Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  Wyatt said, “Not a bad idea. We’ve got plenty of guys standing in the parking lot wasting taxpayer money. How about we send them around?”

  Hutchinson opened his eyes again. Looked at Rome, blinked a lot. “What did you say your name was again?”

  He pulled out his ID, held it open just long enough that anyone else would be pretty impressed, but not enough to read anything. “Call me Special Agent. Or even That Black Bastard Agent. But don’t pull this tired act on me, please. That Sidney Poitier flick is, like, forty years old.”

  Snapped the ID closed, turned, and marched away. Let Wyatt deal with the territorial pissing. Until they came and carted Rome away, his jurisdiction was the whole fucking world.

  “What was that all about?” Dee said.

  He waited until they were outside in the swirling wind again, shielding their eyes from the kicked-up dust. “I heard that Miss Colleen and her boyfriend were in a car wreck yesterday. They’d gone after Lafitte and apparently found him, got too rough.”

  “So?”

  “Lafitte had a chance to kill that girl and he didn’t take it. No fucking way he would pull that, I don’t care how much trouble he’s in. You can just feel it. The man’s actually got a soul, tiny and shriveled up as it may be.”

  Dee finished the thought. “If they’re not dead, then maybe he wanted them found.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  Another minute passed, and then Wyatt came out with the Sheriff. Wyatt had a bullhorn. He called all the bored uniforms over into a circle. Rome and Desriee stood on the outside of it listening to Wyatt send teams of two and three here and there, every clump of bushes where someone might hide a body or a motorcycle or a car. Not one word breathed about it being Rome’s idea. Exactly the way he wanted it.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Colleen wondered if she could die from muscle aches. Strains. Or if her limbs would reach maximum stress and spasm her to death. Getting close. She wanted to cry and scream, but she held on and kept McKeown talking.

  Alex’s band. Alex himself. His first night with another man. Gross, but it made him happy, kept him alive, and kept her mind off how fucked they both were.

  It was getting harder to keep McKeown going. His blood, aw dude, she could smell it all together with their sweat. He was dying, and she had to sit here helpless and watch. She’d watched two people die already in the last two days. She’d killed one of them. The other one wouldn’t have been dead if not for her. Like, the pain was too bad. Love sucked. If they’d just been fucking, it would’ve been different. If she’d given herself a few more years, party and fuck and forget them three days later. Go through a slew of men. Then maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here in an abandoned car full of bodies, hog-tied, her chest hurting every time she remembered she wouldn’t be able to tell Nate about it later. If there was a later. Or maybe she would get to tell him later, if later meant the afterlife. Unless killing Fawn counted as murder and she went to Hell, because there was no way Nate was in Hell.

  She said, “You still awake?”

  McKeown murmured, sleep talking.

  “Hey, fucking answer me, Josh. All right?” She leaned her head closer to his. “You. Need. To. Stay. Awake. And. Talk.”

  “God, please, it hurts.”

  “Hurting means you’re alive, dumbass. Listen to me, you still like women at all? Or have you passed the point of no return?”

  “What?”

  “Still bi, or all fag?”

  He took in a deep breath, started laughing. Or crying. No, it was laughing. Then he said, “Ow, ow, ouch.”

  “I’m just thinking, you know. I try to be pretty and people still think I’m a dyke. Can’t be a butch dyke, though. I mean, I wear jeans all the time, but they’re tight, and I have cool hair, even if I keep it pulled back for the job.”

  “You’re a cutie, I can see that. A little boyish in build is all.”

  “I keep in shape. And at home, I have naughty clothes. Little silky things and thongs and shit, but that was just me and Nate. But, listen, I’m saying that the reason I’m asking about you is that I can look at girls and feel, like, they’re hot, you know? Like really hot, and it makes me tingle a little but only because I wish I could be that hot.”

  “Didn’t Nate think you were hot?”

  “Of course he did.” Colleen didn’t want to think about Nate, but there it was, the both of them fresh from the shower, her in his uniform shirt, straddling him on the bed. Jesus. She was going to give herself a stroke if she kept this up. She liked thinking about it, though. Seeing it from the spectator’s POV. She liked how sexy it looked.

