Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  With Ginny’s first words, Rome knew McKeown had been working two fronts.

  “I hear Billy’s mixed up with a motorcycle gang, right?”

  Rome cleared his throat. “Only a rumor at this point.”

  “It sounded like more than that. You won’t need my testimony any more, that’s what I mean. That other thing’s not as much a slam dunk as the gang thing.”

  Goddamn it.

  “I don’t know where you heard that—”

  “Oh, no, don’t do that. Please don’t.”

  Rome leaned forward, elbows on his spread knees. He looked down at the carpet, thick with lint and juice-box spills. Hadn’t been vacuumed in a long time. “Our discussions are still of major importance. Two cases are better than one, so if we can convict on both—”

  “But you can’t. I’m only giving you hearsay and guesses.”

  “You can talk about his character, and about him getting dismissed from the police department in Gulfport.”

  Ginny shook her head fast like she was cold, slid her hands up and down her bare arms. Rome saw goosepimples. The apartment felt pretty warm to him.

  “I won’t do that. I don’t think you can do that in court anyway.”

  McKeown had been feeding her a steady diet of the shit. She was seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

  Rome pushed himself off the couch. She stopped pacing, chewed her thumbnail.

  He said, “Your ex-husband is on his way down.”

  She got frightened deer eyes. “Billy?”

  “As we speak. Now, do you trust that he’s coming to save you or just dropping in for a visit with the kids?”

  More thumbnail chewing. Rome saw a little blood on her lips. “Does he…know…about what we’ve talked about?”

  He stepped over to her, eased her thumb from between her lips. Blood pooled and ran down from where she’d bit through the skin. Cupping Ginny’s hand, Rome guided her to the kitchen, ran cool water over her fingers. He spoke softly.

  “I realize my colleagues might have told you about our new information, and they’re mostly right from the legal perspective. Me, however, I’m thinking about your family, your safety. They’re thinking about the law, but there’s more going on than that, and I’m the one to trust.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you have a place you can go tonight? Your parents?”

  Ginny was transfixed by the running water. Rome prompted her again. She pulled her hand away, held it tightly in her other.

  “No, not there. He’s over there. He’ll be there.”

  “You mean Ham?”

  “He’ll be there.”

  Rome nodded, said, “Ham.” Then waited, watched. Ginny was panicked, swallowing hard, exhaling loudly through her nose.

  Finally, Rome said, “You come with me tonight.”

  She brightened a little. “Okay.”

  Rome smiled at her. “Okay.”

  TWELVE

  The next town was barely there—a rail-side grain loading station, a couple of gas stations, one bar, and a burger shack. Lafitte had driven the bike hard and it stayed together. He kept the light off. It was finally dark enough to pretty much stay invisible unless they were really looking hard. Lafitte needed to get rid of the bike in order to truly blend in.

  He saw the kids in the parking lot of the burger shack, two cars and a truck at the edge of the road, the kids sitting on the lowered tailgate. A handful of farm kids with nothing else to do. Four guys, three girls. Someone was the odd man out.

  They watched Lafitte watching them as he slowed, waited for another car to pass the opposite way, then pulled into the lot. Eased up to the burger shack, dismounted and headed towards the order window. The wind had ripped at the wound on his leg the whole time, and walking on it again sent new shockwaves through his nerves. He bit down hard on each step, tried not to show weakness. Quick glance back. Those kids were still looking. Good. This might work better than his first plan.

  He ordered a Dr. Pepper, took it and sat on top of the weathered wooden picnic table and didn’t particularly look in any one direction, although he was taking in the scene with those teenagers. One girl looked older, a little on the heavy side, wore too much lip gloss. She was probably the reason the others had beer to drink. Not like it was a secret to the guy running the off-sale, more like a technicality. The older farm girl must’ve been in her mid-twenties, but she was still hanging around sixteen-year-olds. Yeah, Lafitte knew the type. She’d be coming onto him soon.

