Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  Colleen tried to keep Lafitte from going down too hard by proping her body against him, but it wasn’t happening and she had to choose: let him go or let him fall on her. She let him go. She reached for her gun. Should never have put it back in her holster. Should never have helped McKeown drag Lafitte. Should never have left home.

  She had only looked down a few seconds, trying to get a bearing on her hands and the gun before rising for a good shot, but it was long enough. There was another person. A girl, like a fucking teenager or something. Right in front of her kicking a boot heel at her face.

  Colleen raised her arm too late. Heel cracked into her cheek. Ripped that skin open like a peach. She scooted back, needed space. Needed cover. Couldn’t decide. Need to get her fucking gun up.

  By the time Colleen had it, the girl was kicking again. The hand. Crack. Nate’s .45 went that-a-way across the floor.

  Colleen, flat on her back, black boot on her chest connected up to painted-on jeans and a cheap fake-fur jacket. Young face with hair hanging around, framing a pale tough bitch, tough as Colleen. Not tougher, though. It hadn’t been a fair fight. Girl held her pistol two-handed, steady.

  “Fucking whore,” Colleen said, holding her busted hand tight against her body.

  The girl shrugged. “Better than being a dyke.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  But the girl had turned her attention to Lafitte, crumpled on the floor. Took him in sadly, droopy. Long sigh. She knew him. She cared about him. “He’s over here. Come check him.”

  The giant answered, voice like a bear in a cave. “Shoot that cop and do it yourself.”

  “Not yet. Come on.”

  Colleen heard some groaning from McKeown. She lifted her head as far as she could, trying to remember where he fell. Got something that looked like his shoulder. Groaning. Hard breaths. Squeezed out, “Sh-iiii-t.”

  Colleen said, “Hey, are you okay over there? Talk to me, McKeown. Come on.”

  The girl stamped her foot on Colleen and pointed the gun some more. “Shut up.”

  “Talk to me!”

  She watched as the giant stepped over to McKeown, toed his side. Then knelt, took the agent’s pistol, grumbled something Colleen couldn’t hear. But McKeown nodded his head, tried to say yes, but his teeth chattered.

  The giant stood, tucked the extra pistol into his belt, and walked over to where Lafitte lay. Knelt again. His knees cracked. Older than he seemed, maybe. Took his time getting down there. Breathed out “Jeeee-sus.” Placed a hand on Lafitte’s chest, the carving, then held his palm an inch or so above Lafitte’s mouth.

  “Out cold,” he told the girl. “Weak breaths. Somebody fucked him up seriously. We need to hurry.”

  Colleen was thinking she’d take the girl on. All she needed was surprise and a big rush of adrenaline. The training was foolproof, right? Cops always had the upper hand. Even without guns. Most people didn’t want to shoot cops. Only the ones that really knew what they were in for if they didn’t shoot a cop, but that wasn’t this girl. Problem was that this giant, he was the type. Colleen needed off this floor. Needed to break this chick’s leg. Needed to maneuver around her, take the gun. Take out the giant, no warning or anything.

  She had forgotten about her hand, though. Took a quick peek and saw the swelling, the purple and blue. Throbbing. Making her nauseous. She thought she was ready for anything. Holy shit, why this? Holy shit.

  The girl was speaking to her again. “—the keys?”

  Had zoned out. “What?”

  “The fucking keys to the Chevelle? Or the Mustang? Either one. I need the fucking keys.”

  Oh, hell no. Not going to take Nate’s car. No no no.

  But maybe that would give her some room to move. Distraction.

  “My pocket. Keys are in my jeans pocket.”

  The girl lifted her boot. Crouched over Colleen’s legs, patted her pockets. Yeah, the keys were right there. Girl reached her fingers inside, trying to snug past the lip.

  Bingo.

  Colleen twisted hard, pinched the girl’s hand in there. She collapsed, trying to jerk her hand out. Too late. Colleen had already locked the skank between her legs, grabbed at her gun arm and missed, kept trying. Fuck the pain fuck the pain fuck it fuck it fuck it.

  The girl was swinging the arm, Colleen keeping that fucking gun away but she needed to control the limb. Girl shouting, “God! God, help!”

  Didn’t take her for the religious sort.

