by Ray Banks
…and there were nothing but blue skies from now on…
Out of the murk, the song continued, dropped in volume and the sound of bubbling, hissing, like water running over the music.
Yeah, water in the middle of the fucking desert. Give your head a shake, Cal.
Then the voices. More than Willie Nelson. One male, one female, both American. Muffled at first. Became clearer as the temperature dropped.
“You think he's really dead?” said the female.
“I don't know. Leave him,” said the male.
“We can't leave him.”
“Leave him. Get to town, we'll call the police.”
“We can't leave him here, Ed. What if he's still alive?”
“Then he'll still be alive when the cops come.”
“You have your cell?”
“I can't get a signal out here. I tried already. We can't get a signal out here, and there's nothing here, it makes me wonder why we got the thing.”
“For emergencies,” she said.
“Yeah, like this one?”
“You really think he's dead?”
“I think it's hotter'n Hades out here and there's nothing we can do for him. We'll call the cops in town.”
“I don't know…”
“Marie, I'm not discussing this anymore. You want to stay, stay here with your new boyfriend.”
“Ed.”
“You want to get out of the sun before your brains fry, you get in the vehicle and we head into town.”
And I tapped out again.
****
I came back like a match struck behind my eyelids, light flaring. The pain flared at the same time, made sure I was back and stayed back. I couldn't move my head. Didn't know of any way to do it without hurting myself. Opening my eyes was a struggle — they felt stuck together. I pulled out eyelashes as I pulled myself back to reality. My head was glued to the seat. The passenger door to the Metro hung open, the car leaning to one side and down. I tried to move my head, heard a wet sound as I peeled my face from the head rest.
The air conditioning was still on in the car, cool air digging into my cheek. It hurt my lungs as I took as big a breath as I could manage. Felt like someone gone to work on my chest like Liam and his heavy bag. I tugged at the seat belt, but it wouldn't budge.
Telling myself, don't pass out again. If it wasn't for the air conditioning, you'd be dead by now.
There had to be a limit on how long the battery in this shitpot Metro could last.
That shitpot Metro just saved your fucking life.
I remembered the way Nelson dropped out of sight, the passenger door swinging wild. That one snapshot of his face, pure panic.
But I needed to get out of the car, assess the damage. I touched the side of my face; my fingers came away bloody. I pulled the rear view mirror towards me. My face was wrecked, a deep gash in the left side of my head, digging under my cheek and leading to one tattered ear. Behind me, I could see what was left of my earlobe stuck white and speckled reddish-brown to the driver's door.
One inch further, and I wouldn't have been looking at anything.
I fumbled with my seat belt, managed to click it open. Felt the belt dig in as it crossed my chest, like it had dug deep there. Better that than ending up on the road somewhere. I gave it a few minutes, let my lungs take in more air.
One hand on the driver's door, pushing it open, and I threw my arm out onto a pile of dirt. Sunlight burned my eyes. I dragged myself out of the car, dropped facedown. Rolled over, planted one foot against the side of the car and pushed myself towards the road.
Forget the fucking car, eh?
And that's where it got me, tumbled and torn in a ditch. It could have been worse. Yeah, it could have been a lot worse.
Shooting someone because you thought they'd taken a bribe. That was fucking harsh. Not letting them explain or at least try to lie their way out of it. To be that solid in your convictions that you'd play judge, jury and executioner. Jesus, for a guy who looked centred, Nelson had a lot of pent-up aggression.
I didn't need to check my watch to know that Liam was out of the comp. Hours had flown by. Shapiro would've called it. So it didn't matter if I managed to get the Metro out of the ditch, got the engine running and started driving, because it was all over already. One bullet and my low threshold for pain just sealed the deal.
I tried to think of something good about my situation. I was alive. Tick that box. And that was it.
I could walk back to Los Angeles, or I could keep walking somewhere else. That was if I knew which way Los Angeles was. And if whatever brain damage I'd suffered didn't cut me down, the heat and blood loss would. After all, it was hot-hot-hot and the weatherman was wearing a suit. They'd find me roasted by the side of the road, pity the poor wee Brit who went out for an afternoon stroll.
“Didn't he know the meaning of desert?”
“Nah, man, they don't have deserts in Britain. It's all fields and shit.”
“But it's hot out there. He should've stayed in the damn car.”
That's what I intended to do. But then thought twice about it. I'd have the air conditioning, maybe a bottle of water, but I'd be sitting there waiting for help that might not come. And I'd be tortured with day dreams of beating the everloving shit out of Nelson bastard Byrne.
And where was Nelson?
Somewhere in the wilderness, vultures were circling. I couldn't see them or hear them, but I could sure as fuck feel them.
C'mon, move.
You fucking lazy bastard coward. Get moving. Get up. Get walking. Do something.
Get the fuck up.
I twisted round, dug my hands into the dirt and pushed myself up to my hands and knees. Stuck there in the middle of a girly push-up until I caught my breath. Then I tried to stand up. It was all baby steps, took far longer than it should have, but then baby steps were still steps forward. No sense in rushing it.
