of light off the snow. We didn’t talk because there was nothing to say. And it was better that way. People are better off just keeping their mouths shut.

  We drove through town, down Baker Street, a few blocks east of Main. Victor lived in a little tract house decorated by poverty. Collapsed metal fence. Laundry hanging from a frozen wire. Broken-down El Camino on blocks. Skeletal cottonwood. We parked across the street, behind a crippled Mexican working under the hood of his car, crutches beneath his arms, filthy children at his feet.

  Lilith turned off the engine, kept her hand on the wheel. She stared straight ahead, face showing a little strain, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She said: Well, here we are, hero. Have you made up your mind yet? Decided what you’re gonna do? Decided how you’re gonna show me your manhood?

  I looked at her, shook my head. Just gonna have a little talk is all.

  A little talk?

  That’s right. I’m not gonna hurt him. Just want to set some things straight.

  She had no choice but to believe me. We got out of the car, her clutching her stomach, me the shotgun. The cripple looked up from the hood of his car and froze. I nodded at him, a friendly nod, and he nodded back.

  An American flag hung from the front of the house, whipping in the wind. We walked up the rotted front porch. I glanced in the window. The television was turned on, but nobody was there to watch it.

  I turned to Lilith. Got a key?

  Yes.

  Give it to me.

  She fumbled around in her purse for a while before locating the key. She handed it to me. After jiggling it around for a while, the lock clicked and I pushed open the door. The sound of the show’s laugh track echoed eerily throughout the lonely room.

  Aside from the television stand and an old gray couch, there was no furniture. The white walls were blank and peeling in some places. A pair of tan work boots sat askew next to the door. Just in front of the television stand, there was a narrow sloping hall that led to the small kitchen.

  Lilith and I walked down the hallway, me pressing the shotgun against her back. I peered into the kitchen. A teakettle and an empty metal pot rested on an ancient-looking stove. On the far side of the kitchen, a pair of large windows looked out onto the neighbors’ backyard, where an old pit bull was chained to the fence. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a round, wooden table, covered by a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. On the kitchen table sat three bottles of Budweiser. Two were empty and the third had just a swallow left. A cigarette burned in an ashtray, the smoke swaying to the ceiling in a crazy gypsy dance. Four mismatched chairs surrounded the table. And sitting on one of the chairs was Victor. He was sharpening an electrician’s knife, his right hand moving back and forth like a violinist. When he looked up, saw the shotgun, his dirt-brown eyes became wild-looking.

  Morning, Victor, I said. Lilith looked at him and shook her head, suddenly the helpless victim.

  He rose to his feet, waving the knife in his hand.

  I raised the shotgun, aimed it at his oversized belt bucket. Put it down, Victor, I said.

  For a few moments, he made no move, then his fingers loosened and the knife clattered to the ground. Go pick it up, I said to Lilith. She walked across the kitchen floor, bent down and picked it up. I reached out my hand. She glanced apologetically at V
ictor, then handed me the weapon. I stuck it in the back of my pants.

  I stood there for a while, biding my time, trying to make up my mind. You didn’t treat me very fairly, I said.

  He shook his head. I’m sorry. It was nothing personal.

  You coulda killed him yourself. Then everybody would have been happy. Everybody but Nick, that is.

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at me, wondering just how murderous a fellow I was.

  Got any rope, Victor?

  He thought for a moment, eyes rolling into the back of his head. No, he said. No rope. Got bungee cords, though.

  Go get ’em.

  So we left the kitchen and walked down the hallway, toward his bedroom, Victor the Vaquero in the lead, Lilith the Whore next, Joseph the Soldier last.

  I stood in the doorway and watched as he reached under his bed and pulled out a half dozen or so bungee cords of various colors and lengths. He tossed them on the bed, then looked up at me, eyes full of dread.

  I pointed toward a wooden chair in the corner of the room, told him to sit. He did as he was told. And that’s when Lilith broke down, dirty mascara tears sliding down her cheeks. It might have been an act, probably was an act. I didn’t care anymore. What are you gonna do? she sobbed. You said you weren’t gonna hurt him.