  Something shifted, and Colleen got some leverage. Caught the girl’s forearm and squeezed, all her strength, inched her way up to the wrist. Colleen’s feet, beneath her, pushing her body up, the girl still down. Colleen got the wrist twisted pretty bad and was about to slam it against the edge of the nearest table when she knew something was wrong. Felt it, like a chill in the air. Only took a few seconds but was all slo-mo like chewing taffy at the State Fair. The giant rushing at her. Grabbing her broken hand, squeezing. She was shocked silent by the pain. Icy all over. Sucked in icy air. The man’s fist rushing towards her face and Colleen swore it sounded just like a train right up until—

  *

  Steel God didn’t let Colleen drop to the ground after slamming his fist into her nose. Oh, yeah, broke that fucker. Kristal heard it pop. But after, Steel God wrapped his arms around the cop and eased her over against the wall, sitting up. She wasn’t quite passed out, wasn’t quite with us. She was whimpering, but more like she was throwing a weak tantrum. Blowing blood all over, having to breath through her mouth, gulping too much, she said a few times, “It’s not fair. Goddamn it (gulp)…not…ah…fair.”

  “I know,” Steel God told her. “I know.”

  “Why? Why is all this (gulp)…why…why me?”

  Steel God shrugged. “Wrong place, wrong time. You were outnumbered. That’s the way it is sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  Kristal couldn’t believe it. Steel God actually liked this cop. Admired her or something. She knew he was like that, always attracted to strong women who knew how to take care of themselves, but this was an obvious lezzie farm girl playing at being a cop. Come on, right? The cunt got in a cheap shot, was all. Kristal owned that’s bitch’s ass.

  Steel God turned to Kristal. “Get me some water, will you?”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Yeah, we do. Go on and get some water.”

  “What about Billy?’

  “Two fucking minutes, missy. Get water. Now.”

  Kristal pushed off the ground. Shook her arm. Felt like the wrist had been spun up tight like a rubber band. Passed by the FBI guy. He was on his back, hands covering the spreading red puddle on his gut, knees up but swaying back and forth. Every breath had a “Ck-ah” in it. She wasn’t sure if he deserved that. Guy was trying to take Billy in, yeah, but that was his job. Wasn’t his fault Billy was so smashed up. Maybe they hit these two a little hard.

  Whatever. Only way to survive on the road—strike first.

  Behind the bar, Kristal lifted a mug, then saw a small glass-front fridge under the bar stocked with beer cans, beer bottles, some energy drinks, diet pop, and bottled water. Fuck the mug. She put it down and opened the fridge, grabbed a brand name water.

  She twisted the top off as she walked back to where Steel God and the cop were still talking, real low. The cop said something about “I deserve my revenge. It’s not fair,” and Steel God answered, “Wish it all worked like it does in movies.” He was quiet a long moment. Laughed, said, “Shit, I haven’t seen a movie in years. Not since Star Wars Episode One. Was so fucking excited to see that. Man. Yeah.”

  Kristal passed the water bottle down to Steel God. “Here.”

  He took it without thanks, poured some into his palm, and told the cop, “Hold still.”

  The cop nodded. Then Steel God splashed the water on the cop’s face, eased his hand down under her nose, over her mouth. Wiped the blood away.

  He said, “Again?”

 
The cop nodded again.

  Once more, a palm full of water. Smoothing it across her face. Cleansing. Kristal even thought she looked a little bit prettier. Not even afraid much, like she was all prepared in her heart, that Sunday School shit.

  Steel God lifted the glass to the cop’s lips and let her take a few swallows. Then he stood, placed the glass on a table.

  “I won’t mess up your face,” he told her.

  “Thank you.” Sniff. Pointed with her head towards the FBI guy. “What about him?”

  Steel God shrugged. “He’s a pussy. Deserves what he gets.”

  The cop thought about it a moment. Then, “Okay.”

  Steel God stood back from her about four feet, lifted his gun and aimed it dead center at the cop’s chest.

  Then there was a loud Croak. Bullfrog times ten. Kristal flinched, yelped, realized it wasn’t the gun. Then a second time, sounded more like “Don’t. Wait.”

