Monster Behind the Wheel

by Michael McCarty

  She led me to two large rocks next to each other. “Let’s sit here. This is about as cozy as this place gets. There are creatures—strange patchwork things, kind of hard to describe—that live down in the river’s depths. Occasionally the flow will bring them up to the surface for a moment. That’s how I’ve been able to see two or three. I think they are gods. After all, they live within time itself.”

  “Yeah, but we all live in time,” I said. “Are we gods?” “Maybe we are gods. Ants would consider us gods. We can crush them—or help them—so easily. Ah. Look what’s coming this way.” The old woman nodded. “One of the toys of the Guardians. He threw a rock at one, and they did that to him. They rearrange him every now and then.”

  The man approaching us looked like he had been taken apart and then carelessly jammed back together at random. He had a hand coming out of his neck and a foot coming out of his ass. He walked in a herky-jerky three-legged fashion on one leg and two forearms. He had an eye in one armpit and teeth stuck all over his body.

  He hobbled up to the old woman. She caressed his cheek and gave him a kiss on the forehead. A tear rolled out of the eye in his armpit, and he hobbled away. When he turned to leave, I saw that his dick and balls were on his back.

  “I feel sorry for you,” I said to the old woman. “You seem so nice, and yet you’re stuck here.”

  She sighed. “Oh, please. No pity for me, thank you. Would you believe I’m happy? I have a brain. I can move. I have a few friends. I get to watch the River of Time. And I love somebody.”

  “Who? That tripod guy?” I hitched a thumb in the direction of the pathetic thing that had shambled away.

  “Myself.” She tapped her forehead. “I love me. Oh, you should see the look on your face. Do you think that sounds terrible? Unspeakably vain? It shouldn’t. Every creature should love itself. Take care of itself. Because once a being has love at its center, it becomes very easy for the warmth to spread outward from there.”

  She then tapped my forehead. “You are not like others. You are touched by time. You will always be different. You will always be strange. But don’t let those circumstances lead you to hate yourself. Have fun. Enjoy all the sensations of existence. Laugh. Even when tornadoes toss you through the sky. Even when the earth opens up to swallow you. Laugh with joy.”

  The old woman put her lips close to my ear. “Who says there are no easy answers? Just laugh.” She kissed my ear, got down from her rock, and walked away. Laughing.

  Her laughter was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. It rang out across that barren plain like a wonderful silver bell. For a moment, that desolate wasteland was a place of panoramic beauty.

  And I woke up crying.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE MORNING AFTER

  When I woke up, the first thing I saw was Connie sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me, unblinking like a frog. Her hands were folded across her lap. How long had she been watching me?

  I looked around, thought for a moment—oh yeah, I’m at Connie’s place—and the previous night’s events came crashing down on me like hailstones made out of brick.

  “Hey, sweetie, how’re ya feeling? Want some breakfast?”

  “I’m doing okay,” I said, getting up. “Breakfast sounds great.”

  Connie left the room. Soon I heard eggs being cracked and the crackle of a frying pan in action. Then the intoxicating aroma of home cooking drifted my way.

  The anticipation of a hot meal was almost unbearable. It sounded and smelled so good. I wanted to eat it all from the stove before it even reached the table. But I waited.

  Scrambled eggs made with a hint of cayenne pepper, bacon cooked in brown sugar, and freshly squeezed orange juice with your daily requirement of vodka. Not the healthiest breakfast in the world, but it was delicious.

  I was already getting spoiled. At Cait’s I had to make my own breakfast, which usually consisted of a soggy bowl of Tony the Tiger’s favorite cereal. What was a tiger doing endorsing cereal, anyway? Wouldn’t he start the day with a big hunk of raw gazelle haunch?

  I was starting to digest all that fine food when Connie decided it was time for a chat.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said coyly, “what happened last night? You were pretty shaken up.”

  Before I could answer her question, I started to feel dizzy. My head was spinning and I gripped the edge of the table. I felt like I was going to pass out. I closed my eyes. And when I reopened them—

  A much younger Connie was standing in front of the stove in a pink robe, and Frank was there, too, beer in hand.

