“That some men find you forward. Hey, I’m gonna be busy some when I get out of here, but you think after that I could give you a call?”
“I’ve done everything but stick my butt in your face,” she said, “so I’ll leave some of the work to you. I’m in the phone book.”
She gave me that dazzling smile and went away. I lay for a while hoping the cold medicine she had given me would put me to sleep quickly and that it really did have saltpeter in it.
It didn’t. I turned off the light and lay there in the dark and looked at my dick making a pup tent of the blanket. I experienced all sorts of unclean thoughts. I certainly hoped Jesus wasn’t in the room with me right then. In fact, I might even have shocked the devil.
After a while the pup tent folded, and I fell asleep. If Brett came back, I never knew it. For the first time in a long time, the hospital let me sleep through the night.
10
After lunch the next day, Charlie came by. He was wearing a poorly cut brown suit with a light brown shirt and a dark brown tie. He had on tennis shoes, white socks, and his porkpie hat.
“When do you get out of this pit?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Then maybe I ought not get you too excited before then.”
“My God, are you fixing to strip?”
“Be the best thing you’ve ever seen, but no. You got to tell Leonard to come in.”
“We been over that,” I said.
“No. You got to have him come in. Way it looks now, he’s in the clear.”
“How’s that?”
“Bikers at the bar. They all called Leonard a mean nigger and numerous names so foul that if I was to air them politically correct liberals would start to fall out the sky clutchin’ their hearts, and the fuckin’ super- conservatives would like it too much.”
“Get on with the meat.”
“They all agree he was too busy running from them, tryin’ to hide, to have killed McNee, who they call Horse.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“That they call him Horse?”
“That he’s called Horse and that his real name is McNee. But what about Leonard?”
“Leonard wouldn’t have had time to whack anybody. It’s not like they’re tryin’ to give him an alibi, it’s just their stories give him one anyway.”
“You wouldn’t pull me, would you? This isn’t some kind of trick?”
“You tell Leonard to come in. He’ll end up owin’ a fine for shootin’ up the place, assault charges, maybe. Might have to buy the Blazing Wheel a new sign. He’ll have to answer a lot of questions, but in the end he won’t have to hide out. We can say he was hiding from the bikers for fear of his life. Say he’s been in the woods all the time… Has he?”
I didn’t say anything.
“All right, have it your way,” Charlie said. “But, way it looks, his head is off the chopping block.”
“I’ll be goddamn.”
“Yeah, me too. You have him at the station no later than tomorrow morning after you get out of here.”
“It’ll be more like after lunch. Hospital has to process me out.”
“So you knew where he was all along?”
“Let’s just say I think I can get in touch with him.”
“Yeah. Right. After lunch tomorrow. No later. Hear?”
It went pretty smooth, all things considered. Leonard didn’t get off scot-free. A court date was set, and it was certain he’d be paying a fine, and he wasn’t entirely out of the woods on being a suspect in the death of Horse Dick, but no one was really trying to push him hard in that direction. Not with the bikers actually giving him an alibi. He got processed and out of the cop shop almost quicker than I got out of the hospital, and he didn’t have to ride in a wheelchair out to the curb like I did.
I’ve never really figured that. You go to the hospital, they check you out, no matter if you’re skipping rope and climbing the walls, they got to take you out in a wheelchair. It’s one of life’s little mysteries, like UFOs and the Loch Ness monster.
The morning after Leonard was set free it was hot and bright, but there was a cool wind with it. We met at his house to clean up the mess there, but finally said to hell with it.
I drove out to my house and he followed in the rented Chevy he was driving. We got cane poles and some fishing goods, walked through the woods to where the creek widened, sat there fishing for perch.
“I just couldn’t face that mess today,” Leonard said. “Besides, it makes me think about Raul.”
“The mess?”
“No. The house, stupid.”
“Any idea about the mess?” I asked.
“I figure it was the bikers. They found out where I lived, went looking for me, didn’t find me, trashed the place. That fits in with you finding the motorcycle tire prints.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know,” I said. “The bikers have been pretty candid about stuff. They didn’t admit to that.”
“They’ve only been candid when they could say what an asshole I was. And you know what, they’re right.”
“I never doubted that. Thing is, that mess bothers me. I think you ought to seriously watch your ass for a while. Those footprints out there don’t belong to the tooth fairy.”
“Yeah, all right,” Leonard said, but he didn’t sound too sincere. “You think Raul’s alive?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t a clue. I got to say this. Seems to me he’d have shown up by now. I’m sure you’re aware with you in the clear he’s considered the prime suspect in the murder of Horse.”
“I figured as much. They’re just replacing me with him. You know I can’t let that stand. Raul couldn’t murder anyone… Shit, Hap. I love that kid. He’s a dip, but I love him.”
We caught a couple of perch, put them in a can of water, sat and talked. Leonard told me about Raul, and how things had gone sour, and how the kid was wilder than he’d realized. It was a pretty standard story. I’d heard it before, but it had been men talking about their women. Love was love, however, and the problems didn’t seem to change much, even if the lover was of the same sex, except there was a lot more fucking. Gay or not, men are men, and men seriously love to fuck, and you can write that down in your little black book, tear out the page, crumple it up, and smoke it.
When Leonard finished telling me his woes, I told him about Brett. Then we talked about Hanson, and how we had to go see him and watch him do his coma.
Next Leonard told me how he had gotten a tick on his balls while staying in the woods. He said he still had it. He couldn’t get it off.
“It’s in a hard-for-me-to-reach place,” he said. “Maybe you could pull it off for me.”
“Not on your life. I’m a pretty good shot, though. I could shoot it off.”
“I’m serious here. This is a problem.”
“Use a match. You light it, blow it out, then stick the hot end against the tick’s butt, and he’ll back out.”
“You’ve done this?”
“No, but I’ve heard about it.”
“You’ve had ticks on your nuts?”
“Yep.”
“But you didn’t try this method?”
“Nope.”
