The Two-Bear Mambo cap-3

by Joe R. Lansdale

  "You're probably right," I said.

  "But here we are, two guys, friends, one straight and one gay, and we get along better with each other than we do with our chosen sex partners."

  "Maybe it's the sex throws a wrench in things. Soon as you start doing the two-bear mambo, like those bears on that special, it falls apart."

  "I don't know, those bears looked pretty happy."

  "Yeah, but way it works in nature is the male bear loads the female bear with sperm, then he heads out, leaving the female bear to raise cubs by herself."

  "That's not nice."

  "No, it isn't."

  "A little secret, Hap. When two guys fuck, neither of them gets pregnant."

  "What I mean is, sex, one way or another, complicates things. I don't know how, but it's always in one way or another the turd in the stew."

  "So you want to give it up?"

  "I may not have a choice, way things are going, but no, I don't want to give it up. It's been so long for me now, the bear on the National Geographic special got the right look in her eye, I'd mount up."

  "So, except for determining that you'd fuck a bear, we're no

  closer to solving the mystery of human and animal relations than we were five minutes ago."

  "Maybe our friendship works out okay 'cause when I get tired of your shit, I go to the house till I get over it. I don't feel obli­gated to be with you, and I don't feel I'm deserting you if I go home. I have no sexual interest in you."

  "That's hard to believe, being the fine specimen of gay man­hood that I am."

  "I know, but it's true. I also know we get sideways with one another, tomorrow, next day, everything's gonna be okay. You'll be there if I need you."

  "You know, Hap, you've never sent me a valentine."

  "Fuck you."

  There was really very little to do with the rest of the day, and I was tired from the night before, so I went to the bedroom and got the remaining two blankets and lay down on the bed, but the odor of dog piss was too overwhelming. I flipped the mat­tress and there was the smell of Chanel No. 5.

  Florida.

  My head filled with her. Soft and dark and smart and sexy. I almost coveted the dog pee side. I lay there with the blankets over me, a thin pillow beneath my head, looked at the ceiling, picked out water spots, and listened to Leonard hum Country's Greatest Hits. He did that sometimes when he couldn't sleep, hummed tunes. Maybe that's why Raul left him. That and no re­spect for Gilligan's Island.

  Eventually the water spots darkened into one large shadow as the gloomy afternoon became early evening. Leonard's humming became spaced, starting to drift off.

  My eyes began to fill with tears then, and I can't honestly say if the tears were for Florida or for me. I had lost her and I wanted her back, and I knew that wasn't going to happen, no matter what. I knew I should think of her and what might have happened to her, harness some new game plan for finding her, but I lay there instead and felt sorry for myself, and was angry, because some part of me was enjoying the sorrow, and maybe, just maybe, there was a bad part of me that barked and howled and said, "See what happens you leave me, baby? You die."

  Oh, God, Florida.

  Don't be dead.

  And then somewhere between all that and the sweet and over­whelming smell of Chanel No. 5, and Leonard slow-humming "Walkin’ the Floor Over You," I dropped off.

  The rain and wind beat and lashed the trailer and I could feel Florida beside me, and she was sweet with the scent of Chanel No. 5, and I reached to hold her, but couldn't. She was as insub­stantial as the shadows, and then I opened my eyes from the dream, and there she stood at the end of the bed, looking down at me. It was dark in there, but somehow I could see. I could see she was naked. She stood like some kind of harpy, her legs bent, her body leaning forward, her fine breasts swaying down, the nipples taut with the cold. Her hair glistened red with East Texas clay, and her lithe body was slick with it. Chunks of clay clung to her pubic thatch like dirt dauber nests.

  Then I realized not all the red was clay. Her head had a split in it, and some of the red that ran from her mound and down the inside of her thigh wasn't slick clay at all.

  I tried to get up but couldn't. She leaned farther forward and reached for me. I didn't like the way her eyes looked. They looked cold and lifeless, like those of a fish in an ice chest.

  She opened her mouth, and clay fell out. She said, "Hap, you got to help me."

  "I will, Florida. I will. God, we thought you were dead."

  She laughed and clay sprayed from her mouth as if from a nozzle.