  “I said make me fucking breakfast, bitch,” Frank shouted. “I’m starving.”

  “What do you want, honey?” Connie asked. “Bacon and eggs? An omelet? Pancakes?”

  “You know what the fuck I want.” He slapped her so hard her mouth started bleeding. He punched her in the stomach, and she fell to the floor. “I work a stakeout all fucking night, then I come home fucking hungry and you give me this shit? The food should have been ready by now.”

  Connie stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll make you some breakfast real quick.” Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely open the refrigerator. But she managed. She steadied herself, grabbed a couple eggs, cracked them on the side of the skillet, and started frying them.

  “Take off your robe,” Frank said, coming closer to her.

  Connie obeyed. She was wearing only white cotton panties.

  “I’m sorry if I hit ya, babe,” he said, slurping a few of his words. “That stakeout was a fucking total waste of time. Make me feel good, baby.” He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick.

  Connie turned the stove to low flame, bent down in front of Frank, and started sucking him, even though her mouth was still bleeding.

  Frank put his beer bottle down and stroked Connie’s hair. “That’s good, babe. Oh yeah . . .”

  A few minutes later, Connie spit the cum and blood into the kitchen sink and continued to fry the eggs.

  I shook my head, trying to pop my brain back into the right gear.

  Connie was standing in front of me again, middle-aged as usual, wearing green sweats. “You just blanked out, honey. Are you on drugs?”

  I shook my head again.

  “You oughta see a doctor about that,” she said. “You were just sitting there like you’d fallen asleep with your eyes open. So what happened last night?”

  “My stepsister and I were in a fight,” I said. “I got carried away and slapped her. I was wondering if I could stay here for a couple of days until she cools off.”

  “Sure. Stay as long as you like. This is a big house and it’s just me. Gets pretty lonely.” Connie gave me a sad look. “But, hon, if you ever slap me, you’re going to have to make other arrangements. Mainly your funeral arrangements. Okay? I’ve been through that before, and I’m too old to start up with it again.”

  “That was the first and only time I’ve ever slapped a woman,” I said. I didn’t add, But I did kill one by falling on her when I was a kid. “Thanks, Connie.”

  “Since you’re here, can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “I haven’t had a man around the place for a while. Got a real he-man task lined up for you. Could you take my car in for a tune-up today?” Connie batted her lashes like a teen flirt.

  “Well, I have to run home to pick up some clothes and stuff. I’ll call Gramps and see if he could get me in this afternoon.”

  “I just hate garages, oil, grease. Yucko.” Connie threw me the keys. “Take my car to load up your stuff. Then you won’t have to make two trips.”

  Sounded logical.

  She handed me a blank check that was already signed and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t be too long, baby. I’m planning on cooking us steaks for dinner tonight.”

  I went to the garage, and Connie’s shiny silver Lexus was parked inside. I’d never paid that much attention t
o what she drove before. I was too interested in the Barracuda.

  I’m not much of a fan of newer cars, but the Lexus was as beautiful as it was luxurious. The car drove so smooth, it was like surfing on clouds. I had to admit it. The Edmondsons had great taste in cars.

  I didn’t have to worry about running into Cait at the apartment. She’d be at work, and with any luck, Mad Dog would be out, too. The air-conditioning repairman might still be there, but I wasn’t concerned about him.

  I kept thinking about the way Frank had slapped Connie. Kind of like the way I’d slapped Cait. Not good. No, sirree.

  I didn’t see Cait’s Volvo parked anywhere, so the coast was clear. I could go inside, get my stuff, and be out of there without any confrontation.

  I opened the door to the apartment and saw Cait wearing white pajamas and lying facedown on the sofa. The coffee table was littered with empty beer cans.

  “I’m just going to grab my stuff and get out of here,” I said.

  Cait mumbled something, but she was so sleepy I couldn’t make out the words. She must have called in sick. She wasn’t the type to get drunk and play hooky.

  The next thing I noticed was the cool blast from the air conditioner.