  She said, “But maybe I might like being with a woman, you know. If I think they’re hot, maybe pull some of this bi-curious stuff the college kids think is hot. I’m just saying.”

  He chuckled, trying to keep quiet. “I guess. I mean, don’t think about it as cut and dry. If the person is sexy to you, man or woman, isn’t that what’s important?”

  “You can’t lie to yourself and make it happen.”

  “Sure you can. I did. Look…” McKeown pulled in air through his nose, whistling. He was fading again. Colleen had made him use up all his energy. Shit. Now he was just going to die even faster. She had to listen hard for his next words. “If you like the girl and she likes you, then do it. But if you don’t feel like it and don’t feel any regret at walking away, hey, there’s your answer.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  Quiet again. Colleen tried to shake thoughts of Nate, them playing dress-up together, posing naked with guns and taking photos, using the handcuffs out in the garage. That one time in the backyard when they thought no one could see, but then they caught the neighbor boy looking. Shake all that. Come on. You’re not going out like that, so fucking sad. So goddamned…but she liked it. She liked it because those times made her happy and no matter how many dicks she could’ve had instead of settling for Nate’s five-incher, she couldn’t imagine any other man making her as happy, understanding who she really was the same as she did him. So why not lay your head down facing the back seat, stick your nose in there tight, close your eyes, and just let it all go? Think of Nate. Make a date with him on the other side. He’s already vouched for you with St. Peter. Sometimes cops have to kill. That’s all there is to it. Jesus forgives, and he forgives you both for shacking up before marriage and now you can be together for all eternity, and on and on and on—

  “You weren’t really thinking about being with another woman, were you?”

  Colleen blinked, felt the pulsing of her muscles, straining in time with her heartbeat. “How come?”

  “You were trying to connect with me, keep me going. That’s sweet…shit.” Talking between gritted teeth now. “I tell you what, though. If I had survived this, I would seriously quit the fucking FBI. Jesus, I always thought it would hurt a certain way, but not like this.”

  “Come on, Josh. Stay with me. Your body will keep fighting as long as you tell it to.”

  “…ah….I would’ve quit, though. Maybe I would’ve written a book, or a screenplay, or…I don’t know. It just seemed more fun than…ah…shhh…being a lawyer. But after Alex…I would’ve quit and gone back to him and gotten on my knees. He was going to be my Nate. Or at least one of them.”

  Colleen was crying now. Thrashing. Her broken hand was on fire. She wanted the fucking wire gone now. Not going to let this happen. No no no. “Shut up and breath, please, will you? Save your strength.”

  “No, listen…” cleared his throat. Voice cracked. “Here’s what you tell my boss. Tell him I handed in my resignation, okay? That right before I died….sh, sh…I, ah, quit. Yeah…I found myself, so that’s that. I quit. Okay? You’ll tell him?”

  Colleen pulled so hard she heard her snapped bones crunch together, gulped down a breath when the pain charged all over like electricity. Swallowed wrong. Choking. She coughed it out, drooled on the seat.

  Got her rhythm back and said, “Josh? Don’t lea
ve me alone. Do it for me. Come on. Goddamn it! You asshole! Fucking fight already!”

  If he was still breathing, she couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t tell a thing. He was still. She stopped fighting, listened. Still couldn’t tell. Leaned her neck as far back as it would go, stretched, and got ready for one more fight.

  And then she saw the shadow pass over the seat, grow larger. Someone outside the car from the other side. Voices, shouting, like, “Found them!” and “Over here!”

  Behind her, someone trying to open the driver’s side door. Locked.

  A voice: “Locked. Get the slimjim.”

  Colleen shouted, “Just break the fucking window! Hurry! Fuck!”

  She cranked her head around, but it was stiff and she couldn’t even get it to her shoulder. Thinking, Please be cops, please be cops. Otherwise, it was going to be like that college party all over again, when those guys tried to rape her. Fucking farm boys figure out she’s the only one alive in the car, then her trip into Hell starts earlier, hurts worse, and bleeds more than if she’d just suffocated in the Mustang. Not to mention that Fawn would be down there waiting for her, too.

