Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “The only fucking reason you’ve made it this far is that I have to lecture your ass on everything, remember? The whole fucking reason you took me in.”

  Steel God said, “Shiiii” and then let it fade to a groan, looking round the room like he didn’t know where to look. But it told Lafitte the man agreed with him.

  Couple minutes went by. Lafitte sank back into the tub. “Seriously, though. Thanks.” Decided not to mention that as soon as he was up to speed, he planned on taking off again. Still had some business down South. Still had a chance to get a better life back. Soon as Steel God figured out what was going on, Lafitte would be a marked man. Already heard it in his voice—this rescue demanded repayment in loyalty. No more vacations. Damn right Lafitte owed the man big time, but sometimes it ain’t about that. God would just have to get by on his own.

  Didn’t want to think about Kristal yet either. He hoped she wasn’t using this to get back in with him. Not going to let it happen.

  The water, starting to cool now. He saw the box of Epsom salt beside the sink. They’d actually stopped for Epsom salt. Nice. He closed his eyes again.

  Steel God said, “Where’s that fucking bike I gave you?”

  *

  Kristal heard the guys through the bathroom door as she stepped back into the hotel room, a bag of clothes from Target for Billy hanging from her wrist. Fresh jeans, boxer-briefs, package of gray T’s, socks, and a couple of pullover sweaters. Complete overhaul. At least his boots and jacket had survived in half-decent shape.

  It sounded like Billy was telling Steel God what happened to the bike. “Someone hit me. Couldn’t take it out on the highway in like that, and the cops knew what to look for.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The fuck was I supposed to do?”

  “You’ll have to get the next one on your own, then. I don’t know. Fight a guy for it, one of those sons of bitches trying to pull a coup on me. Won’t be as pretty as yours, though.”

  “Shit, man, it was turquoise. the only reason you gave it to me was you were embarrassed. People think you’re a fag or something.”

  Steel God laughed and Billy laughed and they kept talking. Kristal shut the door. The guys went quiet.

  “Just me,” she shouted.

  They started up again, but Kristal tuned them out, tossed her package on the bed, pulled out the undies she’d bought for herself. Cotton, skimpy, retro sixties patterns. Something to make herself feel comfortable, sexy, fresh. Something to show Billy once they had some alone time and she felt like letting him in again. Might as well be now. Jesus, aching for it. But he needed some punishment, and not just healing time. Once he healed, Kristal was thinking another two weeks.

  She took out the folding knife Steel God had given her for protection, cut the tags off Billy’s new clothes. Steel God had meant protection from all the rapists out there, but what went unsaid and understood was that he meant in his own MC, too. Maybe he was a utopian at heart, but thank God he was a fucking realist in his head.

  After she tossed the tags, Kristal sat on the bed, reclined, knees together swaying back and forth. Not the best situation, but better than getting passed on the frat kid. She turned on the TV. Stared at the last channel Steel God had clicked on, a local Doppler radar, some AM radio noise on the background. Sounded like a farm report. The same sort of thing Kristal had been trying to outrun.

  Not that she’d ever actually farm anything herself, but the fear was of ending up married to a farmer. Like her Momma had said, “Don’t sell yourself short, and don’t sell yourself. Use your head, girl. Don’t end up like this.” Mom at the time was forearms deep in the kitchen sink cleaning the breakfast dishes from feeding her farmer husband and three farmer sons at three-thirty in the morning.

  Kristal flipped around. Landed on MTV. Rich kids with their own show, thinking people gave a shit about them. Pretty girl. Fake as hell, though. Eye make-up glowing almost. Kristal would rather be the rich girl than herself, though. But one that could handle a knife. She unfolded the knife again, ran her thumb across the blade a few times. Shame she’d never gotten to use it. Or was that a good thing? Must’ve carried herself tough to ward off attackers. Didn’t they even want to try? Fuck, at least a half-assed grope or something. Show me I’m worth the stabbing you’ll get, prick.

  Could be that with Billy and Steel God on her side, you had to be kidding, some guy willing to take a shot knowing all hell would eat him alive? Billy. Man, he was something.