  “It looks like the repairman finally came,” I said.

  Cait didn’t reply.

  It didn’t take me long to gather some of my clothes, toothbrush, CDs, books, and my guitar—the Lexus was so roomy, I didn’t even have to use the trunk. I loaded everything out through the patio doors in the back, so I wouldn’t have to keep walking by Cait.

  Before leaving, I went inside to say I was sorry. As I approached the couch, Cait rolled over, sleeping fitfully, one of her legs twitching a little. She had a huge red splotch on the left side of her face. It almost broke my heart to see it.

  I didn’t say anything. I just left, locking the place up behind me. I felt like I was losing control, like a car hydroplaning on the highway during a heavy rainstorm. Fishtailing and spinning toward certain doom.

  I was almost relieved when I spit a tooth out before getting inside Connie’s Lexus. This is God’s way of punishing me, I thought, but I wasn’t entirely convinced of it.

  I looked into my mouth in the rearview mirror. If I lost any more teeth, I would become an official hillbilly.

  I headed into Dallas. I still had time to kill before going to see Gramps, so I decided to stop and chat with Darrin. I wanted to ask how my case—if it could even be called a case at this point—was coming along.

  I pulled into the strip mall and parked in front of Darrin’s office. A sign in his window read Office for Lease or Rent.

  In the words of Scooby-Doo: “Ruh-oh.”

  I stepped out of the car, walked up to the window, and peeked inside.

  It was completely empty.

  One of the strippers from the Titsup Topless Bar was leaving the club and saw me looking in. “Place closed last week, sugar,” she said as she walked to her car. “Went bankrupt. Kind of funny, a bankruptcy attorney going bankrupt.”

  I was going to shout, “It’s more ironic than funny,” but it probably would have been lost in the void of her blonde bubblehead.

  Things were sinking fast. I was up to my neck in shit.

  Kicked out of Cait’s apartment.

  Bankrupt attorney.

  Huge pile of unpaid medical bills.

  And let’s not forget I was losing hair and my teeth.

  I was fucked—majorly fucked.

  I was tempted to walk into the Titsup and get shitfaced, but I still had to get Connie’s car tuned up.

  I needed music to help me keep my mind off my problems. Connie’s digital dashboard was a lot more complicated than Monster’s old reliable turn-one-button-for-volume, the-other-for-the-channel system. After a couple of tries, I managed to get some tunes.

  Over the speakers warbled, “Oh, Mandy . . .”

  Barry Manilow.

  Now, there was a lovely soundtrack for my despair.

  The radio was tuned into E-Z Listening 108.2. Even the radio slogan was lame—E-Z Listening for Your E-Z Lifestyle. Sorry, but I have a life, not a lifestyle. I’d endured enough misery for one afternoon. I kept hitting buttons until I found The Bone KDBN. The first thing that I heard on 92.5 FM was Foghat’s “Slow Ride.”

  Fuckin’ A.

  After that was Heart’s “Barracuda,” but it felt wrong in Connie’s car. That song should have been played in Monster.

  I took a left onto New Church Road and drove to the last building on the left. I pulled into the driveway.

  Gramps’s eyes almost bugged out when he noticed the Lexus. “Every time I see ya, you’re driving a better set of wheels, kiddo. Who do you think you are? Elvis?”

  “This is my friend’s car,” I said.

  “Yeah, a friend with money.” Gramps chuckled and put down his can of Mountain Dew. “The best kind. Pop the hood.”

  I looked around for the lever. There was too much damn computer gadgetry on the panel. Then I found a stylized little knob that looked like it might be the right thing and yanked it.

  “Hot damn,” Gramps shouted. “Engine looks like something NASA would’ve turned out. I’m going to have to charge a little more to tune up this beast.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. I have a signed blank check,” I said, handing it to him.

  “Sweet. Connie Edmondson. Your friend has a pussy, I see. That name—” His face went white.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I knew it. That Barracuda used to belong to Frank Edmondson. He was a cop. A psycho cop at that.”

  Psycho cop. That was exactly how the hooker in South Dallas had described Frank, too.