  She heard the thud and crack of a baton against the window. Then someone else saying, “No, you just put pressure in the middle like this—”

  And a few quiet moments later, the glass shattered and rained down into the driver’s seat. An arm scrambled for the lock.

  Colleen was already shouting over and over, “Get an ambulance! Officer down! Hurry! 911! Officer down! You’ve got to hurry!”

  The drivers seat flipped forward and a face appeared, topped by a State Trooper’s hat. “Deputy Hartle? Agent McKeown?”

  “Yes, for god’s sakes, who the fuck else—he’s been shot! He’s dying! Come on!”

  The Trooper grabbed the rope connecting Colleen’s ankles to her wrists, sliced through with a pocket knife. Her feet collapsed hard against the side. Not responding. Needed circulation. “Oh shit. Oh Jesus. Oh shit.”

  The Trooper worked on her ankles. Wrist still bound, she still reached for McKoewn’s shoulders, tried to roll him towards her. Like wearing boxing gloves. Straightened her purple, numb fingers.

  “Hey, come on. Wake up, please, wake up. For Alex. You can quit now, really. You really can.”

  Nothing. Got nothing.

  The Trooper said, “Don’t move him. You can’t jostle him like that.”

  “Did you call the fucking ambulance yet?”

  “My partner’s already called them. On the way.”

  She kicked her feet a little. “Forget about me. Help McKeown. And get out an APB. Lafitte and two other suspects. Stole my car, a Gold Chevelle, seventy-four, all tricked out. Come on, call it!”

  “Okay, calm down. It’s okay. Calm down.”

  The Trooper backed out of the car, keyed his radio and called in the details she’d given. Colleen reached her finger up under McKeown’s nose. Didn’t feel a thing. She couldn’t tell if he’d stopped breathing or if it was just her sleeping fingers. She started to cry, but then swallowed and slid her top teeth on her bottoms and let a chill run through her. Better that way.

  *

  The ambulance beat Rome by only a few minutes. Colleen sat on the ground leaning against the Mustang while watching the EMTs go to work on McKeown. Not dead after all, or at least they were trying to bring him back from the dead. They wouldn’t tell her, but the way they hustled, it had to be good news, right?

  Rome, bit fatter than last she’d seen him. Guess New Orleans can do that to you. He arrived with an older Trooper she’d never seen before and a good-looking fortysomethingish black woman. What, Rome’s partner? His wife? The other two lagged back while Rome first checked on McKeown. Got yelled at by EMTs.

  “He’s my agent!”

  “Just get back!”

  “Give me an update or I’ll arrest all of you! Obstruction or something.”

  The head EMT looked up. “Five minutes, okay?”

  Rome nodded, stepped back, looked around and found Colleen, knees bent, cradling her broken hand, which had been crudely splinted by an EMT before she chased him towards McKeown. She’d refused to let them work on her busted nose, not until he was stable. She didn’t say a word to Rome. Even felt some hate towards him. No clue why.

  He stood above her, a foot or so back. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Clipped it.

  “Sorry about Nate.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was hoping to work with him.”

  “Sure.”

  They both listened to the chatter of the techs, watched them plug in IV lines, clean up the blood. Seemed like forever before they raised the stretcher and headed off to the ambulance. One of the techs shouted back, “We’re taking him to meet the MedEvac chopper! Flying him to Sioux Falls! Surgery!”

  And they were off. Rome didn’t follow right away. Stared after the techs until McKeown was out of sight behind the doors.

  He said, “Lafitte was the one who let you live, right?”

  Scoff. “If you can call it that.”

  “He hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. Look, Billy was almost in a coma. You’re right about him letting us live, but if he hadn’t woken up…”

  Rome waited for more. Let him wait. There wasn’t anything else Colleen needed to say.

  Rome scratched his knee. “Who shot McKeown?”

  “Biker. He was seven feet tall.”

  “Steel God?”

  Colleen shrugged. “Like Iron Man? I don’t know. He didn’t introduce himself.”

  “So, you saying Lafitte’s not to blame for the murder back there, either?”

