Oh. “I told Hector he could have a candy bar, in exchange for running to the store.” What was it about? It was about gas money for Hector. It was about doing the right thing. It was about having to cover for your ass to begin with, Billy, that’s what it was about. “It was only seventy cents.”
“Well. I just don’t want to get in a situation where people are taking advantage. Even for seventy cents. It’s OK this time, but let’s not do that again.”
The blood rushed to Daniel’s face and ears; he looked away quickly, pretending indifference. “Sure, Billy. No problem.” He crouched behind the bar, rearranging bottles and trying not to say anything more. Anything he’d be made to regret later.
Billy thumped his hands on the bar in a drumbeat. “Right. Keep an eye on the place. I’m out. Back later.”
Daniel remained where he was, passing bottles back and forth, dusting the tops, waiting for his face to stop feeling slapped. Eventually he stood back up, too quickly, and was dizzy. Margie dropped off an order and watched while he prepared the drinks.
“That bald guy earlier, that’s the band? What kind of music, he say?”
Daniel shook his head, looking down the bar at the small, dark stage. “Whatever the crowd wants.”
“Shit. Well, we’ll see I guess. Stupid.”
He nodded at her, remembering how his face had felt a few minutes ago, like a hot pancake. “Be careful what you say, though. He’s very proud of it.”
“Of course,” she said, loading her tray and bobbing her head up and down.
He started to ask if she meant of course he was proud or of course she’d be careful, but decided not to.
Chapter 54
It didn’t surprise him when he heard barking at midnight. What surprised him was that it was not a dream. Daniel threw back the covers, listening. Yes, this time the barking was real. It grew more and more frantic, and he slid his slippers on and went to the window. Ellie’s kitchen light was on. In the moonlight, the shape of the dog on her porch was hard to see, but certainly it was there. Gringo was on her porch, instead of his, for a change. Barking at her door. Barking…
Alarms went off in Daniel’s sleep-foggy mind and he started out the door, still dressed only in his boxer shorts. He was almost to the street before he thought to go back for his gun. As he approached her steps, Gringo’s barking took on a plaintive, whining tone. The door was locked. He knocked and called to her, and her small cries for help floated out to him through the open window, but she didn’t come to the door.
Shit. He hadn’t thought to bring the key. Did he have time to go back for it? What was going on in there? His concern about intruders faded and was replaced by visions of broken hips, strokes, heart attacks. He stood in the moonlight, trying to think, but he found it impossible to concentrate. Ellie kept calling for him to come in, please come in, and the dog whined and whined, pawing at the door, then sniffing at the window.
The open window. He popped the screen off and went through the window feet first. For a moment before he found his footing, he was nose-to-nose with the dog, who panted heavily in his face.
“Ellie!” He ran through the house, calling for her, holding his gun loosely, almost forgotten. “Ellie! What’s going on? Where are you?” Her screams kept up, short, squeaky things, like mice. He found her in the kitchen, backed up against the sink.
“Daniel. Oh, God. Oh!” She squealed again and closed her eyes. “You must think I’m such a… Ew! They’re everywhere. God…” Her voice trailed off miserably, and when her eyes opened, she pointed at the trashcan.
Maggots. They were, indeed, everywhere. The inside of the can was swarming with them, white-on-white, barely visible. The rim of the can was thick with them as well. When they got to the edge of the rim, they toppled off almost soundlessly onto the floor below.
Not entirely soundlessly. Daniel, somewhat spellbound by the sight, stood watching for a moment. They did make a very small sound when they landed. Some of them anyway, the larger ones. Plip. It was a wet sound. Revolted, he looked across at Ellie, who remained backed up against the counter as far as she could get. Her blue nightgown with the frilly, lacy edges seemed entirely out of place.
“Do something, Daniel. Please. I’m barefoot.” She closed her eyes again and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her shoulders. “Yuck.”
