The Highway Kind

by Patrick Millikin

  Russell began crying.

  Eddie took a drink of beer. “I’m going to ask you one question, Russell. Did you call your mom?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  Eddie smiled. “See, it ain’t so bad telling the truth.”

  The boy looked at him with tears streaming down his face. “Do you want me to leave now?”

  “Nah,” Eddie said. “You got to lighten up. We have work to do. We have to give this thing a test drive and then we gotta eat pizza.”

  Russell wiped his face and said, “I told you she doesn’t care.”

  “That’s not the point,” Eddie said and laughed. “Jesus, you can be one hardheaded son of a bitch sometimes.”

  The Le Mans front end was the problem. It was loose and drifty. The car needed new tie-rods, an alignment, tires and rims, and he’d have to give it a brake job. But it ran and the transmission seemed to be switching gears when it was supposed to. They drove around the industrial side of town for nearly an hour. They passed the horse track and drove along the river. They had the windows down and Russell hung his arm out the side. Eddie took them to a pizza parlor, they ate dinner, and afterward Russell played video games while Eddie drank beer and worked on bids in the corner of the half-empty restaurant.

  The next morning Eddie found a can of car wax in the garage and set it on the hood of the Le Mans next to a handful of rags and a note saying Read the instructions on the can before you do anything. The money is for lunch. I’ll pay you for the waxing after you do it. Underneath the can he set ten dollars.

  He went back to the garage and found a quart of old blue oil paint on a shelf. He opened it, stirred it for a long time, and then painted each of the four remaining battery handles. He drove to the job site and parked. The body of the house was finished and now the best part of the job was beginning. They were painting trim. The customers wanted three different colors and it meant two extra days of work. He took his best exterior brushes from his toolbox, his job-site radio, and headed up the drive. He unlocked the ladders and set them up.

  He waited an hour before he began calling Houston from the top of the ladder, but Houston didn’t answer. At lunch he drove to Houston’s apartment to find him in his underwear. The TV was playing behind him. Inside the apartment was dark with the curtains drawn, and Houston was pale and sick and coughed as he stood in the doorway.

  “Jesus,” Eddie said, smiling. “What happened to you?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Houston quietly.

  “Where did you get the money?”

  “A guy I used to know invited me to his house. He was having a party and there was a bottle of Maker’s. I took it and sat out on his porch and that’s all I remember.”

  “You drank the whole thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It was nice of you to call and tell me you weren’t coming in.”

  Houston ran his hands through his hair. “I set my alarm but I guess I didn’t hear it.”

  “I don’t hear it now,” Eddie said.

  “I must have shut it off somehow.”

  “Does the TV turn on by itself?”

  Houston sighed. “Goddamn it, Eddie.”

  “Don’t get mad at me.”

  “I couldn’t get out of bed, all right? I’ve been shitting my guts out all morning and I’m sick.”

  Eddie laughed. “All you fucking guys lie. All you have to do is call and say, ‘I got loaded last night and I’m a scumbag pussy and can’t get out of bed on a hangover.’”

  Houston shook his head and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Get your clothes on,” said Eddie. “We’ll eat lunch and then you’re going to work.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I don’t give a shit if you puke all over their lawn; they sure as fuck won’t notice. Get dressed.”

  Houston nodded and began looking for his clothes.

  Eddie drove them to a Greek diner and they sat in the back, in the bar, and he ordered Houston a beer.

  “Drink it,” said Eddie, “and then eat lunch. We’ll buy you a six-pack on the way to the job site. I don’t want any shaky lines today.”

  “I don’t know if I can eat,” Houston whined.

  “Try a grilled cheese and some soup, you sorry sack of shit,” Eddie said. “And if you complain one more time I’ll make you buy.”

  Houston nodded; the beer came and he drank it. He ordered another. They ate lunch, stopped at a mini-mart for a six-pack, and then went back to work. Houston threw up twice but kept at it and the beer finally settled him and he got through the day.

  That evening Eddie parked the van in the carport. He took out a bucket holding the dirty brushes in water. He passed the Le Mans and when he did he saw that the rest of the old batteries were gone. He walked to the back door, let the dog out, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and sat on a lawn chair and smoked a cigarette. The old dog wandered around the yard and then came back to him and sat by his feet.

  Russell came through the gate minutes later. He walked hunched over and Eddie realized just how small the boy was, how thin his legs and arms were. As Russell got closer, Eddie looked at the boy’s hands and could see blue paint on them.

  Russell stopped ten feet away. “I waxed the car,” he said.

  “You did a good job,” Eddie replied. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

  “It wasn’t that hard, but I couldn’t get the hood.”

  “I’ll get the hood,” said Eddie.

  “Do you need the brushes done?” the boy asked.

  “There’s five in the bucket. The big one, the three-inch, is pretty trashed so don’t worry about it too much.”

  The boy moved toward the bucket.

  “Why don’t you come over here and say hey to Early before you get to work?”

  But Russell wouldn’t come closer to Eddie or the dog.

  Eddie looked at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Why do you have blue paint on your hands?”

  Tears fell down the boy’s face.