  I’m not gonna hurt him, I said again, and I meant what I said.

  Then what are you doing this for, huh?

  I didn’t answer. While Lilith stood there crying tears of deceit, I used the bungee cords to tie Victor to the chair. He didn’t struggle much, didn’t try to wiggle his way out. I didn’t gag him; there was no need. Then I stood next to him, raised the shotgun vaguely. Lilith covered her mouth with her hand. I squeezed the Mexican’s shoulder, said, You love her?

  He nodded his head.

  Why? She’s a wicked woman. The worst sinner I’ve ever known, and I’ve known my share of sinners.

  He shrugged his shoulders, didn’t answer.

  Come here, I said to Lilith.

  Following my command, she shuffled slowly toward where I was standing, her eyes done crying, now only filled with loathing. All the smugness had vanished from her demeanor.

  Kiss him, I said.

  What, you wanna jerk off?

  Kiss him, I said again.

  She made no move so I raised the shotgun. Fucking pervert, she said, then moved next to him, bent down and kissed him on the lips. Both of them kept their eyes open, no passion.

  I said: Now he dies.

  Victor took it in stride, only raising his eyebrow, frowning slightly. Lilith, meanwhile, became belligerent.

  Fuck you! she cried. You’re a lying bastard. You promised you wouldn’t hurt him. Goddamn lying bastard!

  I grinned, said, Don’t worry, sunshine. I’m not going to break my promise. I’m not going to kill him. You are. You’re going to slit his fucking throat.

  At first, Lilith didn’t believe me. She shook her head and laughed, like I was doing stand-up at Caroline’s. Even when I pulled out the electrician’s knife and placed it in her pretty little hand, she kept right on laughing.

  It wasn’t until I slapped her hard across the face that the laughter ceased and the sobbing returned. She dropped the knife to the floor and fell to her knees.

  Pick up the knife, I said.

  Fuck you.

  Do as he says, the vaquero said.

  Wiping away more brown tears, body shaking, she bent down and grabbed the knife.

  You’re crazy if you think I’m going to hurt him, she said.

  I cocked the shotgun and aimed it at her forehead. You’ll kill him, I said. Or else I’ll kill the both of you.

  Victor piped up again. Don’t do this. They’ll find you. And they’ll hang you. We’ll give you the money if that’s what you want. All of it. $250,000.

  I don’t want your money, I whispered. Only your blood.

  Lilith changed strategies. Went for the heartstrings. Joseph. Please. Think about what you’re doing. Think about me. When you came to that bar and saw Nick knocking me around, you stood up for me. You protected me. You don’t have to murder anymore. You can save three lives today.

  I turned toward the whore, said, He who knows how to save lives best knows how to destroy them. Which brings me to this point. The movies have taught you all wrong. When you stand behind someone to slit his throat, don’t pull his head backward. What you need to do is push his head forward, bring those vessels together. That way, he’ll be dead in minutes, not hours.

  She shook her head. Where did you learn all of that, Joseph?

  The Marines, that’s where! 1st Battalion, 7th Regiment, 1st Division! Stationed in Mosul! I served, damn it! I served with honor!

  Then I raised the shotgun again and clenched my teeth. It’s time, I said. It’s time for this goddamn wetback to bleed. Make up your mind. And think wisely, Lilith. You don’t do it, I’ll blow your goddamn brains out, so help me God.

  Fuck you, she said again, but the spunk was gone. I’m not gonna kill him.

  Victor nodded his head. It’s okay, Lilith, he said. Do it. Kill me. Save your own life. Jesus awaits me!

  Everything happened quickly then. My mind couldn’t keep up. Little snippets. Lilith lunging forward. The knife slashing across his throat. Blood spilling over his chest. Body twitching, eyes wide in agony. Lilith collapsing to the floor, the bloody knife clattering next to her. And then silence, God hanging from a noose.

  CHAPTER 32

  I pulled Lilith to her feet, held her close to me, felt her breath and the blood in her veins. She wasn’t crying, just staring straight ahead. Dead, was all she said. And I couldn’t argue with her.

