by Greg Barth
“We’ve even got some stuff for your dog.”
“No Frankie?” I said.
“Nah, we dropped him off first,” Jack said. “But never fear, dear. Your secret admirer sent you a little something back.” He fished a paper sack out of the back seat and handed it to me. “Here you go.”
I looked inside. There was the promised bottle of Beam and a paperback. I looked at its cover.
“Now I told Frankie that you had trashy taste in fiction, but he disagreed. He couldn’t find whatever the hell you said you wanted, so he sent you that.”
A Lawrence Block novel. Part of the Matthew Scudder series. “Well I’ll be damned. He did okay.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. Your other admirers brought you stuff too. We got you the good trash.”
“Who are they?”
“Why, Todd here and me. You’ve got to know, I don’t believe in coyness. We ain’t got world enough and time.”
Poetry. He was so full of shit.
We spent a solid thirty minutes unloading the supplies. My back and chest burned by the time we were done.
Todd pulled me to the side. “You okay with Jack staying the night? It’s too dark out there to get back down the mountain safely.”
“That’s great. I don’t mind. It’s been a lonely day. Let’s pull a cork.
FIFTEEN
SELENA
We sat at the table. Each of us had a glass of Maker’s Mark.
“This is a good brand,” Todd said. He rubbed at his short beard.
“It’s how we like it in Kentucky,” I said.
“That where you’re from, Marie? Kentucky?” Jack said.
I ignored the question. I held my glass up, took a sip, and looked at the men across the table. “Who do you guys sell your pot to?”
Jack laughed. “What, you want a name or something? Can’t do that.”
“No names. Just a location. Do you sell to Johnson City?”
Todd shook his head. “We don’t play in that game. We steer clear. They have low tolerance for independents over that way. Our man Frankie is tied up with them, though.”
“So you sell to Asheville?”
“Close to it,” Jack said.
“It winds up there,” Todd said.
I took another drink. “Tell me about Johnson City.”
“Shit, we should’ve brought Frankie back with us. He could tell you all about it. Strong appetite for meth over that way.”
“How tight is Frankie with them?” I said.
“To hear him tell it, he’s involved all the way to the top,” Jack said.
I considered this in silence.
“Todd, roll us a joint. Use some of that kush I brought. The California stuff. Three Way.”
Todd got out a pack of papers and got to work.
“You know why I call it Three Way?” Jack asked.
“No idea,” I said.
“Because it will make you horny enough to engage in three-way sex with Todd and me.”
“Then you should call it Delusional,” I said.
“I like my name better.”
“Fat Chance. There’s a name for you,” I said.
“Honey, a three-way with Todd and me would be like having sex with five men. I make up four and a half of them, and Todd here does his part too.”
Todd fired up the first joint. He inhaled deeply, held the smoke, and passed it to me.
Jack refilled our glasses with Maker’s.
I took a deep draw on the joint and passed it to Jack.
Todd released his smoke. “Thing is. We may all work for the guys in Johnson City before much longer.”
“They’re squeezing in,” Jack said.
“An aggressive bunch,” Todd said.
I blew out my smoke. My chest burned from it. It was good shit. “You could fight,” I said.
They both laughed. “Honey, trust me. You don’t go up against these guys,” Jack said.
“She’s a fighter,” Todd said.
I pulled back my hair and showed Jack my scar. The hair was white where it was growing back in. I pulled my shirt up to my neck and stood. I was wearing a white bra. I pointed to the scars on my upper chest. “You see these,” I said.
“Hello,” Jack said. “This is about the best goddamned drinking game I’ve ever played, and I don’t even know the rules.”
“The scars, Jack,” Todd said.
“Uh, hang on,” Jack said. He stared at the small white cups that covered my breasts. “I’m getting to them. Working my way up.”
I sighed. I lowered my shirt. “My point is, Three Way, that my presence here may be putting you guys in danger. I’ve already fought them. They killed a friend of mine on our way up the mountain. I would have thought maybe we just stumbled on these meth guys down the slope and they hit us, but I saw the man that shot me before. I saw him a few hundred miles west of here. He’s after me. And if Frankie is in with this bunch and knows that I’m here...”
“Hang on, hang on,” Todd said. “We’re used to being in danger. And we’ll fight if it comes to that, but I don’t think you need to worry about Frankie. He’s so sweet on you, he won’t put two and two together.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“Hey. I’m still trying to work this all out,” Jack said. “Can you show me those, uh...?” He motioned for me to raise my shirt up. “Those scars again?”
“Pass me that joint,” I said.
“So how did you get mixed up with this bunch?” Todd said.
“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Probably kill us by drinking us to death. How do you handle so much of that so fast?” Jack said.
“I’ve been drinking for a long time.”
We sat and drank and smoked into the night. The pot was good. It was nice to have premium bourbon. For the first night in a long while, I didn’t feel like I had to ration my cigarettes.