  “You can’t always cry, man...Get me a beer and yourself a Coke and then come over here and sit.”

  Russell nodded and went into the house. He came out with two cans and sat across from Eddie.

  “I bet you tried like a mother to wash that paint off your hands.”

  Russell nodded.

  “But it wouldn’t come off?”

  “No.”

  “That’s ’cause it’s oil paint. I’ll get you some thinner. You have to use thinner with oil.”

  “I didn’t mean to steal them, Eddie. I didn’t. Curtis made me.”

  “Why?”

  “He takes them somewhere and they give him money for them.”

  “Is Curtis home?”

  Russell shook his head. “I told him you were my friend and that he shouldn’t take them. But...but then he made me take them.” Tears again filled his eyes. “You have to believe me, Eddie. I didn’t want to take them but he made me.” The boy pulled up his shirt and his small chest was black and blue.

  Eddie took a drink off the beer and lit a cigarette. His face didn’t change. He said quietly, “Follow me to the garage and we’ll get the paint off your hands and then you’re going to wash my brushes. After that we’ll get something to eat. Are you hungry?”

  “I am if you are,” the boy said.

  “Good. You get the brushes done and we’ll get a quick bite to eat. I have some errands to do tonight so we’ll just get tacos.”

  “From Alberto’s Truck?”

  “Sure, we’ll go there if you want.”

  “I want to go there if you want to go there.”

  Eddie laughed.

  “I was worried you’d never like me again,” Russell whispered.

  “It’s your brother who’s in trouble,” Eddie said and put out his cigarette. “Not you. How old is he again?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Eddie nodded, got up, and
waved to Russell to follow him. The blue paint came off the boy’s hands with a rag full of thinner and then Eddie sent him to the basement with the bucket of dirty brushes to clean. When he could see the light in the basement go on he went next door to Russell’s home. The side door was open and he called out and the old woman, Russell’s grandmother, yelled from a back room for him to come inside.

  It was a home she had lived in for thirty-five years. Her husband, Des, worked as a truck driver and had kept his shop, lawn, and house clean and well maintained. Eddie and Des had gotten along well, but two years back Des had had a heart attack and passed on. The old woman fell apart after that and her only daughter, Connie, moved in with Russell and Curtis.

  The kitchen was nothing but dirty dishes, pans, and garbage. In the living room, clothes were thrown about everywhere and the TV was on. An Xbox sat on a small coffee table next to soda cans, candy-bar wrappers, and fast-food bags.

  The old woman sat in her room in a recliner reading a book with the help of a magnifier. She was frail for seventy years old. She had long gray hair that came down to her chest. She wore a bathrobe and slippers. The room was stale and hot and smelled of urine. Both the windows in the room were closed. There was a hot plate with a teapot on it and a stack of Cup-a-Soups on her dresser.

  “How you been?” he asked.

  “Hello, Eddie,” she said.

  “What are you reading?”

  “A murder mystery.”

  “Are you still watching Days of Our Lives?”

  The old woman shook her head.

  “No Bo and Hope?”

  “I don’t like going outside my room.”

  “Because of Curtis?”

  “Curtis and Connie.”

  “Curtis’s not around?”

  She shook her head.

  “You eating enough?”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.”

  “It’s hot in here. Do you want your windows open?”

  She nodded.

  Eddie went to them. They were both old weighted windows. It took him a while but he got them open and fresh air came into the room.

  Houston was in his underwear when Eddie beat on his door two hours later. He was drinking off a forty-ounce bottle of Olde English and came to the door carrying it.

  “I thought you said nine?”

  “It’s eight forty-five,” Eddie said. “I don’t see how you can drink that shit.”

  “I like malt liquor.”

  “Get dressed and let’s go.”

  “And you say you’re buying?”

  Eddie nodded and lit a cigarette. He went to Houston’s fridge, took a can of Coors from it, opened it, and sat down on the couch and waited for him to dress.

  They drove to a strip bar called the Little Fox where a half dozen men watched a woman dancing naked. Behind them were five men playing video poker machines and two more sitting at the bar. The bartender was a sixty-year-old black woman and Eddie bought two beers from her, got ten singles, and handed the money and a beer to Houston. Houston went to the front and sat while Eddie stood in the back at the bar. He watched the woman dance to two more songs, ordered another beer, and then Connie came to the stage.

  She was a forty-year-old alcoholic with dyed-red hair and large sagging breasts. Even from where he stood, he could see her body was beginning to go. She danced three songs and toward the end of the third, Eddie went to the front and sat. He placed a five-dollar bill down and when the song finished and she went to take it, he said, “You got a minute to talk?”

  She nodded and told him she’d come out and find him.

  Another woman came onstage and Eddie grabbed Houston and they sat at a small table in the back of the bar.

  “Just remember what she says,” Eddie said. “She’s enough trouble that I don’t want to have a conversation with her when I’m alone.”

  Houston had his eyes on the woman dancing. “You’ll buy another round, won’t you?”

  “I’ll buy you a six-pack on the way home. We’re gonna get out of here the second she and I quit talking.”