  The deal was that Billy hadn’t laughed when she talked about going cold-turkey off crank. Nodded along when she talked about community college and said, “I think you should. Really, what’s stopping you? Get some loans, find a roommate.”

  “All down the line,” she’d said at the time. “I’ll know when it feels right.”

  Billy had grunted, shaken his head. “It’ll never feel right. It’ll always feel scary, so you’ve got to go with scary. Story of my life. I had a choice between what felt right and what felt scary, I went with scary and acted all macho. You, though, your scary is different. A lot better than mine ever was. Yours is the right thing to do.”

  “Easy to say.”

  He shrugged. “You ever want out, give the word and I’ll drive you wherever, get you set up, tell the rest of them you left one night. They’d never need to know.”

  Sighed. Should’ve. Should’ve as soon as he’d offered.

  Instead, she stuck around, fucked Billy a couple times a week, fucked another guy for a while a bit more often until she realized that with him, she wanted to get high. With Billy, she wanted to smile and be herself. It was an easier choice than she first thought. What the other guy had been talking about that whole time, though, about overthrowing Steel God and Billy because they were too old, too careful, yeah. Maybe that was the other exit, the secret one. But keep Billy. Billy would make a great Steel God. Might even help them grow into a real family with a real place to belong. Fuck the infighting. She was so tired of it. The men made it one big pissing contest, and it sucked. But if Billy was in charge, and if Kristal was more than his old lady, you know, like how Hilary worked with Bill Clinton, right? That would be cool. Better than owing on student loans. A fuck of a lot better than being something someone could trade.

  Steel God stepped out of the bathroom, closed the door behind him. Hands on his kidneys, stretching his back. The man looked tired. A tired giant. He turned to Kristal, didn’t move.

  “He’s been through hell.”

  She nodded. “He’ll be okay, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m pretty sure. But it’s going to take time. The man failed. Shit, that’s a tough thing to live down. We’ve got to convince him it’s time to succeed at something else, then.”

  “He’s going to want to run again.”

  God shrugged. “Yeah, so? Convince him not to. That’s up to you.”

  She’d talked the big man into it, a way to get him off the road for awhile, let him get over whatever’d been dogging him. Kristal was afraid he’d never get over it—lung cancer, most likely. Some kind of cancer anyway. Make it look like an overthrow, Billy stepping up, then when Steel God was all better, he could roar back in, vanquish Billy, but show some mercy and keep him around. Show that to the gangster pricks, a bit of Sun Tzu on their asses, and they’d wise up. Better to build your army that way than play King of the Fucking Mountain every other week like it’s some sort of living video game.

  “I’m just saying,” Kristal said, “he’s going to want to run and I’m not sure if I can convince him. He likes me, I know that. But he doesn’t love me. It’s going to take love.”

  “If the man fell in love twice before, he can fall in love again. You can make him. It’s an act of will not to love, and that’s Billy’s one problem. Thinks he’s tough, and the bastard is really pretty tough, true, but whatever it was made him be a cop also made him take off on a whim to go after his wife. That’s what’ll work on him once he’s on top. Use it.”

  �
��I don’t know if I can.”

  “Shit, girl.” Steel God smiled. “You got a pussy, you can do it. You’re trying to do it to me right now.”

  She looked out the window, caught Steel God’s smiling reflection. He was everywhere. You couldn’t get anything past him. Yeah, she was trying to put him on a bit. If he knew that, then what else? Like maybe how she didn’t plan on letting the big man come back into the fold after a break. He was on his way out anyway. She didn’t want any conflict, no. Just wanted Steel God to accept his fate and mellow out his last days in a nice prison infirmary bed while Billy Lafitte ruled with an steel rod and Kristal’s voice in his ear.

  Did he really know? Then why play along this far?

  He said, “I’m going out for a cigar. Work some magic while I’m gone, will you? Be careful with that knife.” Out the door.

  Liar. Everyone knew he couldn’t smoke any more. He lit the things up and pretended. Kristal grinned in spite of herself. How could you not love the enormous son of a bitch?