I handled my liquor better than the boys. Todd passed out at the table first. The oil lamp started to dim. Jack got up and threw a log in the fireplace. The flames grew and cast flickering light into the den.
“I gotta piss,” Jack said.
“Me too,” I said. “Let’s go.”
I put a jacket on and stepped into my shoes. We went outside. The night sky was clear. The stars overhead were bright enough to see our way. The air was cold.
“I’m going right here,” Jack said and turned his back to me. “You might want to stand back. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
I looked over my shoulder as I passed. Steam rose into the air from the arc of his urine.
I went to the privy. I didn’t stay any longer than necessary. It was cold, and I was drunk. You could freeze to death if you passed out in there, I thought.
Jack stopped me on the way back to the cabin. “Hey, come here,” he said.
I walked up and stood in front of him.
He pulled me to him. He leaned down and kissed me full on the lips. It took me off guard, and it was over before I knew what was happening. I thought it might have been a good kiss.
He kept his face close to mine. His breath was white puffs of steam in my face. “How well do you know Todd?”
“It’s funny. I’ve been here with him a few weeks, and I still feel like I barely know him.”
He looked down and nodded. “How long are you planning on staying here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
“You may want to think about it. I’m not sure you’re going to be good for him.”
“Is there a problem? He doesn’t want me here?”
“No, nothing like that. He likes you just fine. I’m just not sure that he’s ready for you yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Trust me; you don’t want to know Todd’s address in hell. It’s a bad neighborhood. I hope I’m wrong. For him as well as you.”
I leaned in and kissed him again. He put his arms around me a
nd squeezed me hard.
“Let’s get back inside before we freeze,” he said.
SIXTEEN
RAGUS
Ragus sat in the pawn shop office with Malucci.
Malucci was saying, “What we’ve got here is a hostile work environment.”
Valerie brought in an ice pack and handed it to Ragus. “Thanks Val,” he said. He held the ice pack to his jaw.
“This thing with Faranacci, it ain’t right.”
“What are you going to do? File a complaint with human resources?” Ragus said.
“I don’t know. We’ve got to fix this, though. This is a bad environment for us. And if Frankie White brings that girl back in alive, it’s the end of us, man. You watch and see. We’re done.”
Ragus closed his eyes. “She can’t be alive.”
“She is, man. She is. You know it. You just stunned her. Knocked her out. Maybe she stopped breathing for a minute. But she’s still out there.”
“Fuck,” Ragus said. “Fuuuuck.”
“People survive that shit sometimes. Some people are just lucky like that. Bullets through the chest and all. Somehow the bullets don’t hit anything vital. Dumb luck.”
“You do know that I’ve done this before, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I know. And you’re the best. That may be part of the problem. You’re conditioned a certain way. You put a certain number of bullets in certain spots and you see people die. Every time. So when you shoot this girl the same way...it’s like your brain registers she’s dead. But instead she’s in some kind of, I don’t know, coma or something. But she’s okay and just walks away.”
“I’m looking at a career change anyway,” Ragus said.
Malucci raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going into the whoring business.”
Malucci chuckled. “Well, Val in there can give you some pointers.”
“That doesn’t get us out of this shit with Faranacci.”
“She’s out there, man. Like a fucking ghost.”
Ragus sighed in defeat. “So what do we do?”
“Nothing. We hope she’s dead or that she never resurfaces. If she does, we hope she takes out the big guy in the process.”
“So we sit back and hope?” Ragus said.
“You got a better idea?” Malucci said.
“We could take a run at Frankie White.”
Malucci considered it. “I got an open mind about it. But tell me how that’s smart for us.”
“He doesn’t deliver the girl.”
Malucci nodded. “What if we took a run at somebody else?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You know what they say. Leaders cast shadows.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, maybe we should do something crazy.”
SEVENTEEN
SELENA
“You hold it like this,” Todd said.
I observed as he held the bow in his left hand and pointed it at the ground. He slipped an arrow out of the quiver attached to the side of the bow.
There was a dusting of snow on the ground that morning. Max seemed to like the snow and was in and out of the woods sniffing the ground.
“Lay the arrow along the arrow rest like so.” He pulled the feathered end of the arrow up to the bowstring. “This thing,” he flicked a small bead clamped to the string with his fingertip. “This is called a nocking point. Line the fletching up so you’ll have minimum impact with the arrow rest when you release.”
“The feathers are different colors,” I said.
“Exactly. One of three is different. You want that one pointing away from the side of the bow. You’ll aim with that one.”
“Sounds easy.”
“Honey, you just spoke the two words that no one involved in any way with the bow hunting industry wants anybody to know. From their perspective, bow hunting is an expensive hobby like golf. But yeah. You got it right. Shooting a bow is incredibly easy.”
“A cave man would know how.”
“Hitting what you want to hit is the hard part. Especially if it’s moving.”
“Simple physics,” I said.