  The others—two white guys in jeans and hip-hop sneakers, their “going out” clothes. Caps askew, hair underneath cut close to the scalp. Probably one of them owned the late-eighties station wagon, worth a couple thousand bucks at most. A black guy, Timberwolves jacket, didn’t look like he was from around here. He was the one driving the tricked-out Nissan. Another guy seemed to be the joker, trying to get the girls’ attention by pulling stupid stunts, grossing them out with snot rockets and farts.

  The younger girls, both white, one way skinny, not filling out the short denim skirt she wore, and the other packing just the right amount of dough, low-riding jeans, baring her midriff. Didn’t matter. When the boys outnumbered the girls, the girls were all pretty enough.

  The black guy and skinny girl were obviously a couple. Lafitte wondered if he was really friendly with the group, or if they tolerated him for the girl’s sake. Small town farming community, Lutheran, old-fashioned. Lafitte counted them out because he didn’t want to cause any jealousy, stress, whatever. If he played nice with that guy, the others would turn him in for spite.

  Looked like the truck belonged to the older girl. She was the one who reached in for cigarettes, spun up the volume on some pop bullshit, one of those Idol winners. She lit a cigarette and watched Lafitte through the fog she puffed out, like it was a two-way mirror.

  These boys were admiring the bike, though, trying to build the courage to come talk to Lafitte about it, show how much they knew from watching the chopper shows on TV. Elbowing each other.

  “You go.”

  “Fuck you. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

  “Sure. It ain’t even all that. What’s up with the color?”

  Took a few minutes, but the two hip-hop wannabes broke off and strolled over. Seemed like the skinny girl and her boyfriend were happy to have a little time to themselves. They slipped into the backseat of the boyfriend’s car. The decent-enough girl and clown boy were off in their own world, giggling, whatever.

  Both guys were built about the same. Helping Dad or Stepdad in the fields packed on muscle, but after the harvest it started going to flab until spring. Hands in pockets, they approached the motorcycle, nodded at Lafitte. He gave a slow-motion nod in return.

  “This okay?” one guy asked. He wore a thick flannel shirt over a Corona T-shirt.

  “Just look. No touch.”

  “We’re cool. No worries.”

  They circled. Squatted. Reached out once, but remembered they shouldn’t. The other guy, wearing glasses and a Vikings shirt, looked over at Lafitte.

  “You build this yourself?”

  Not going to lie to them. “No. It was a gift.”

  “Man, if it weren’t fucked up like it is, that would be worth a lot.”

  “It’s still worth a lot.”

  “What’s up with the color?”

  Lafitte lifted the can of Dr. Pepper to his lips. Wanted to slow these kids down. Like jiggling the bait in front of a fish, you couldn’t give the rod a jerk until the fish was on and running.

  Lafitte said, “You don’t like blue?”

  “Weird blue.”

  “Color’s a color. That one didn’t bother me so much.”

  The older girl had been waiting to see if Lafitte was game for company. Soon she was coming over. Jeans too tight, one hand shoved in the top of a pocket while the other held a cigarette. Leather strappy sandals, a couple of straps broken. Toenails bright pink. She didn’t stop at the bike. Went right up to the table
and hopped on beside Lafitte.

  “Nice bike. Pretty.”

  “It’s a chopper.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It does have two wheels, right? I’m just messing with you.”

  Blonde hair, permed, bunched on her head like a shrub. Stretchy green top barely able to hold her breasts in. But she pulled it off well. Lafitte liked that, this woman’s confidence making her sexy. She was used to being the big fish in a small pond around here. It was all an act, though. A while ago under different circumstances, Lafitte would’ve called her on acting confident enough to fuck strangers and teenagers, but scared that anywhere else in the world she’d get spit out half-chewed. Right then, though, he would rather use it to get what he wanted.

  “Want one?” She held out the cigs. The blend of smoke and whatever supermarket perfume she wore made Lafitte want to sneeze.

  He shook his head. “No thanks. What are you guys up to?”

  “Same as always. You passing through?”

  One of the guys spoke up about the same time. “This an ICI frame?”

  To the guys, “I don’t know.” To the blonde, “All dried out. Needed a drink.”