I stood by the side of the road on watery legs. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I could just about make out the scarred asphalt. Black streaks gleaming where the tyres tried to grab before I careened off the road. It looked like it had been a short drive to the ditch. I didn't have the momentum to go through the windscreen, just enough for my seat belt to lock and slam me across the chest.
Squinted up the road, thought I should've seen something other than brush and desert. Nelson should have been visible. Twisted in a heap somewhere. I hoped to Christ the fall from the car hadn't killed him, because I didn't need that on my conscience. I was a lot of things, but I wasn't a murderer.
So I started walking. Followed the ditch. My right leg gypped me worse than the left, and my back kicked in with every step.
Just like the old days.
Wishing I had the codeine.
Wishing I had the prozac, the diazepam.
Knowing they were all back at the hotel.
Wishing I had a beer.
Wishing I had…
I stopped, pulled out the battered pack of Marlboros and slipped a bent cigarette into my mouth, fumbled some more for my Bic. I didn't care about dehydration, didn't care that smoke scratched at my throat. Nicotine was the closest thing I had to a painkiller. And I was hell bent on smoking the rest of the pack just to see how far it got me.
A hundred yards, and the energy slipped away.
A hundred and fifty, and I saw where Nelson had hit the road. A fine spray of blood.
Two hundred and Nelson was still nowhere to be seen.
He was gone. The bastard had had a back-up plan. He hadn't acted spur of the moment, he'd had it all worked out. Nelson Byrne really wanted to kill me.
Realising something like that, it can take the wind out of your sails in an instant.
I had one more glance up and down the road. Nothing. Dropped to the ground and plucked the cigarette from my lips, held it out in front of me. The smoke plumed straight up.
No breeze.
Dead.
****
�
��So you just laid down?” says Wallace.
“I just laid down,” I say.
“Why?” says Munroe.
“I was waiting around to die. Not a lot else I could've done. I was miles outside of the city.”
“But you didn't die,” says Wallace.
I look at the big guy for a long time, then smile.
“No, that's right,” I say. “I didn't die.”
32
I woke up freezing, drowning and grabbing at air.
“There you are, son. Coughing and choking just like the rest of us.”
I knew that voice.
“Don't be mean, Ed.”
And that one.
I tried to pull myself to a sitting position, my face stinging and wet. Wiped at my eyes, water caught in my nose. I coughed up something solid. Red, stringy phlegm hung from the back of my hand.
“I told you he wasn't dead.”
“Guy manages to get himself out of the car, sure he's not dead. I got eyes, Marie. I got a brain. I can use the two of 'em in tandem, y'know.”
I squinted at the new arrivals. My saviours were a couple in their early sixties. Ed was tall, looked even taller. One of the reasons I was feeling the cold was that his shadows fell directly over me. He wore a crumpled sun hat, had a cigarette in his mouth that was either menthol or filterless. From the gravel in his throat and the deep rattle of his breath, I guessed it wasn't a menthol.
“Ed thought you were dead,” said Marie.
“I didn't say that.”
“You said that.”
“I said he was probably dead. Probably.”
Marie was a plump woman, short. A patterned blue dress filled to the brim. She looked like a grandmother, and a good one at that. The kind of face you see smiling at you above a selection of baked goods at a church market.
“You okay?” she said.
“Yeah, he's fine. Look at him.”
I wanted to say something, but my throat felt like it'd been scraped raw. I waved my hand at them instead.
“You caught the sun, kid,” said Ed.
Marie pressed a bottle of water into my hand, closed her cold fingers over mine to make sure I held onto it. I nodded at Ed, brought the bottle to my mouth and guzzled the water. It hurt going down.
And it hurt even more coming back up.
Marie grabbed the bottle from me as I twisted to one side, coughed and spewed water.
“Yeah,” said Ed. “You definitely caught the sun.” He waited for me to stop heaving, then put his hands in my armpits. “We need to get you inside, son. You need to cool off.”
“I told you,” said Marie, her voice rising. “I told you he wasn't dead.”
“Yeah, and I told you to get in the damn vehicle.”
The “vehicle” was a motorhome idling by the side of the road. One of those amazing flats-in-a-truck that you could live in for the rest of your life, as long as you didn't mind shopping at petrol stations. I pawed at my mouth, wiping away a thick string of spittle. Marie opened the door to the motorhome and Ed helped me into it. The bliss of real air conditioning hit me.
“Get a towel,” said Ed, pulling me over to the couch. He helped me lie down. “Goddamn it, Marie, get a wet towel.”
I could hear Marie fussing. Not too keen on Ed's choice of words, by the sound of it. I caught “… no need for that at all …”
“I'll tell you right now, you're a lucky guy,” he said.
I looked up at him. Ed looked like a groomed mountain man. A voice that belonged in a Peckinpah western and a face that had the texture of a saddle bag.
“You're lucky my wife's a damn nag.”
“I heard that,” said Marie over the sound of running water.