“Okay, so the fletching is lined up. The next thing is, you clip the nock of the arrow to the string.” I watched as he did it. “Simple. Now, put a forefinger above the nock and the next two fingers below. You draw with those three fingers. Then, you raise up the bow, draw the bowstring, and release.”
I observed as he did this. The arrow flew straight through the air and struck a paper target he had attached to the exposed dirt covered roots of a fallen tree. The arrow hit dead center.
“You want to try it?”
“Okay,” I said. I took the bow. I was surprised at how light it was in my hand.
“Now, if you do this right, you’re going to feel it in your back and chest. I only want you taking a couple of shots today. I’ve adjusted the draw weight. We’ll see how painful it is for you.”
I took an arrow and nocked it as he had shown me.
“Now raise the bow.”
I did.
“Okay, stop.”
I held steady.
He came in close to me. “Don’t put your thumb behind the bow grip. You won’t be stable like that. Put the palm of your hand behind the bow grip. Like that. Exactly.”
He put his arms on my shoulders and turned me. “You want to stand parallel to the target. It’s not like shooting a rifle. You want your side facing what you’re going to shoot.”
He moved me a little more. “Okay. That looks good. Now three fingertips on the string.”
I positioned my fingers as he had shown me. One on top, two on the bottom.
“Try drawing.”
I pulled the string back. He raised my right elbow with his hand. “I want you to keep your elbow high.”
“It hurts,” I said.
“Try drawing all the way back.”
I did. The string was easier to hold once the bow was fully drawn.
“Don’t hyper-extend your left elbow. Loosen it up a little. If you hyper-extend, your forearm could obstruct the string and mess up your shot. It’ll also hurt like hell.”
I made the adjustment.
“Now, put your right hand against the corner of your mouth. Remember that spot. That’s your anchor. You draw that way every time, and the arrow is going to go where you want it to.”
“What now,” I said.
“The simplest way to aim is to look right down the cock feather.”
I chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
“The archery instructor said ‘cock,’” I said.
“Ha ha. You get that eighth grade humor out of your system? Time to shoot. Aim down the cock feather. Once you’re comfortable, let the string roll off your fingertips.”
I let the arrow fly. It sailed through the air straight and hit the target. It wasn’t a bullseye. My arrow struck the bottom edge of the target.
“Hey, that’s good. Real good,” he said.
“But I missed.”
“It was your first time. I didn’t expect you to even hit the damned stump. Hell, I was worried about you shooting something behind us.”
“I had a good teacher,” I said. “He inspired me with his penis references.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel good. It hurt, but I’m okay.”
“Let’s try again.”
I selected another arrow and went through the motions. He gave no instruction outside of saying things like, “Nice, good, you’ve got it.”
I let fly with my second arrow. It hit the target a bit higher than my first shot.
“See there,” Todd said. “The first shot was no fluke. You’re a natural and already showing improvement.”
“I don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow I’ll fire three shots and four the next day.”
***
I practiced daily with Todd’s guidance. Within a week, I was hitting the bullseye eight shots out of ten. My ch
est no longer hurt when I drew the bowstring. Todd tightened the draw weight going into week two. It helped my accuracy. The arrow flew straighter and faster with the heavier pull.
By the end of week two, I was deer hunting with Todd daily. On my third day of hunting, I killed my first deer. It was a large buck. I hit it dead on in the vital organs just behind its shoulder blade. The deer leaped away when I hit it, but it dropped dead within twenty yards.
“You are a damned fine archer,” Todd said.
He taught me how to field dress the deer and then put the meat up in the smokehouse.
I liked using the bow. It seemed more tactile and straightforward than the shotguns I had experience with.
We celebrated that night in our usual manner—joints, cigarettes, and bourbon.
“I know of a fourth thing you’re good at,” Todd told me when we were good and baked.
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Shooting a bow. You really are good.”
“And what are the other three?”
Todd grinned. “Well, let’s see.” He held up a finger. “Lying in bed.”
“Comes natural,” I said.
He put up another finger. “Reading girly romance novels.”
“That’s just good taste. I love me some love.”
The third finger came up. “Screaming for toilet paper from the privy.”
“I think you keep the supply low on purpose. You’re a peeper.”
“Right. Like I want to come near you when you’re up there. I’m seriously going to pick up a gas mask the next time I’m in town.”
I smiled at him. “You’ve been a good host. Very hospitable.”
“Anybody else would have done the same.”
I sipped at my bourbon. I looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “You know there are other things I’m good at too,” I said.
“Like what?”
I stood and walked over to his chair. I sat on his lap sideways and slipped my arm around his back. We sat looking at each other like that, neither of us saying anything. I leaned in and kissed him. He kissed back. He put his hand behind my head and pulled me to him tight.
I stood and turned to face him directly. I got back on his lap, this time straddling him and facing him full on. He put his hands on my back and rubbed them up and down the length of my spine. I was wearing a blue checkered flannel shirt unbuttoned in front over a black t-shirt. He lowered his hands and squeezed my ass tight through my jeans with both hands. I could feel him stiffening under me.