  Lafitte’s voice, strained to the breaking point. She glanced down. He was holding up his left hand, trying to push himself onto his right elbow.

  “Shit, it’s Billy! Hold on!”

  Kristal was beside him, kneeling, helping. Stunned by the shape he was in, just now getting a glimpse of “Baby Raper” newly scraped into his skin. It chilled Kristal. She got Lafitte sitting up. Steel God stayed where he was, gun still raised.

  If Lafitte was conscious, it was barely. God knows how he knew what was going on. Kristal wasn’t even sure if he was aware of her. He kept pushing, legs scrambling. Trying to stand. Kristal kept shushing and telling him to calm down, that everything was okay, but he acted as if she were stray furniture he’d gotten tangled in.

  He said, “Don’t shoo…don’t shoot em.”

  Finally raising his eyes to Steel God. Said it again.

  “Don’t shoot them.”

  Like a staring contest.

  Steel God. “Got to do something with them.”

  Lafitte shook his head. Eyes closed. “Don’t kill them.”

  Steel God. A sigh. “I’m a little tired of doing favors for you, boy. How about ‘Thanks for saving my life, Big G’? Some fucking gratitude?”

  Lafitte coughed. He gripped Kristal hard. She wrapped her arms tight across his chest, shook violently along with his coughing. Choking. An unholy mess.

  Cleared his throat. “Please…don’t…kill them. I’ll…anything you say. Anything. Just, please.”

  The girl cop on the floor moaned, said, “Fuck, get it over with. It’s not fair.”

  That stopped Steel God cold. Bent his arm up, pointing the pistol towards the ceiling. “You’re saying you want to die?’

  “If I can be with Nate, it’ll be okay. I did my best. He’ll understand. I want to be with Nate.”

  “You sad, sorry little bitch.” Steel God relaxed, gun back into his waistband. “Here I thought you was braver than shit, but I don’t grant death wishes, honey.”

  He turned to Kristal, but she dropped her eyes to Lafitte’s bruised face. Not going to look him in the eye. She got Lafitte back and that was all she gave a shit about. Getting pawned off to Richie Rich like trailer trash. Like a used blow-up doll. Fucker was going to pay. She wasn’t going to let him spit on her, trample her. Never met a man like Lafitte before and she was damned sure going to chew his ass soon as he was better. Chew his ass so that he’d never even think about dissing her again. Next break-up would be on Kristal’s terms.

  Lafitte was still shaking. Breathing was raspy.

  Kristal said, “We need to hurry.”

  Steel God said, “Okay.” Jiggled the keys to the Chevelle. “Here’s an idea.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Rome fell asleep on the flight from Memphis to Sioux Falls, right as the clusters of cities and town faded into brown rectangles, farmland already harvested for the year. Like another world. Weird how even though these were giant tracts of Mother Nature, the perfect angles carved by roads made it look more unnatural than the sprawling suburbs of the metro areas, meandering without rhyme or reason. Fell asleep without even realizing—been up for so long, going full speed—and before he knew it the co-pilot was easing him awake, telling him to buckle up. An easy landing, the surroundings a bit like a bomb blast, scarred prairie cut through by a stream blocked with a long dead tree trunk. One of the smallest airports he had ever seen.

  He checked his watch. Jesus, past lunchtime already. They gave him coffee and a breakfast bar on the plane, just happened to have some in the galley. He was starving. Couldn’t think about that right now.

  Inside, out of the gates and down a people-mover to a terminal with a giant bronze statue of some flyboy who must’ve been important around here. Didn’t have time to find out who—Lindbergh? That didn’t make sense. Didn’t care. Rome instead looked around and found his ride. Middle-aged white guy in casual khakis, sweater, and a bomber jacket, rather than risk the full uniform in “enemy” territory. Striding over, pulling a hand from his pocket. They shook.

  “Franklin, long time.”

  “Good to see you, Wyatt.”

  “Where’s your bag?”

  Rome grinned. “Like I said, not that kind of trip.”

  “But it is Lafitte, right?”

  Nod. Wink.

  Wyatt looked around like he was a bad spy. About the same age as Rome, got along well. Wyatt was a Lieutenant with the Minnesota Highway Patrol and had been in the know when Rome was working undercover for Homeland Security at the Indian casino in Pale Falls, and they’d shared some beers and conversations. Even a couple of fishing trips up to Wyatt’s cabin on the lake around Alexandria.