  Wasn’t long before she heard splashing around in the bathroom. She turned off the TV, pulled her boots off, and scooted up the bed and leaned against the headboard. Legs crossed at the ankles. She thought about taking her jeans off and slipping into one of the new pairs of panties, but decided it was too much of a tease. No, he’d come out and she’d hypnotize him a bit with her rust-colored toenails.

  Took a while, as expected. He’d been beat to hell and back. Tough boy, but still. When Billy finally emerged, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, barely long enough for him, one whole thigh exposed. Another over his shoulders. Hair wet, hanging down limp over his eyes and neck, dripping on the carpet. He didn’t see her at first. Taking baby steps, nice and gingerly. A gash on his shin, bruises everywhere. The words on his chest like a brand. Then he raised his head, saw her on the bed. Stone expression didn’t change. Was he glad to see her? Not? Pissed? She had no clue.

  “Thought that was you back there,” he said.

  She patted the bed beside her, pointed a big toe at him. “We need to talk.”

  He nodded, very slight. He took a couple of steps her way before coming to rest on the other bed. Arms bent, fists on the mattress. Legs at ninety degrees. Kristal could see his dick and balls now, the towel not hiding anything any more. Thick but limp. She felt disappointed but told herself you couldn’t read anything into it right then after what he’d been through. The scolding she was about to give him didn’t feel right either, but now was the time, take it or leave it.

  She said, “You really hurt me, you know.”

  He sighed, blew strands of hair out of his face. He said, “I need a haircut.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  You had your Sheriff’s cars, your Highway Patrol cars, your local police cars, eight in all, five in the parking lot and three on the shoulder of the county road in front of the “Saloon of Blood”, as Wyatt said a couple of deputies were calling it.

  “No one told the fuckers that maybe they should stay out of the lot, you know. Tire tracks.”

  Rome said, “You never know until you’re already there. But still, you’d expect one car instead of five.”

  They eased ahead of the first car in line on the shoulder, parked. All three of them climbed out, Rome not even bothering to stop Desiree. Too late for that. Let the cops play defensive line if they wanted.

  Wyatt turned, held out a flat hand like Stay Put. “I’ll go smooth this over. If anyone asks about the net out for you, I’ll tell them it’s a misunderstanding, all taken care of. But I don’t think it’ll come up unless some cowboy radios in.”

  Rome nodded. “Alright. Your show.”

  Wyatt walked off towards the bar, motioned at a couple of his men, one joining him for the walk and filling in some details. A few deputies and Patrol officers milled around outside, eyeing and ignoring the strangers at the same time, somehow.

  “Not very friendly,” Dee said. She crossed her arms against the chill.

  “True. The funny thing is, they pride themselves on being nice. All I ever heard about was ‘Minnesota Nice’ the whole time I was here. But I only ever had one real friend around, and that was Wyatt.”

  “I hope that’s what he is. Not setting up some elaborate trap. Jesus.”

  Dee took in the stark landscape, so different from the South this time of year. The leave already gone from the trees. Sky gray, like it was about to snow. Like it was always about to snow. Brisk wind bit through her sweater. She hugged herself tighter, drew closer to Rome.

  She whispered, “Didn’t their mommas teach them not to stare?”

  Rome took a look. Yeah, she was right. Just wide open staring. Hostile. The cold wind didn’t help.

  He said, “If you were to talk to them, they’d be perfect gentlemen. But you’re right. They’re not quite big on social graces.”

  A long minute. Nothing to say. Rome wondered why the hell it was taking Wyatt so long.

  Dee said, “You think Lafitte was here? You think he did all this…this whatever?”

  Hunched his shoulders. Did he think that? Everything Rome knew about Lafitte from their previous encounter, everything he’d learned from Ginny and the in-laws, from the research into Lafitte’s life on the Coast, none of it told Rome the guy would get off on mass murder. The terrorist shit, that was about money and power. Misguided, but not in the same way as the assholes blowing themselves up on buses and in cafes. Joining up with a meth-dealing biker club? Survival. As much as he hated to admit it, Rome didn’t see Lafitte as the guy for this. Lafitte might smooth-talk and wound and maim to keep on swimming, but if he was going to leave a mess behind, he would have a damned fine reason for it.