  “Got some High Life Light in the truck if you want one.”

  He grinned. “Sounds nice.”

  The other bike admirer said, “You don’t know who made the frame?”

  “Dude, these pipes are done for.” The boys crossed their arms. “They’re all fucked.”

  Time to move. “Not so fucked. It runs. It’s good. When’s the last time you’ve seen a chopper like that in person?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen them. Plenty.”

  “Jesus, Wesley, you have not,” the blonde said, laughing. She lowered her voice. “Too proud to admit they’re local boys.”

  “Shut up,” Wesley said.

  “You never know where you might see a bike, though.”

  “True that.” She nodded.

  Lafitte looked away, another sip. Drink almost gone. The blonde shrieked.

  “What happened to your leg?”

  All the kids were interested then. The pain had dulled some, but Lafitte couldn’t go much longer on his own. He needed a break.

  “Let’s just say I had a bad afternoon.”

  The blonde said, “Can I?” and reached her hand towards his leg. He didn’t answer. She laid her fingers softly above it and leaned in for a closer look. Careful, nice touch. Maybe she was a nurse or training to be one. Nah, thought Lafitte. Probably just dealt with machinery accidents on the farm.

  “You need stitches.”

  He shook his head. “It’ll heal. Just need to clean it once I get where I’m going tonight.”

  She brought her hand up, looking for a shake. “I’m Fawn.”

  Sure, why not a shake. “Nice to meet you. Pretty name.“

  “My dad was a hunter. My first name is Mona, after my great-grandmother. And you are?”

  Whatever name occurred to him first. “Kyle.”

  “If you want, I can carry you over to the ER in Watertown. Should only take about a half hour to get there.”

  “No, please. I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not fine.”

  The joker and the other girl had drifted over by then. Mumbling to each other. Lafitte heard the girl call the kid “Goof”. He saw green and purple dots around the kid’s nostrils, where he’d been sniffing permanent markers.

  Lafitte pointed to the car. “Whose wagon?”

  The guy in the glasses raised his hand, then remembered he wasn’t in school, brought it down quickly. His friends laughed.

  “That’s mine.”

  “Runs good?”

  “Gets me where I need to go. More power than you’d expect out of her.”

  Lafitte nodded. Fawn said, “Really, though, it’s no trouble for me to give you a ride.”

  Lafitte said to the wagon owner, “What’s your name?”

  “Ben.”

  “Okay, Ben. You like that bike?”

  Trying to play it cool. “It’s a’ight. Needs new paint, new pipes.”

  The other kid. “Aw man, you stole this hog, didn’t you?”

  Great. Now they were all excited. Lafitte held up his palms. “Hey, hold up. I said someone gave it to me.”

  “Yeah? Who?”

  Goof said, “Show us the registration!”

  “Don’t even know how to ride it, all smashed and shit.”

  Lafitte stood. That shut them all up. He turned to Fawn and said, “You got anything stronger than High Life?”

  “Some Bacardi in the truck. Some Diet Coke.” She reclined on the table some, her arms propping her up, dangling her sandaled foot. Lafitte had said the right thing. He guessed any of a hundred things would be the right thing.

  “Fuck the Coke. Give me some rum.”

  He followed her to truck while the other kids hung around the bike. They knew the signals, knew when it was time to let the couples have some private time, or as much as possible in a parking lot. Closer, Lafitte heard some muffled new style R&B and groans from the Nissan. Tinted windows. Smart man.

  Fawn opened her passenger door, perched in half-out, reached into the narrow space behind the seat and pulled out a paper bag. “Need a cup?”

  “You mind if I take it from the bottle?”

  Big grin. Fawn wasn’t intimidated, not one bit. Had to take what she could get in the middle of nowhere. She’d probably let her high school principal go down on her, fucked plenty of married men, and hooked up with crank dealers if the mood was right. Would get her killed if she kept on like that, either by a knife, a disease, or suffocating after passing out face down and ass-up in some creep’s back seat. She unscrewed the top and handed the bottle over.