  “Fuck.” She laughed. Nose pounding, hand throbbing, swelling, and all her muscles cramping like hell, but laughing anyway. “Nobody’s had time to check the truck yet. Couple of hicks that were looking to score off Billy. One tried to kill me. I killed her first.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. It’s a clean shooting. Ask McKeown. If he lives.”

  “Your first?”

  “So far.”

  Rome reached his hand down. Motioned his head up. She grabbed hold, pushed off the ground. Awkward there for a moment. She still wavered between hugging him and punching him. Finally just let go. Stood still, both looking anywhere but at each other.

  “You did all right, considering. Kept your head. Came out of it alive, helped us get the net out.”

  What, he going to make the same offer to her he made to Nate, now? The FBI really liked her “go getter” attitude? She said, “I didn’t have a choice, sir.”

  Rome huffed. Then, “Yeah you did. You and Nate both. Stupid ass kids. You know, the whole thing was ready to go, all on point. Had him where we wanted him. Aw, but you guys. Playing cops and robbers? Playing like some fucking movie? You want to be pissed at someone? Get a fucking mirror.” He stabbed a finger at her. “Because this is all on you. Get it?”

  She mushed her lips together. Felt like her heart was in a cave.

  “No excuse. Just no excuse.”

  Colleen mumbled, “Yessir. No excuse.”

  “Jesus.” Hands on hips. Tiny steps left, right, circle. Then back in her face. “You want to be a great cop? Stop the vigilante shit and get with the program.”

  She had to stifle a laugh. Would’ve been sharp. Would’ve followed up with, Yes sir. Just like you. Bit her lip hard.

  The biting did it. She could tell, like he was reading her mind. Rome was done with the blaming. Knocked the wind out of himself, hadn’t he?

  Rome shook his head and started away, trailing with, “We’re heading to the hospital. You can come along.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He didn’t look back.

  “Sir?”

  He stopped.

  “Agent McKeown wanted me to tell you something.”

  “All right.”

  “He said to tell you to fuck off.”

  Absorbed it well—not a smile, not a grimace. Just…took it.

&nbs
p; Rome shrugged his shoulders. “Could’ve told me that to my face.”

  Kept walking. After another minute, she took a deep breath and followed like she’d been told to.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  So Kristal spilled her big plan. Oh, yeah. Ambitious, wasn’t she? Took her about fifteen minutes of bitching to get to it. All this about she wasn’t anyone’s property to trade around, and she would choose who she fucked and who she would ride with, and that this had to be a real relationship or she was done. And yes, for his information, she sure as hell fucked Richie Rich. Fucked him good and hard. He worked his ass off to please her, and got his tongue deep in there, and maybe Lafitte ought to think about that for awhile. Even with all that good fucking, she still wanted Billy more and more.

  Lafitte played along and sounded sorry and sad in all the right places. Barely listening, trying to think of how to slip out, get a new vehicle, and keep on towards Mississippi. He’d run a few scenarios through his head—take the Chevelle, take the chopper, take a bus, carjack a dude, take Kristal and let her plan it, leave Kristal behind—

  but they all ended badly. That’s what you got from Steel God. If he liked you, he’d cut you a break, even fight for you. If you screwed him over, well, Lafitte remembered Red Gator, only a few days ago, realizing that hammer was coming down and he was helpless to stop it.

  He sat on the bed barely moving except to show Kristal he was pretending to listen. She eventually crawled onto his bed, which jostled his bruises and cuts, and snuggled up behind him, arms wrapped around, lips closer to his ear as she started in on “The Plan”.

  It sounded right, too. If he really had been thinking of knocking off God and taking over, Kristal was right about this being the best way. Also the sleaziest. Most cowardly. But definitely the smartest.

  “And no one will question it. They’ll forget eventually. If anyone starts getting restless, you know? We’ll show them their leader, all tucked into a hospital bed. All cozy, half the man they’d rode with.”

  “He’ll think it’s temporary.”

  “Hardly even worth the fight, once they see what’s happened. But I bet it won’t even come to that. You, you’re, like, a natural.”