Uncle Dust

by Rob Pierce

  The old woman, no longer with anyone to talk to in front of her, spun around to face the line and shouted. “What is this, hurry up and wait?” Her elbows went out like a bird about to take flight. “Hurry up and wait?”

  I wanted to run. One crazy lady shouldn’t bother me like this, but everything was on top of everything else and she wouldn’t shut up. I needed quiet, a nice, peaceful wait until I got my teller and took her money. I wanted to be the frightening one. I hated the things I didn’t control. Like how long I waited.

  And I couldn’t control this wing-flapping woman, or the woman in a suit who had chosen this particular Saturday morning to settle all her business accounts. I couldn’t control how bad I needed this to work, or how little I’d be going back to if it didn’t. Even if I didn’t get caught. Shit, only losers thought about getting caught. If I got away but didn’t make enough money, if I had to keep working for Tenny I might as well be dead.

  Coffee and adrenaline ran through me, and I was afraid if the line didn’t move soon I’d piss. And I wouldn’t be dry cleaning these pants any time soon; machine wash or burn.

  The business suit stepped away from her teller. At last. The old bird woman stepped forward, and the suit turned and stepped back, asked her teller a question. I thought the bird might swoop and attack. The teller answered and the suit nodded, resumed her departure, avoided getting pecked to death.

  I was second in line now, but the line was so slow I let myself look at the departing businesswoman stop and say something to the security guard. He stepped back startled when the woman spoke. He was too easily excited, I’d walk past him casually. If he suspected anything he’d give it away.

  There was a small woman in front of me. I’d ignored her til now, she was quiet, but she stepped from the front of the line to the teller on the right and I realized I was next. Bird lady had the teller on the left, squawked at her and flapped her arms but mainly stood on the balls of her feet and hit high notes. I closed my eyes a second, saw her as a target to practice on and fired, made every piece of her head as thin as her white strands of hair. But I opened my eyes and she remained, still squawking, still flapping. And there was a voice far away. I stepped toward the sound as though pulled: “I can help you over here, sir."

  Thank God. I stepped forward shaking my head, almost amused. I should have been amused.

  My teller was tall and blonde, which was different, since they were usually Asian or Hispanic, but she spoke with an accent. I smiled for her because I knew she was from Russia or Eastern Europe and I no longer felt out of place. I handed her my usual note, written in thick pen on the back of a withdrawal slip:

  I HAVE A GUN

  GIVE ME ALL THE MONEY YOU CAN REACH

  NO ALARMS OR I WILL SHOOT YOU

  I put my deposit bag on the counter and spoke softly. “Act like you’re counting it, then put it in the bag. I don’t want to hurt you, I just want the money. In large bills.”

  She opened her drawer. I glanced to my left. The other teller was busy with bird lady. I liked this kind of robbery—I didn’t need to know my victim’s name, the victim was really the bank, there was only some woman with no reason to give a shit filling my bag for a couple of minutes and bank policy would be don’t endanger yourself. They had cameras, insurance, and a security guard to make their customers feel safe.

  The tall blonde unlocked the cabinet beside her, removed rubber banded stacks of large bills, counted out a stack, replaced the rubber band and put it in my bag. This could take all day.

  I smiled and spoke through my teeth. “Put the stacks in the bag. Let’s get this over with.”

  She grabbed the next stack and nearly flung it into the bag.

  “Slower. Put em in.”

  She slowed down, and boy was she good at that.

  I stayed patient as long as I could. “Faster!”

  She started moving frantically, like she had two speeds, comatose and panicked.

  “He’s a thief!” bird lady shouted. I turned and she was pointing at me, with a hand flapping up and down. “He’s robbing the place!”

  I knew she wasn’t a threat so I turned and sure enough that idiot security guard was reaching for his gun.