He laid his gun on the table, then took a deep breath and grabbed the edges of the liner and shook it. A few maggots burst wetly under his grip. Others dropped away, landing in the can and on the floor, snowing down onto the tops of his slipper-shod feet. Grimacing, he tugged the bag out of the can and rushed outside with it. Ellie squeaked her small crushed-mouse screams after him. He slung the bag into the garbage bin, then began shaking his legs and stomping his feet in a sort of dance. Gringo barked at him and sniffed the maggots that had dropped to the ground along the way. Daniel made a face when he ate one, but the dog didn’t like it apparently, and didn’t eat another.
Inside, the remaining maggots were on the move. Ellie was tiptoeing around like the room was full of glass. “Daniel, thank you. I’m sure you think I’m just a silly…oh, yuck. Yuck. They’re here, too. They’ve gotten everywhere…”
Daniel grabbed a broom and began trying to sweep them up. They kept squirming away. What good would it do to sweep them into the trash anyway? He needed to kill them, but he didn’t relish stepping on them. “Have you got any bug spray? Or maybe we could vacuum them up,” he said, eyeing a handful that had made it to the baseboard trim and were worming their way into the crevice.
Ellie lifted one foot and then the other, apparently afraid to leave either on the floor for more than a second. “Bug spray’s in that cabinet there behind you. There’s a vacuum in the garage.”
He pulled out the spray and glanced at it. “Should work.” He spritzed a nearby maggot and watched it writhe. “Here,” he said, handing the can across to Ellie. “Spray them. I’ll go get the vacuum.”
She took the can, but when Daniel came back with the vacuum, he found her with her eyes averted again, one bare foot up and then the other, like some odd stork. “I can’t do it. I can’t stand to look at them, they make me sick.”
He sprayed the maggots and vacuumed the corpses. It took much longer than he had anticipated; the maggots that had escaped under the trim kept coming back out. They were under the trashcan, too. He took the can outside and banged it against the concrete to get rid of them all. Every time they thought it was all over, a few more appeared. On the wall, on the floor. And there were probably maggots under the refrigerator they couldn’t reach with the vacuum. He sprayed under there with the bug spray.
“Stove, too,” Ellie said, and Daniel got back down on his knees, pulled the drawer out, sprayed.
“I think we’ve done all we can. We can’t get every one.” When she moaned miserably, he added, “Even if we missed one, it would only become a fly.”
“You’re right, of course. But maggots are so much worse than flies.” She made her way to the table and slung herself into a chair. “I’m glad you were up.” She lit a cigarette and slid the pack across to Daniel. He lit one too.
“I heard the dog barking, woke me.”
She looked at him and shook her head, then stood up again. “I didn’t hear any barking. I was a bit distracted, obviously. You want some wine? I think I’d like a… what do they call it? Calmative. Want a calmative, Strawberry?” He shook his head in a small way, but she got two glasses anyway and set them in front of him along with the wine. “Here, you pour. I need to get slippers on. I feel like they’re crawling all over me.”
He regarded the wine for a moment. Daniel wasn’t in the mood for wine, but he poured a glass for each of them. He looked out the window and sipped from his glass. Pinot Noir, black like the night. But the night was a lie, because he was awake and drinking wine, and the moon was bright, and across the street Greg’s porch light glowed and glowed. It was never really dark, it wa
s never really black, not noir at all.
Ellie shuffled back into the kitchen and sat down to her wine. “That’s better,” she said looking at her feet, then around the room. “That was…” Her words trailed off and she drank wine in large gulps. “I thought it was rice. At first.”
“Yeah?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d try a cup of tea or something. I wasn’t sure what really, just… I don’t know. Tired of lying in the bed. So, there I was, looking around for what might help, you see. I thought about wine,” she said, holding up her glass. “Then I looked over and I saw those… I said to myself, where did that rice come from? Then I saw them moving.”
Daniel stubbed out his cigarette. “You need to take your trash out more often. It wasn’t all that full.” It hadn’t been, but it had reeked. He knew why, too. He’d bought half a roasted chicken on impulse a few days ago and brought it to share with her. She liked the dark meat best and he preferred the white, so it worked out well. After dinner, they’d picked all the remaining meat off the bones and split it up between them in foil-wrapped packets. But still, there was a carcass at the end, half of one. She had muttered something about making soup, but in the end she’d thrown it in the trash. “I guess I should have taken it out for you.”