“Of course you heard it. You hear everything in this thing. Not like we can go in separate rooms.” He looked at me. “Two rooms: inside and outside. It was her idea. 'See all those places you wanted to see all your life, Ed. It'll be an adventure. We need an adventure…'“
Marie brought a sodden towel over to me. She pressed it against my head, water running in icy streams across my cheeks. “You were going to stay in your garden and murder crickets, Ed.”
“This is your adventure.” Then, to me: “Way I saw it, son, we should've left you where you lay. Too old to be getting involved in that kinda business. You were dead.”
“I said you weren't,” said Marie. “I knew you weren't.”
“The hell with it. You just wanted another gander at the corpse.”
Marie made an O with her mouth. “I did not. I had faith. I made him turn the RV around. He was grousing, but I had faith.”
She pressed the towel again. My head started to clear. Just a little, the fog lifting at the edges, but it was a good start.
“Yeah, my wife has more faith than I do. I know when to steer clear. This country, it's no place for old men, so I got to look out. My wife, she thinks she's one of God's only women, a real saint.”
“I don't think that.”
“You don't think that. You're closer'n me. Because I said no, we drive on, we're on vacation, for Christ's sake.”
Marie's face turned to stone. “That's enough of that.”
“That's what I said.”
“There was no need for it then and there's no need for it now.”
Ed shrugged what could have been an apology. Marie accepted it.
“What I say is, I say there's no good way a car ends up in a ditch. When I see you, I say there's no good way a guy ends up shot. Which reminds me…”
Ed put one huge hand on the side of my head, turned my face away and puffed smoke at my mangled ear.
“It hurt?”
Course it fucking hurt. I nodded.
“Ah, it's a flesh wound. Won't even need stitches. You'll be fine.”
Marie flipped the towel on my forehead, patted it down. “I need to freshen this.”
When she got up, Ed leaned in and said, “How'd you end up out there?”
“Let the boy rest.”
“I want to know. Hell, I need to know, Marie. Yeah, he's weak right now, but who's to say this kid isn't a serial killer or something?”
“I'm not a serial killer,” I said. Then coughed. One cough led to another, then a full-blown fit. I had to sit up, bend double. Ed shifted along the couch, obviously worried that I was going to throw up again.
“So you got a voice,” said Ed. “Beginning to think you were a mute.”
I nodded slowly, tears streaming from my eyes. At least there was some moisture left in me. Ed took the cigarette from his mouth, gathered up a small ashtray from the side and stubbed out what was smoking. He waited for me to breathe deeper, then placed his hands on his knees.
“So what happened?” he said.
Marie stopped where she was, folded the towel over her arm. I looked well enough to do without it, then. She moved to a seat opposite Ed and me. I glanced at her, at those large brown cow eyes and felt sick again. She was so desperate for me to be a loser, a kid knocked black and blue by life and dumped by the side of the road, it killed me. Mostly because at that moment I was so grateful to her for being such a harpy and making Ed drive back.
“A bloke I thought I could trust… He flipped out and shot me.”
“Why?”
I stared at Ed. “It's a long story.”
“Were there drugs involved?”
“Ed.”
“Drugs are involved, I want to know about it.” Ed frowned. “I got all the time in the world to hear this story, son.”
“We need to get going,” said Marie.
“No, we ain't going nowhere until I hear what this boy has to say.”
Marie started to protest, but Ed had final say.
“I mean it,” he said, looking directly at me. “You tell me what happened, son. You tell me from the beginning, don't leave nothing out, right through to your ass out there in the desert. And tell it straight. I been alive long enough to recognise the smell of bullcrap.”
I looked
across at Marie, thinking she'd have to say something to get me out of this, but she was too busy watching her husband, the towel between her hands. When our eyes met, I could see her mind was made up. The RV was going nowhere until I spilled my guts and made it convincing. My first instinct was to lie, make it up and see what stuck.
But then I thought, fuck it. Tell the truth.
It's the easiest thing to remember.
So I started talking.
33
“So did you tell the truth?” says Munroe.
“I told them most of the truth.” I lean forward in my seat, put my elbows on the table. “Some things I had to keep out.”
“Like now?” says Wallace.
“Sorry?”
“Are you telling us the truth now, or are you leaving some things out?” He crosses his arms the other way.
“I'm telling you the truth,” I say.
Like fuck I am. Replace the facts with plausible lies. I've had time to polish my story so it hangs together like the truth. Got so I almost believe what I'm telling the cops.
“Then what happened?” says Munroe.
“They dropped me off in the city and I went back to the hotel.”
Munroe nods. “Okay.”
****
I wish they'd just dropped me off at the hotel. Wish it was that easy.
Wish Ed didn't listen to my story and say, “I'm sorry, Callum. But I don't believe a damn word you just told me.”
“Ed…”
“I don't, Marie. I may be getting suspicious in my old age, but I don't believe a damn word.” He pushed himself to his feet. At full height, the top of his head brushed the ceiling. “That's not to say what you just told me was all lies. But there were lies in there. A lot of 'em. I can't point to which one's truth and which one's lie, but I asked you to tell it straight and you didn't.”
Ed ducked as he made his way to the front of the RV. He slumped painfully into the driver's seat and said, “C'mon up, Callum.”
Marie blinked. “We're going?”