  Then I came awake, sat bolt upright, and there was Leonard

  sitting on the edge of the sagging bed. He reached out and touched my shoulder.

  "It's okay, man," he said. "It's all right. Get your shit to­gether."

  I sat up in bed and pushed my back to the wall. "Damn," I said. "I thought I saw Florida."

  "I know. You called her name about a half-dozen times. Woke me up. You all right, buddy?"

  "Yeah. What time is it?"

  "I don't know. Not too late."

  "God almighty, I swear, that was as real a dream as I've ever had . . . Leonard, she's dead, man. She was all covered in clay, like she'd been buried."

  "She's dead because you saw her dead in a dream? That don't mean nothing."

  "She's dead because she is. Way dreams work is they put to­gether what you know. She's somewhere dead and buried, and you know it."

  "You don't know nothing."

  "Yeah. Well tell me, what do you think?"

  "All right. I think she's dead. I don't think she drove up here and just dropped off the face of the earth. No one has seen her in a while. Last stop was here. Not like there's lots of places to stay in Grovetown, so I don't think she's around. It don't look good, Hap."

  "Yeah."

  "Thing is, this is all just how I feel. It isn't worth anything."

  "So what now?"

  "We came up here to find her, and we will. Dead or alive. First thing to do though, is tomorrow morning, call Hanson or Charlie. See they've heard anything from her. She may be back in LaBorde, and if so, Hanson probably hasn't even told her we're looking for her. He's too busy making up with her, layin' pipe."

  "No, Leonard. He wouldn't do that. She's like a daughter to him. Remember."

  "Yeah, right. I forgot."

  "Damn, isn't this one hell of a special Christmas?"

  "Yeah. Merry Christmas. Listen here, Hap. I ain't been sleep­ing all that good. Cold in there and the sweet aroma of dog whiz is about to make me puke, then you yelling and all, but it's also because I been thinking."

  "Careful now. Don't hurt yourself."

  "Much as I hate it, we call and Hanson hasn't heard anything, I think we got to go back to the Chief. Officially report Florida missing, set him on the case."

  "What would he care?"

  "Guy like that, he may already know what happened to her. It's not that I think he'll find her, but he may do something gives us a lead to where she is. Or gives us an idea what hap­pened to her. We want to push him a little. Make him nervous."

  "You think he's behind all this? Maybe head of the Knights of the Swollen Left Nut, or whatever they are?"

  "I don't know. I'm clutching at farts, but we got to clutch at something. And speaking of that, I'm gonna go clutch at my blankets, and I'm coming back in here, and you and me are gonna share this bed."

  "Oh God, Leonard, has my manly physique finally caused your hormones to bust the blood vessels to your brain?"

  "No, but I'm cold, and I figure we can share our blankets and some body heat."

  "You make me so hot when you talk like that."

  "Hap, you tell any of my friends I shared a bed with a hetero­sexual, even if it was just to keep warm, I'll kill you. Thing like that got around, it could ruin my reputation. By the way, you wearing perfume?"

  "Florida," I said. "It's in the mattress."

  "Oh."

  He ca
me back with his blankets and we shared the mattress. Just before he closed his eyes, he said, "Wake me when Santa comes."

  It was warmer that way, Leonard and I sharing. I slept better, deeper. But near morning I awoke from yet another dream.

  This time Florida and I had been naked, sitting in lawn chairs, and we were on a little raft made of crude-cut logs, sail­ing down a dark river on a moonlit night. The moon was high in the sky and bright. When Florida turned to look at me her eyes were full of the moon. Two white orbs slick as wet bone inside dark tunnels. She said, "Come on and love me, Huck, honey."

  Then we were beneath the water, cold and wet and alone. She had her arms around my neck, and she was heavy, and she was dragging me down, down, down to the bottom of the great black river, and no matter how hard I fought, she wouldn't let go.

  I got up, dressed, had a soda pop and a couple slices of lunch meat, and waited for daybreak.

  Chapter 13

  By morning the rain had slowed, and when Leonard woke we drove into town for coffee and a real breakfast. We had plans to call Hanson.