“No, I should have done that. I didn’t think. It wasn’t full, you see.” She passed her glass back to Daniel for a refill, then ran a finger along the handle of the gun that sat on the table between them. “You brought a gun. That’s a little much for maggots, don’t you think?”
He laughed. “Well, I didn’t know what it was, when I started over. I thought you were in trouble. You were yelling.”
“Well.” She looked away. “I know. Things used to be so different. I can’t cope with anything anymore. The first thing I thought, when I saw those… the first thing I did was call Herb to come get rid of them.” She held her hands up around her mouth in a shouting gesture. “Herb! Herb!… He wasn’t there, of course.”
He reached for the cigarettes. “Well, you were half-asleep.”
“No. Just not thinking.” She took in more wine and looked out the window. “It’s quiet.”
“It’s one in the morning.” He noticed a maggot moving near his foot. It was out of Ellie’s line of sight. It disgusted him, but he didn’t want to upset Ellie by letting her know it was there. He ignored it for a moment, then he covered it with his slipper and crushed it, dragging his foot along the floor to smear it away into nothingness. He looked around the room hoping not to see others.
Ellie saw him looking. “Still feels like they’re all around you, doesn’t it? I doubt I’ll sleep at all, now.”
He swallowed the last of his wine. “Me either.”
Chapter 55
Clive passed his money across the bar and waited for his drink. “You look like pure-D shit, Dan. Guess you know that,” he said. “No sleep?”
Daniel poured the whiskey. “Not much. I was up with the neighbor in the middle of the night.”
“Old-lady-with-the-dog neighbor?”
“Mm-hm.” He didn’t really feel up to rehashing it, but Clive wasn’t letting it drop, so he went on to explain what had happened. “Could have been worse. At first I thought it was a break-in.” He didn’t mention taking his gun with him when he went, or staying for an hour or more afterwards talking and smoking cigarettes. He didn’t mention the Pinot Noir.
Clive sipped his drink, listening. “Well, that explains it. You need to get out of here and get some rest, my man.”
“Yeah.” But he couldn’t. He was alone at the bar, and Kiki wasn’t due in to replace him until six. He glanced at the clock: not quite three hours to go. If Bud was there, it might be different. He could have taken over for a few hours. But Bud wasn’t around, and Billy couldn’t do it. He didn’t even know if Billy was in, but it didn’t make a difference. Billy couldn’t cover the bar. Not even on a slow afternoon like this one.
Clive said something Daniel didn’t hear, then snapped his fingers. “Asleep on your feet, Dan?”
“Sorry.” He saw the empty glass and the twenty next to it. “Another, you said?”
A nod from Clive. Daniel poured the drink, slid it across the bar with change, and wondered what Clive did for a living. He’d never said. Daniel considered asking and decided against it. Not his business.
A few stools over, another customer waved a hand for a refill on his beer. Daniel went to tend to him, then leaned on the back bar. Two hours and ten minutes left. He eyed Clive with his whiskey and the other man with his beer. No wine hangovers for either of them. In the back corner, the stage sat in dark shadows, waiting for the musicians. They were supposed to start at seven. A blackboard had been set up on an easel there, and Billy had printed the band name: HotShotz. The lettering was uneven.
Should have had Hector do it, Daniel thought. The pulse in his headache kept time with his heartbeat, and he willed it to slow down.
Clive patted the bar. “Ok, bartender man, I’m out. Back at it. You get some rest tonight, boy, you hear me? No more running around with the neighbors in the middle of the night.” He smiled warmly at Daniel and left a folded ten-dollar bill under his empty glass as a tip.
Daniel watched him go, then made his way down the bar to see how the other customer was doing. He had every intention of getting some rest, yes indeed he did. He’d probably go directly to bed when he got home. He took another aspirin and watched the clock as he filled orders; two hours to go, one hour and forty minutes, one hour.