  Lafitte took a swig. Long time since he’d had any. Sweet, more like the red wine he used to drink before joining up with Steel God, then switching to mostly beer and cheap noxious whiskey. The rum switched on immediately, staving off the chill, numbing his mouth, his skin, the throbbing leg. Sweet, yes, sweet Jesus, what a cure.

  He handed the bottle back to Fawn with a big rush of hot breath. She took it and tried to drink it like he did, giving up quickly and coughing, covering her hand with her mouth. Said, “Whoa, wow. I’m pretty tough, but I think I’ll need some pop to smooth it out.”

  Lafitte hiked his wounded leg up on the rail. “Splash a little of that down there.”

  “You kidding?”

  “Better than nothing right now.”

  “I said I could take you. I’m trying to be nice.”

  He caught her look, a bit offended now. Like she wasn’t good enough for him.

  Lafitte said, “Look, I’ll take that ride, sure. But we’ve got to go my way, understand?”

  “Don’t get greedy. I’m not stupid.”

  He looked through the windshield of the truck, saw the goof and the bike boys quickly turn away. “You trust those kids?”

  Fawn got lost. “What do you mean? To turn me in? I’m just having fun, that’s all. I only give them beer, not the hard stuff.”

  Yeah, sure. “That’s none of my business. They obviously appreciate that. What about me, though? Think they’ll talk?”

  “Should they?”

  Lafitte nodded, spat on the ground. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Depends.”

  “Exactly. Now, it’s not like I’m married to that bike or anything, and it’s worth more damaged than your three rides put together, see?”

  “If you say so.”

  Lafitte was on a roll. Smiling, feeling like a deputy again, charming his mark so that the details lined up in his favor. “I do. I say so, Fawn. And all I wanted when I pulled in here tonight was a quick Dr. Pepper before getting as far away as I could get in one night.”

  She was on the hook. She was running. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve been there.”

  “Right, you know. Even better would be if I could get rid of that bike, too. And I’m guessing Ben, if I were to trade him the bike for the w
agon, would be cool about it and keep his mouth shut, right? Same as his friends. Same as you.”

  Fawn let her head bob some, licked her lips. Brave chick. “Oh, I think I’m going to need something extra to keep me quiet. I don’t think I’m asking much, do you?”

  He smiled, a big one. “I don’t think I’ve heard the question yet.”

  She curled her index finger—come closer.

  He eased in, thinking she wanted a kiss. And their lips did touch, yeah, just a peck, before he felt her hand slide across his thigh, her lips dodge left, and she whispered, “If you’re holding, I’ll trade you your ticket out of here for a piece of it. Ice? Weed?”

  “A piece?”

  “Whatever it’s worth to you. Hundred bucks? Two? A good trade to keep us all happy.”

  “That wasn’t what I expected you to say.”

  Fawn pushed him away half a foot but kept her hand on his chest. “Man, I don’t trade that for anything. That I do only when I want to. And you have to work hard to make me want to.”

  Keep telling yourself that. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  “No, I just wanted you to know.”

  “Got it.”

  “That’s my final offer.”

  Lafitte heard the groans from the Nissan next to them getting a little louder. He looked over his shoulder, thought he caught the glimpse of the driver’s eye, watching him and Fawn. Or really just Fawn. Funny, he was slapping skin with the skinny girl in the backseat but really had it hard for Fawn. Lafitte understood. She was like a snake charmer, knew the right notes.

  He said, “One more thing.”

  She let him in close again. “What?”

  “You come along with me until I get where I’m going. We’ll see if I’ve worked hard enough by then.”

  She tipped the rum bottle up, took a long pull. Was a natural at it. Lafitte chuckled, thought, Why, you lying bitch.

  *

  After the biker and Fawn left in the wagon, the kids didn’t know what to do with themselves or Ben’s new chopper. Even skinny Lana and her boyfriend C. T. got dressed and ventured out once they heard the wagon leave.

  Wesley said, “We’ve got to give it a ride around town, man. That would be the balls.”

  Ben said. “You heard what he said. I’ve got to get it out of sight for a while.”