  Grovetown was starting to stir. Christmas holidays were gone, and stores were open. The cafe was hopping. Tim's filling station had two cars in the drive. One driver, a fat lady wearing a bright field of flowers on a dress constructed of enough material to parachute a Land Rover from a speeding jet, was putting gas in her car, the rain beating down on her blue-haired head with a vengeance.

  At the full-service pump, behind the wheel of a gray pickup, an elderly man with a face tight as a sphincter muscle rolled his window down and coughed blue-gray cigar smoke into the rain.

  Tim was filling the pickup's tank, had his head bent so that water was running off his cap. Both the fat woman and the elderly man took note of us, just in case we were planning on hijacking their vehicles. Tim looked up, saw us, gave us a wink.

  We went inside the store, hung around until Tim was finished. He came in and grinned at us. "Y'all decide you want some of them pickled pig's feet after all?"

  "No," I said, "but we'd like to make a call to LaBorde, if you'll let us. I can give you enough money to cover it."

  "Long as you pay, you can call goddamn Australia."

  Tim showed me the phone behind the counter, and allowed me some privacy. I called Hanson at home first, didn't get him. Tried the cop shop, still didn't find him. I asked for Charlie, and they put him on the line.

  "It's me," I said. "Checkin' in. Seein' if Florida showed up."

  "Nope," Charlie said, "and that means you haven't found her either."

  "It don't look good. She's been here, but she isn't here now. We're gonna look around today, but I don't get the idea the Chief here is much worried what happened to Florida. I think you need to get some real law down here. The Rangers maybe."

  "Her not being there doesn't mean anything's happened to her."

  "So I keep hearing, but I got some bad vibes."

  "Thing occurred to me, was what if she used this trip to go on and leave Hanson for good? You know, an easy way to keep on going. It's possible."

  "Yeah. But not likely."

  "I wouldn't say that. Little something I found out was she took a lot of money with her."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I am a paid sleuth for the public, Hap. I called a friend of mine over where Florida banks. She withdrew her savings. Thirty thousand dollars. What you think about that?"

  "I don't know. I guess she could have plans to leave, but that's not like Florida. She gets tired of a situation, she just hangs it up. She doesn't sneak. Besides, she has a law practice."

  "She let her apartment go too."

  "That could mean she got over her rift with Hanson, was planning on moving in with him full-time. As in marriage. But something, whatever happened to her, got in the way."

  "I suppose. But I still hold for her just hauling ass on out of Dodge, and right on across the Badlands."

  "I hope you're right, Charlie. Anything else shaking?"

  "Hanson's gone off. On a drunk, I think. I can't get him at home, hasn't been in the office this morning. It's early, but I don't think he's coming in. Was supposed to. Me and him had some stuff to do."

  "What makes you think he's on a drunk?"

  " 'Cause up until he asked you and Leonard for help, he was on a pretty constant drunk. I don't think he'll clean up his act just 'cause y'all are looking around."

  "Not exactly a big vote of confidence from the Lieutenant. But I'll tell you something, Charlie. I don't blame him. Not about the drinking. About the lack of confidence. We're about as useful here as a spare pecker on a dead hog. We haven't seen hide nor hair of her, and investigators we are not."

  "I'm covering for Hanson long as I can. But I don't know. You're around him enough these days, you kind of get the feeling his brain is coming apart."

  "Alcohol is not noted for making someone smarter."

  "True. I'm gonna give it up myself, soon as it kills me. Thing is, Chief gets wind Hanson's out, or on a drunk, that's another load of ammunition he's got against him. He'll be lucky to get a night job shaking doors at the Kroger."

  "All this drinking has to do with Florida? Or is the drinking part of the problem with them? That shit he told us the other night sounded a little pat."

  "I think he told you the truth. Stuff he said is how it is. He just left out that the drinking wasn't making matters better. He drinks 'cause he has problems, and the drink makes him have more problems. He's got a grown daughter he feels he's lost too much contact with. An ex-wife he still loves. Kind of an odd relationship with Florida. Bad work conditions. Hemorrhoids and the sauce. Tight as he is these days, you say something don't quite set with him, he'll burp a turd and fart his teeth."