  “Look, I hate to put my nose where it doesn’t belong,” Gramps continued, “but you should stay the fuck away from that woman.”

  “Why?”

  He released a long, weary sigh, followed by a short, sharp belch. “Listen. A mechanic is sort of like a psychiatrist, priest, barber, or bartender. Someone people tell their troubles to. A lot of my customers are cops, and I’ve heard many stories about the Edmondsons. They’re bad news. Even the other cops hated them. And cops, they usually stick together.”

  I felt embarrassed and angry at the same time.

  “Connie ever mention her ex-boyfriend? Bart, Art, something like that? Came back from Nam missing a nose. He started hanging around Connie again, and he ended up missing. And that was just the tip of that iceberg. Frank was being investigated by Internal Affairs for keeping drug money seized from an arrest and because he was pimping.”

  “Pimping?”

  “Girl named Fiona, not a day over seventeen. Anyway, she was going to be the key witness for the investigation. Then she turned up missing, too.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you get it? Everyone associated with Frank Edmondson ends up dead.” Gramps took another sip of Mountain Dew. He studied the ingredient list on the can for about ten seconds, obviously stalling, collecting his thoughts. Finally he said, “Jeremy, you’re young and single. When you’re married, you can’t keep a lot of secrets out of the bedroom.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means Connie had to know what was going down. She’s bad news, too.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe she was just a victim. I mean, a guy like that, there was no way she could control him, right?”

  “Well, there’s a thought. Even so, I’d proceed with caution if I were you.” He laughed. “That’s always good advice when it comes to the ladies. Proceed with caution, kiddo. Slippery when wet.”

  I wanted to say more in defense of Connie but didn’t. Maybe he was right. I decided to keep a closer eye on her. I was paying too much attention to her from the waist down, not up.

  When I got to Connie’s house, I was hoping she might have taken Monster to go shopping or something. But she was home. I walked into the living room, and it was crammed with boxes.

  Connie was wearing gray sweats and a white band
anna around her head. It looked like she had been cleaning all afternoon. “Follow me,” she said.

  We walked down the hallway and into a room across from the master bedroom.

  “This was our guest bedroom,” she said. “I cleaned everything out. You’re welcome to keep your stuff here and sleep here, but if you ever want to join me in my bed, don’t hesitate.”

  The room felt empty and sad, like it had been a long time since an actual human had lived in there. There was only a twin bed and a dresser. “Thanks.”

  “You can thank me by moving all those boxes into the garage. I’m going to take a quick shower. I’m filthy.” She kissed me on the forehead and left.

  I transferred my belongings from her Lexus into the spare bedroom. Then I grabbed a couple of boxes and took them into the garage. There were several boxes stuffed in the rafters, and I assumed that was where she wanted them. I made four more trips back to the house and moved the boxes into the garage. On the last load, I heard a noise.

  I glanced around but didn’t notice anything weird. There weren’t any strange movements. I half-expected to see a scurrying mouse or rat, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was only your typical two-car garage, complete with oil stains on the concrete floor.

  Then I heard it again. Heard it as the garage began to spin around me.

  “You noseless fuck.”

  “Please, Frank . . .”

  I saw Garth, wearing only pajama bottoms, kneeling on the cement floor with his hands handcuffed behind his back. I had wondered what a noseless face looked like; now I knew. Just two thin, pinkish vertical slits between his eyes and his mouth.

  Frank was standing over him waving a gun. “I know you’re fucking her.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You fucking freak,” Frank said, slapping him across the face.

  Garth’s left eye was bleeding. When Frank slapped him, it must have cut him.

  “I-I’m not lying.”

  “Look, freak. When you’re a cop, you’re used to dealing with all sorts of scumbags. And you really take the cake.” This time Frank kicked him in the ribs. “I drive my squad car around the neighborhood to keep tabs on her. I’ve seen you prowling around like some tomcat that ate the canary. Well, you ain’t chewing this fuckin’ Tweety Bird anymore.” He cocked the gun and pressed it against Garth’s temple, which was covered in sweat.