At quarter of six, with fifteen minutes left on his shift, the phone rang. It was Kiki, calling in sick. No, he really couldn’t be there. No, not at all. Sorry, man. Sorry, dude, just can’t make it, so sorry. Sorrysorrysorry. Sicksicksick. Daniel was still coming to terms with that when the back door slammed open.
The band had arrived.
***
Daniel put his hands behind his back and stretched, knocking over his coffee. His belly ached from all the coffee he’d had – four cups in the last hour – but he was no more awake, just jittery. Margie approached the bar to share out her tips and she offered him another aspirin, but he shook his head (gently, very gently) and patted his belly (gently, gently, gently) and hitched a thumb in the general direction of the coffeemaker.
“Stomachache already, from the coffee.”
“You poor thing. I still can’t believe he called in. That weasel. You know he isn’t sick, right? Bet you anything.”
He knew. Of course he knew. He knelt to clean up his spill, and his midsection knelt too, but not at quite the same speed. After a dizzy lurch, he got up again. “Nothing I can do.”
There was a squeal of feedback from the stage as the band toyed with their setup and got the mikes too close together. Laughter and a shout, then a moment of silence. Daniel and Margie watched them, outsiders looking in. The band paid them no attention; the eyes of the band were all on the crowd, such as it was. Not much of a crowd, not yet. But it was early still. Daniel looked at the clock. Oh, how early it was still. On the stage, Shotzy did a little jumping dance with the bass player.
Margie shared out her tips and then stuffed an extra five into Daniel’s hand. “I’m outta here. This is from that table with the birthday earlier. I figured you deserve a little extra for that one.” She winked at him. “Hang in there, sweetie. Are you stuck for the whole shift? Where’s Billy? Did anyone try to call Mark?”
“Mark’s got his kids tonight I think. Billy, who the hell knows where he’s at.”
“You should just leave.”
“I’d get fired.”
“Pretend you didn’t know…” But she trailed off, apparently seeing that it was hopeless. Of course Daniel knew Kiki hadn’t shown up. Daniel had been the one who answered the phone. She patted him on the arm and left, and a few minutes later the entire crew had changed over, Gina for Margie, Freddy for Hector. That kitchen guy who spoke Spanish for the other kitchen guy who spoke Span
ish. All the cooks spoke Spanish, and Daniel could never remember their names. The night guy… he had a hat with a big C on it…
What was his name? Daniel sipped at a glass of water and tried to remember. He felt bad, that he didn’t. The day guys, the night guys, they were all a blur. They were just the cooks. Day cook, night cook, fat cook, thin cook. When Gina came to the bar a few minutes later, he asked her.
“The night cook? That’s Adrian. You know him, don’t you? He’s been here forever.”
“Well yeah, I recognize him, just... forgot the name.”
He asked Gina to have the cook – Adrian – send out a burger. Then he called her back and changed it to a grilled cheese. Not on the menu, no. But they could do it, couldn’t they? Sure they could, they could. And soon enough a grilled cheese came out, with a side of jalapenos in a little dish. He ate the sandwich and worked the bar. A few minutes after seven, the band started playing. Customers had to shout to order drinks, but most of them didn’t seem to care much. Around eight, a wad of much younger customers thronged in through the doors and the band got louder. Daniel wanted to cry.
Gina collected his plate and noted the untouched jalapenos. “Such a pussy you are,” she said with a shake of her head. “The kitchen guys are gonna laugh at you, they’ll call you a bolillo. White bread.”
Daniel nodded. They would, he knew. He was white bread. A gringo, no less. If that wasn’t funny, what was? But he didn’t laugh.
On the stage, Shotzy and the bass player did their little dance again, both of them in jeans and torn shirts, Shotzy with his shaved head, the bassist with his. All of them, Daniel noticed: no hair. Weren’t musicians supposed to have long hair? When he’d had long hair, people were always saying he looked like a musician. He reached up and put his hands on his head (gently oh yes) thinking about the old days. They weren’t these days, were they? Under his hands, his head ached and ached and ached, and there was nothing he could do about it but wait.
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