  There were no fingerprints to wipe down, no DNA to remove. They’d figure out who did it, but they’d never find us. Not where we were going.

  I held the shotgun with one hand and Lilith with the other. We staggered across the street toward the truck. The cripple who’d been working on his car was gone and the streets were deserted.

  I tossed the shotgun in the bed and helped Lilith into the truck. Any fight she’d had was gone—her body was limp, her eyes empty. I hit the engine and thought things over. Nick McClellan was dead and so was Victor Vaquero, and I was alive and Lilith wouldn’t leave me.

  And then we were back on the chimney smoke highway, and it was cold and gray and lonely, which is the way things are on the plains in November. Dead leaves and crows and radio static and hair slicked back with Wild Root Cream Oil.

  Lilith rested her head on the glass, face pale and sickly. Her flannel shirt was covered with Victor’s blood. There were spatters on her face and hands, too. Sins that could never be washed away. We drove in silence.

  Well, we must have gone 20 miles or so when we came upon this ramshackle trading post. The wooden structure was rotting, and weeds grew through the broken pavement. A hand-painted sign read Cowboy Bob’s. I parked the truck behind an old rusted Mercury Coup, told Lilith that I’d be keeping an eye on her, but she was too far gone to respond. I went inside and bought a package of beef jerky, a can of Rooster dip, a package of hand wipes, and a sweatshirt with a picture of a wolf on it. I asked the one-armed dwarf of a cashier if I could use the phone and he said there was a pay phone on the side of the building. I thanked him, walked outside, located the phone. I dialed a number that I’d never forgotten. 719-522-1638. I let it ring 10, 12 times. No answer. I slammed down the receiver and strode back to the car.

  Lilith stared straight ahead, eyes still as dead as could be. I pulled out some wipes, tried cleaning the blood off her hands and face. No good. Then I handed her the sweatshirt and told her to change. She didn’t hear me. She just kept staring.

  The hearse engine was noisy, but the pickup drove smoothly. The fellow at the auto shop had done good work and I was glad I hadn’t given up on the old truck. I drove a good ten miles below the speed limit because I didn’t want to get pulled over. Outside, the world was stark and gray, the landscape a shoddy charcoal painting.
Skeleton trees stretched out with contorted branches, and sagging telephone wires swayed in the wind. And there an abandoned and burned farmhouse surrounded by dying alfalfa and junkyard automobiles. Ravens and vultures skulked up ahead, waiting, waiting. Off in the distance, the silhouette of the mountains was getting closer and closer.

  As we drove, I kept glancing in my rearview mirror, waiting for the flashing lights, but Sheriff Baker was nowhere to be seen. I found a country music station on the radio. It was filled with static and kept fading in and out. Sometimes a man speaking in hallucinogenic Spanish would cut in, then it would shift back to music. Snow fell slantways. Lilith’s eyes closed, and she slept fitfully.

  Another hour and we were in the foothills, driving through winding roads surrounded by lodgepoles and pine trees and aspens, an occasional lonely log cabin on a rutted path. The windshield wipers slapped away the snow and soon the voices on the radio were gone and it was just static. We drove higher and higher, the snowcapped mountains towering ominously. I drank some brandy and chewed some tobacco, trying to relax myself. There were no other cars, and I kept worrying that I was dead. How long had it been? Why was I coming back?

  The sky was the color of champagne and my eyes were kaleidoscope lenses. There was a strange magnetic force, pulling me toward my destiny, toward that evil place. I couldn’t have turned around if I had wanted to. A couple of times Lilith jerked awake, remembered the narrative, and closed her eyes, a single tear escaping from beneath her lashes.

  I drove slowly, concentrating on the winding road. I tried hard not to think about death and destruction, but it was no use. Nightmares were my waking state now.

  And after some time, we came upon the vestiges of a living ghost town, the junkyard of cars at the entrance providing a symbolic barricade from unwanted visitors. And then a wooden sign, faded and weather-beaten. Silverville. Elevation 9,228 Feet. Hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, I drove slowly past the broken-down jalopies, and onto Gold Street. Nothing quaint here, just a handful of worn-out brick buildings, including a little restaurant called the Miner’s Café.