  “Stop counting!” I yelled at the teller. “Put it in the bag!” I didn’t have a gun in my coat so I opened it wide to show the guard. He stood twenty feet away with his hand at his holster. I grabbed the bag of money and ran at him. He froze, then unfroze and grabbed the gun. He aimed it at me and I was almost on him. I swung the money bag at his head, caught him across the jaw as he fired. A bullet hit my left shoulder like a sledgehammer and I dropped, let go of the money. The guard fell too, and his gun fell farther. He reached for it but I saw death in front of me and grabbed his arm with my good hand. I held him a second, that was all I could. Somehow I got to my feet and kicked the gun away. I grabbed the money bag and ran for the door.

  Behind me, the bird lady yelled, “What is this, hurry up and wait? Hurry up and wait? I’ve been here all day and he’s taking all the money!”

  I made it through the door and ran for my car.

  ACT 3

  I drove with one hand on the wheel. My left arm hung lifeless; I didn’t know if I could lift it. I wanted a shot for the pain but I could only grit my teeth. I reached the outskirts with no police in my rear view. There was a dirt road out of town and I hit it.

  I drove as fast as I could down the empty road. I had plenty to worry about but it was hard to think of anything but pain. I couldn’t let it change my escape route, I still had to take back roads until I swapped cars and clothes and drove to Val’s place, but as soon as I got there I had to get this fucking bullet out of my arm.

  I pulled off the road to swap out the cars. It was a bitch sweeping out under the passenger seat one-handed, worse moving shit from the trunk. I got everything into my own car, rested against it a minute, took off my fake facial hair and suit and drove to Val’s place.

  ***

  I parked down the street from Valerie’s house, as close as I could get, set the suitcase on the road and pushed the trunk shut with my good hand. Every step hurt. I made it to her house and rang the bell.

  “Dustin!” she said when she opened the door, like she’d been shocked into formality.

  “Bullet in my arm,” I said. “Has to come out. No doctors.”

  She opened the door wide to let me in, put an arm out like she’d put it around me but my good hand pushed her away and I stumbled to the couch.

  “What the fuck, Dust?”

  “There’s a guy deals with this. But you gotta drive me to him.”

  “I gotta drive?”

  “My car stays here. And this case stays with me.” I aimed my chin at the suitcase in my hand.

  Valerie nodded. This was sudden, but she wasn’t slow. “He expecting you?”

  I shook my head. “I got no number to call. I can tell you how to get there. But I need something for the pain. You got any weed, any booze?”

  She shook her head.

  “Let’s get outa here. Stop at the first liquor store.”

  ***

  One thing about Val: she knew better than to give me shit about an open container. I drank and she drove; if we got pulled over, we had bigger things to worry about. And she knew I’d always take care of her. But she had to get me to Carver.

  I assumed it was only a nickname. A guy with Carver’s job didn’t want his real name out there. If you needed something cut out of you, this was the guy to see. I’d never needed him before, but I took Rico to him once. That was the time I saved Rico’s life. Last time I worked a bank job with a partner.

  Carver’s house was a well-maintained Victorian on a street filled with crumbling ones. “Pull into the driveway,” I said. There was already a car there but it was pulled up pretty far. We’d be blocking the sidewalk without jutting into the street, so I figured we’d be okay. Val didn’t say shit, pulled in. She looked pretty scared but she was doing this for me, this was
how the favors came back. Or she was still in love with me, God save her. Either way, she helped me out of the car and we walked up the steps to the front door.

  ***

  I brought the suitcase with me. Carver was great at what he did, but he was also a crook, so I also brought a pistol in my jacket. Didn’t know if I had the strength to fire it.

  Valerie rang the bell. We stood there waiting. Waiting is the worst thing for pain. I drank with my good hand. It was a tall bottle of single malt scotch. As much pain as I was in, I needed something that went down easy.

  I took another drink and nodded at Val. She rang the bell again. “Step back,” I said. I’d have pulled her if my left hand had any strength. Instead I stepped back and waited for her to join me. When she did I leaned into her. She put an arm around me like maybe she misread why I’d leaned. I didn’t know how long I could stand up.

  “Who is it?” The voice behind the door was soft but deep.

  “Dust,” I said. It hurt to talk. “Carver, you know me. I’m a friend of Rico’s.”