  He kept in touch after Rome was recalled to Washington, sided with his friend, in private at least, saying, “Fucking Lafitte. Wished the storm surge would’ve dragged him under the Gulf rather than washed his sorry ass up here.”

  It was a no-brainer, then, when Rome needed a step two after the plane ride. Wyatt didn’t even question Rome when he said, “You can’t tell a soul. We’re talking Top Secret government stuff, buddy. Off the books.”

  Wyatt said, “Just so you know, the home office is on the lookout for you. Sent out a notice. Not quite an APB, but still, they strongly suggest that anyone who’s had contact with you phone in pronto.”

  “You tempted?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Maybe to see what they’re saying about you, if I thought they would tell me. But you Feds, I wouldn’t even get a fruit basket for my trouble. Goddamn, I could’ve slept all night and never had a clue about all the shit going down. After your call, though, turned on the scanner and it was all over the place. Just be glad I had some pull. Locals were trying to keep it under wraps, even though they’re denying it. Not much my folks can do overall. I was able to squeeze a few favors.”

  “Then what’s the plan?”

  “Well, I followed up what you said. Can’t find your man. McKeown, right?”

  “That’s him.” Traitorous son of a bitch. Rome thought he must be a magnet for betrayers. Surprised his wife still wanted him so bad, hadn’t run off and had an affair. Maybe that was next. “Like a ghost.”

  “The woman he was with, we traced her back to something weird earlier. Some kids say a guy gave one of them a motorcycle, left with the town slut, sounds like. She buys the boys beer and cigarettes, a little older. You know. So the boy’s dad calls the cops, and this Sheriff’s deputy shows up, not even from the right county.”

  “This is Colleen Hartle, right? Yellow Medicine deputy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s her. She’s not even in uniform, driving her boyfriend’s souped-up Chevelle. Jesus, you heard about earlier—”

  Rome nodded. “Bad news. Goddamn.”

  “She talked to the kid, got some details, and split. Our guys caught her on the highway and held her until McKeown got there. Then she and him took off together. Last we heard.”

  The terminal was big and echoing, a few handfuls of people waiting for arriving passengers or holding off going through the security checkpoint. He
smelled something greasy. Pizza at the little food court off to his right. Tempting. Would probably make him puke, though. Maybe some beignets instead. Shit, they don’t do beignets up here. The cold shocked Rome a little. Goddamn, only just now chilly in New Orleans, but up here was like a walk-in freezer. He’d forgotten all about that. Crossed his arms and hugged hard.

  Rome said, “I’m guessing the local cops got riled when they heard she showed. Probably woke up George Tordsen.”

  Wyatt held up a thumb real close to his index finger. “Little bit.”

  “So how do we avoid the shitstorm, mister?”

  Wyatt arched his back, rose a couple of inches. Placed his hand on his chest like he was offended. “Why, sir, it always comes back to good police work. Thing is, this one kid was off with his uncle or something, so no one could find him last night. One of the boys said this kid they call Goof was off chasing the biker. I figured that’s just a crazy story, you know. Kid’s putting on a show for his friends.”

  “Okay.”

  “As soon as his uncle dropped him off, we were there. No need driving all the way back home, right? Goof had to show up sooner or later. Too bad I didn’t grab the uncle.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Shrug. “Like I said. Thought it was a fib.”

  Rome held his breath a second. “It wasn’t?”

  Wyatt turned on a floodlight smile. A You Owe Me Big smile. “Kid gave up the truth. We went down to check it out. Man, have I got a crime scene to show you.”

  Rome’s breath caught. A real fucking lead. Fuck the FBI. He needed to piss. Badly.

  “Come on. What do you know?”

  “Oh, I’m going to tell you. Going to eek it out on the way. More fun like that. I mean, I figured you had been monitoring all this, which is why your call didn’t seem so out of place at the time. But if your own people are desperately searching for you and McKeown, shit. All I ask is that you scratch my back. I made my people hold back just for you. If you’re going back up the ladder, you’d better promise to take me with you, buddy.”