  "Yeah," I said. "I was remembering the lamp he threw at Leonard."

  "I tell him what you've told me, I figure he'll show up down there where you are, ready to throw the town in the street, and to hell with all this checking around shit. Hell, he may not need to be told anything. He sucked enough Rebel Yell this morning, minus the Co-Cola, he could be on his way now."

  "I don't think Chief Cantuck would take kindly to a black law enforcement officer with an attitude and whiskey on his breath. 'Course, could be interesting. Anything else?"

  "Got a minute so I can whine and feel sorry for myself?"

  "You bet."

  "I'm not doing all that good either. Wife fussin' at me all the time. Can't do nothing right. She's pissed I can't fix the garage opener. She's got girlfriends whose husbands can fix anything. Hear her tell it, all them Sonofabitches do is go around with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, turning lawn mowers and garage doors into nuclear weapons. Let's see . . . I've quit smoking again, so I'm irritable. Wife said no more poontang if I don't quit, and I got to be quit a month before I get a taste."

  "That's a goddamn death sentence."

  "Yeah, well you haven't been gettin' any for a serious stretch, and you're still kicking, so I reckon I'll survive."

  "You through whining?"

  "Not yet. Guess what? I lost my shadow picture book. I think my wife hid it. I was just getting a whooping crane down. And you know what else?"

  "Hit me."

  "They're closing down the goddamn Kmart."

  "Naw."

  "Yeah, it'll be gone in less than three weeks. Can you figure that?"

  I told him I couldn't, we talked a few more seconds, and rang off. Leonard took his turn at the phone, called home, hoping Raul had shown up.

  I paid Tim some money for the calls, and Leonard bought a straw cowboy hat to protect his head from the rain.

  Out in the car, Leonard said, "Charlie have any news?"

  "They haven't heard from Florida. Hanson is a nervous wreck, possibly gone off somewhere on a drunk. Charlie's wife won't give him any and she may have stolen his shadow book, and he's got his panties in a major twist 'cause they're closing down the Kmart. And I told him he ought to get some real law down here."

  "They'
re closing up the Kmart?"

  "Tighter than a Republican's wallet."

  "You white Democrats, you get on my nerves."

  "Yeah, well what I can't stand is a black man doesn't have enough sense to know not to vote Republican. Shit, man. You look like a fuckin' fool in that hat."

  "Let's not talk politics, Hap. It upsets your tummy. And I look fine in hats . . . Did Charlie ask about me?"

  "Nope."

  "Well, shit."

  "Raul back?"

  "No. But Leon said the Gilligan videos are a scream."

  Chapter14

  We drove across the street to the Chief's office and went inside. The lady with the wasp nest hairdo was behind her desk. The little Christmas tree was still in place, surrounded by its city of cards. She eyed Leonard as carefully and frightfully as the day before. He smiled at her, slow and suggestful, like he might be thinking about how nice it would be to fondle her hair.

  There was a thirtyish officer in a straw cowboy hat and a tan uniform looking in a file cabinet drawer nearby. He pretended not to notice our coming in. Leonard asked the secretary if the Chief was in, and the officer pulled a file from the drawer, slowly turned, pretended he had just noticed us, and smiled.

  "Something I can do for you fellas?" he said. "I'm Officer Reynolds."

  He was a big man with a big belly and little pocks-on his face. He'd pinched too much acne as a youth. His straw hat was expensive, with a rattlesnake band and a little red feather stuck in it. He had a Western-style revolver almost big as a howitzer in his holster. Three Tootsie Roll Pops stuck out of his shirt pocket next to a pen that, from the stain at the bottom of his pocket, appeared to have exploded. Belly or no belly, he looked like someone you wouldn't want to mess with, especially if he didn't like you. He had a face said he didn't like much of anything, except maybe a Tootsie Roll Pop.

  Leonard took off his straw hat, said, "There. I feel smarter already."

  Reynolds grinned. "Hell, I heard about you fellas."

  "Yeah?" Leonard said. "I hope it was good."

  "Oh no," said Reynolds. "I heard y'all was meddlers."

  "Meddlers?" I said.

  "Yeah," he said. "I heard you two limp dicks—sorry, ma'am."