  Houston rubbed his hands together and smiled. “But I’ll need another beer if I’m gonna just sit here and listen.”

  Eddie took five dollars from his wallet and gave it to him. Houston got another beer and then Connie came out in an Asian robe and black high-heeled shoes.

  “What’s going on?” she asked and sat at the table.

  Eddie told her about the batteries, about Russell’s chest and the beatings that Curtis had been giving him.

  “I can’t control him,” she said hopelessly. “How do you think I feel? No one ever asks how I feel living with him. His father won’t do a goddamn thing and hasn’t paid child support since he was three.”

  Eddie lit a cigarette. “I know you got a tough deal. I just want to let you know that if he steals any more of my stuff, I’m gonna call the cops on him.”

  “You shouldn’t be leaving your stuff out there,” she said and looked out to the stage.

  “What about Russell?” he asked.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s getting the shit beat out of him by his brother.”

  “Who didn’t get the shit beat out of them as a kid? And why you spend so much time with him anyway? What’s in it for you?”

  Eddie finished his beer and stood. “I’ll tell you this: If Curtis steals anything more from me I’ll call the cops and I’ll press charges. And you let him know if he beats up Russell anymore, I’ll go to Child Services and I’ll fuck up both your lives.”

  Eddie walked across the road and disappeared into a mini-mart and then came back carrying a six-pack of beer. He got in the driver’s seat and handed the beer to Houston. “I gotta say, I didn’t think she’d start crying. I thought she’d jump down my throat when I said the Child Services bit.”

  “She ain’t as tough as she thinks she is,” said Houston.

  “Was she on something?”

  “Heroin, I bet.”

  “You think so?” Eddie asked.

  “My ex-wife couldn’t quit that shit,” Houston said. “I can tell pretty easy.”

  Eddie sighed.

  Houston opened one of the cans of beer. “You know, I even ironed this shirt. I thought I might have a shot with her. I could move in next door. I’d kick out Curtis. And then Russell and the old lady would move in with you, and suddenly I’d about have my own place. I’d be set.”

  Eddie laughed and started the van.

  The house on the National Register was done and he and Houston packed up the ladders and did the last walk-through and Eddie received the final check. They drove to the next house, a west hills home, a money house, and unloaded their gear and left it on the side of the garage. Eddie deposited the check, gave Houston his eighty-dollar weekend allotment, dropped him back at his car, and drove home.

  When he got there, the Le Mans was gone.

  He let Early out and opened a beer. He smoked a cigarette, finished the can, and called the police. When he hung up he walked next door to find the side door open again. He called inside and the old woman again yelled from her room. She was sitting in the same chair in a housecoat reading a book. She hadn’t seen Russell or Curtis.

  The police came an hour later and Eddie filled out a report. Afterward he sat outside and drank beer and barbecued chicken. He cooked beans, made a salad, ate, and then smoked more cigarettes and drank more beer and worked on a bid down the street from the National Register house. After that he went to bed.

  His phone woke him at midnight. The police had found his car. It was left in the middle of an intersection downtown. They had apprehended four people and his car had been towed to a police impound lot. He hung up the phone and went back to bed.

  He woke early the next morning to let his dog out and saw Russell sitting on the lawn chair. His face was beat up. Both his eyes were black, and his little nose was swollen.

  Eddie told him to come inside and wait in the kitchen. He w
ent to his bedroom and dressed. When he came out, Russell was on the kitchen floor petting Early.

  “Can you still chew with your face that beat up?”

  The boy nodded.

  “I’ll make pancakes,” Eddie said. “You want bacon with them?”

  Russell again nodded.

  Eddie started the coffee and bacon and fed Early. The boy sat at the kitchen table and remained silent as Eddie made the pancakes and then set the food on plates and sat down.

  “Let’s eat first,” Eddie said. “We got some talking to do but that’s hard on an empty stomach. You probably didn’t eat last night, did you?”

  Russell shook his head and tears welled in his eyes but he ate the breakfast. When they’d both finished, Eddie put down his fork and pushed his plate away. “Let’s go outside so I can smoke,” he said and they went out and sat across from each other on lawn chairs.

  “So what happened?”

  “He stuck my head in the toilet,” Russell whispered. “Until...until I told him where you kept the key to it.” He began crying so hard he was barely understandable. He gasped. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Eddie said. “I would have told him too. Take a breath.”

  Russell wiped his eyes and tried to breathe. “I told him where the keys were, but I didn’t think it would start. I thought the switch would be on but it wasn’t.”

  Eddie blew out a plume of smoke. “I must have left it off. I was tinkering on the car the other night and I must have just forgot. So then what happened?”

  “When it started, I was like, Oh no, and then Curtis made me go with them so I would be blamed too. He drove out near the river and then we went downtown. Burny and Josh were in the back and Curtis was driving too fast and you said that the engine was old and needed to be driven slow. But Curtis wouldn’t listen and then we came to that big intersection that has all those different lights and streets. We came to the middle of it and I reached down and hit the kill switch.”

  “You hit the kill switch?” Eddie said and laughed.

  “I did,” Russell said. “’Cause you’re my best friend.”