  There was a pause. My shoulder felt every second of it. The door opened, slowly, and I felt every second of that. I staggered in, and Val wedged herself behind me. The door shut quick. A man was behind us, and I heard the door lock, and bolt, and bolt again and again. There was no light in the entry hall. A hand came down on my shoulder and I winced.

  “Sit. It’s a chair.”

  The hand pulled back and I lowered myself. Val sat beside me.

  “One bullet in the shoulder. Is that all?”

  I released my gritted teeth. “Yeah.”

  “It’ll hurt and it ain’t cheap.”

  “I know what it costs and I know what’s in the case. Take your fee. Don’t let it come up short.”

  I hadn’t had a chance to count what I’d taken but he didn’t dare cheat me.

  “It’s ten thousand,” he said.

  “It’s five, don’t shit me. I work for Tenny.”

  Carver nodded. Enough business and bullshit had been talked. He should patch me up and take five large from the suitcase. He didn’t know I hadn’t counted the money, and he wouldn’t fuck with a guy who worked for Tenny.

  “Wait here. Drink if you want, but I’ll bring you somethin gonna put you out.”

  I nodded. Carver stepped through an open doorway and I took another drink. The painkiller I got later wouldn’t help the hurt I had now. I drank some more, looked straight ahead. I knew Val stared at me, knew she worried, was grateful she didn’t know what to say. I drank from that bottle like it was bottomless.

  ***

  I woke up on my back in a room I didn’t remember. My shoulder was numb. I lay on a narrow table, sturdy but smooth, like something a masseuse would use. My mouth was dry and my head ached, but that was probably the scotch. I turned my head, saw Val on a wood folding chair, blinking, trying to stay awake. “When can I get out of here?”

  “You’re awake?” She sat up straight, smiled at me.

  “Where’s my suitcase?”

  Val nodded at the floor.

  I looked down, saw it. “And Carver?”

  She shrugged. “Around.”

  “Open the case.”

  She got out of her chair, bent down and moved her hands around until she found the little pieces that pushed in. She popped it open but it faced her. She turned it around so I could see it.

  A quarter full. It was half full before Carver took his. I was down to about five large. Job was hardly worth the trouble. “You watched him count it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shut the fucking thing.”

  She pushed the lid down, turned the case to face her again and latched it shut. “We clearing out?”

  “Carver comes back here and gives me some meds. Then we clear out.”

  Val nodded. I didn’t even try to sit up. Carver didn’t want me around any longer than necessary; he’d be back soon.

  I lay there and Val sat, leaned forward, intent. I had nothing left to say.

  I must have slept a bit, there were things like dreams but I couldn’t remember them. After a while, Carver stood in the room and I hadn’t seen the door open.

  “I’m out of pain right now,” I said. “Give me something to keep me that way.”

  Carver wore a sweatshirt and blue jeans. “I can get that for you. It’s extra.”

  “You cleaned me out, asshole. It’s paid for.”

  “Look, I don’t know your name. That’s part of the service. Your shoulder will be fine. That’s part of the service. Medicine for after you’ve been treated is additional. If you’re unclear on that, you can check with Mister Tenny.”

  I swallowed. It hurt. I rasped: “Tenny ain’t payin for this. I already paid. And you may have disarmed me for surgery, but you didn’t disarm me forever.”

  Carver nodded. “I didn’t mean you wouldn’t get any take home meds. You’ll get what you need for the next few days. I meant beyond that…”

  I nodded back, glared. Carver was a prick, but not a hard one.

  ***

  I spent a few days doing nothing. Hiding out was simpler while I was unconscious. Wake up, hurt, take meds, pass out. Not exactly exciting, but the first few days disappeared that way.

  I slept on the couch. Val wouldn’t fit on it, so the only other option was both of us in her bed. The couch was simpler.

  I opened my eyes and she wasn’t there. My shoulder hurt, but it wasn’t time for my meds yet, this was the pain I had to get used to. I sat up, found the remote, turned on the TV. Talk show. Game show. Soap opera. Val didn’t have cable, so changing the channel didn’t help. I turned the damned thing off.