  “Feels wrong to you, too, right?”

  Dee nodded. “Man must’ve stepped in some serious shit, then.”

  “Either that or we’re way off the scent.”

  Wyatt reappeared in the doorway of the bar, held his arm high and waved them over.

  “Ready?” Rome said.

  Desiree shivered. “I’ll tell you after I’ve seen it.”

  *

  A lot of blood, turning to jelly. Cops with cameras flashed the scene brighter than snow every few seconds, the bloodstains showing up black all over the floor. Couple of bullets lodged in the wall, little orange flags marking the holes. Looked like they had the owner of the bar off in the corner, sitting down with a uniform who was trying to ask questions while all the old man wanted to do was peek around and get a better view.

  Dee held up. Rome was proud of that. Wondered why he’d tried to hide all his business from her anyway. After all, maybe she had as much interest in taking Lafitte out as he did. Now that this mess with the blood and all had happened, his little fantasy of facing down Lafitte mano-a-mano was fading fast. It would have to be handled through the legal system now. He was resigned to that. With Dee in his corner, though, that would be okay. He could still talk to her about it all. Still lay the fantasy out for her, hope she wasn’t repulsed by it. Another step in the right direction for them both.

  Then he could check into consulting jobs, corporate security, maybe take a fellowship at a think tank. If he dragged Lafitte in alive, the FBI would forgive him enough to let him leave on his own terms with good recommendations. Surely. And they could move the hell away from New Orleans. Jesus, every day there, you can smell the city rotting away. Drowning but laughing about it. They didn’t want to face facts—Katrina had killed New Orleans, and what was left was a ghost.

  Wyatt brought Rome over to talk with a rough-faced man wearing steel-framed glasses that must’ve been from the early eighties. All uniformed up, but wrinkled.

  “This is Sheriff Hutchinson. Sheriff, Special Agent Franklin Rome. He’s an expert, I guess, on the suspect.”

  Hutchinson looked Rome over like he was a zoo exhibit. Fucking rural pricks. “You mean the biker?”

  “One of them. Billy Lafitte was involved with some half-assed terrorism cell a few years back, so we think. Before disap
pearing, he attacked Agent Rome, nearly killed him.”

  “I remember that.” Hutchinson stuck out his hand. Rome shook it. “Yeah, that was awful shit. Awful shit. Right here in our own backyard. You never expect that.”

  Rome turned his head, surveyed the bar. “But this? How about this?”

  “This, yeah. We hear Lafitte’s in with bikers now. A couple of local yahoos got the idea they could take him down for that big reward your people are offering. Now there’s no trace of anyone except this blood, those brains. It either belongs to the bikers or the locals. Still have to say I’m more used to seeing bikers murdering than I am terrorists. No one’s safe anywhere any more.”

  “What about the other agent who was looking for Lafitte?” Desiree had come up behind Rome without him realizing.

  Hutchinson shrugged. “No idea, ma’am. No reports from anyone. Even if your agent is still on the road, I suppose he would have called in if things were alright, right? Until he does, we’ll have to test the blood, see how much belongs to how many people.”

  Yeah, after fucking up the parking lot, now he wants to go all CSI. Great.

  “Can I make an observation?” Rome said.

  Hutchinson rolled his bottom lip over his top, pulled it across his mustache. “My guest.”

  “You’ve got one obvious exit wound, one with brain matter. The rest of the blood is spotty, nothing life-threatening.”

  “That’s damn fine detecting, sir.” Dry like the humidity.

  “What I’m saying iiiis—” Drag it out a little more. Make his face turn red. C’mon. “Iiiis that you might have someone still alive. If not here, than maybe in the surrounding area.”

  Hutchinson raised two fingers to the bridge of his nose, pushed his glasses up. Squinched his eyes shut. “I don’t know if you noticed on the way in, but, uh, it’s kind of flat out there.”

  “Exactly. So all the little windbreaks can hide a lot of deer, and maybe hide a couple of incapacitated people, too, huh?”