  I stood, but there was nowhere to go. I wasn’t hungry, so the kitchen wouldn’t help, and the last time I looked through her CDs I found a lot of Tori Amos and nothing that rocked. Silence was better. No sights, no sounds. There wasn’t even traffic outside. An occasional car, but even those drove slowly, quietly. I’d chosen an excellent place to hide. Val lived on the dullest block in the world.

  She had a DVD player but she didn’t own any movies. I’d have to send her out for some, get The Godfather in here at least. I wondered where she was now. She must have gone shopping, she didn’t leave the house much. I couldn’t even exercise with this damn wound, unless I wanted to do one-handed push-ups. Fuck it, might as well.

  I was on the floor when I heard the front door open. I should have kept going, it could only be Val, but I stopped, got on my knees and crawled behind the couch. I peeked out as the door opened.

  Val with two grocery bags. She shut the door behind her and I stood. “Need a hand?”

  She stopped for a second, but that was all. “Not as bad as you do.”

  I laughed, mainly because Val never joked. Something about taking care of me must have been good for her. I got that. And letting her do it could be the best way for me to take care of her. I sat on the couch. “I don’t wanna be a pest, Val, but I could use some movies here.”

  “You don’t wanna be a pest? You show up without calling and have me take you to some gangster doctor, you lie on my couch day and night mixing scotch and morphine, you talk crazy shit all the time while you’re out of your head, and you don’t wanna be a pest.”

  Mostly it was good to hear her talk like that. But… “What kind of crazy shit?”

  “Dragons, dwarves, Satan. You’re all over the place, Dust. Like I said, crazy shit.”

  “And I say what about them?”

  Val laughed. “Well, Jesus, Dust, it’s dragons and dwarves and Satan. You wanna kill em all.”

  I nodded. Yeah, I do. “How long before my meds?”

  Val glanced at her wrist watch. “A couple hours yet.”

  I stood, walked into the kitchen, found my bottle of scotch and poured a tall glass.

  ***

  I sat on the couch with my scotch in my hand and Val beside me. I took a drink and shook my head. “I don’t really wanna kill anyone. I just want em all to leave me the fuc
k alone.”

  “Dragons and dwarves and Satan been buggin you?”

  “Not dragons so much. But the others, yeah.”

  “Maybe we can skip your next morphine.”

  “No fuckin way. I could explain Satan and dwarves, you’d understand. It’s worse than hallucinations. I might have to deal with them.”

  Val coughed a while, put down the mineral water she’d been sucking back. Shit. It was hard hanging out with someone who didn’t want to be reminded of reality. Her reality: one horrible night she couldn’t get past.

  I lowered my glass. “You know when we were kids…” I let it tail off. I was trying to change the subject but it had started in her head, I saw her eyes rolling. I grabbed her by the shoulders. My shot arm hurt like hell and I dropped it. “This ain’t about you. That boy, Jeremy, I gotta take care of him. There was no one there for me when I was a boy.”

  “Boys,” Val murmured, and I didn’t have a chance. She folded forward, and I hoped she’d throw up. She dipped her head toward her chest. “Boys,” she whispered, and tears fell. She wrapped her arms around her knees and lurched forward and it was like when I’d poisoned Peach in the yard. Except he must have hit a point where he knew he was going to die, and she just wanted to. All these years.

  I wanted to tell her to let it go. I knew it was the dumbest thing I could say. “My old man,” I said. “He wanted to kill me every time he beat me.” And I didn’t know what else to say about that. Val sat hunched forward, shuddering, crying.

  She made a noise but it was only snot running, then tears, and a soft rasp from her open mouth. I put a hand on her head. She jerked and I pulled back. She leaned forward again, quieter now.

  “Abram and Jesse,” she said, softly.

  “I know.”

  “But that… that…”

  She couldn’t go on, and she probably should have, but I didn’t want to hear it. Her boys, or Peach, or the unfairness of it—I knew those things. I guess she could never be done with those things. If it was me I thought the horror would fade, but it wasn’t my horror, I didn’t know shit. I wanted her to be past that. For her own sake.