“I’m on it,” I said.
“You look lovely,” Jim Bob said, flashing a grin at Brett that had probably charmed trailer-trash women from LaBorde to Memphis out of their panties and their Beanie Baby collections.
“And you are still full of shit,” Brett said.
“Yes, ma’am, I am. And you are still so lovely my back teeth hurt.”
“Just your teeth ache?” Brett said. “If that’s the case, I’m losing my touch.”
“Well,” Jim Bob said, “I was trying to be polite.”
There was the sound of another car outside, so I put down the coffee makings and went to the living room window for a look.
I peeled back the curtain and had to wipe the frosted pane clear with my arm to get a view. The rain had slacked and there was only a bit of the garage light to see by, but it was all I needed. A big black van was pulled up behind Jim Bob’s classic red Cadillac, the one he calls the Red Bitch, and when the driver got out, came around the back of Jim Bob’s ride, started for the house, it was as if the great shadow of Armageddon had fallen across the cold winter earth. He was at least six foot seven, with shoulders wide enough to make football players slash their wrists with envy. He had legs like trees and arms like smaller trees, a face that appeared to have been knocked into shape from granite and then beat on with a sledgehammer. His muscles moved under his clothes, like animals trying to escape a sack. He had long black hair tied back in a ponytail and he wore a black denim shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, and black round-toed boots. He walked swiftly, like he was anxiously leaving a prayer meeting and was on his way to a whorehouse with a wallet full of money and a pack of rubbers.
“I hope this is Tonto,” I said. “Otherwise, I’m heading out the back door at a run.”
“That must be him,” Marvin said, “’cause that’s the usual response. Keep in mind he’s a little shy.”
When we opened the door, I said, “Hello,” and Tonto nodded, stood where he was for a moment, wiped his feet in a slow, methodical manner, like a trained horse trying to count for its master.
When he came in, he ducked a little to go through the door and stood in the center of the room, saw Brett, held that view for a while, then looked over at Marvin.
“You needed me?” he said to Marvin, and it was as if this big man’s voice was on vacation and he had borrowed a voice from a child, soft and musical, almost feminine.
“Yeah,” Marvin said.
“I pay my debts.”
“I know,” Marvin said.
“I never thought you’d ask.”
“Never planned to.”
“Then it’s important.”
“That’s right,” Marvin said. “It’s important. To me.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s have some coffee and talk about things. I don’t think it’s been completely explained.”
“I came because Marvin asked,” Tonto said. “I don’t know anything. There’s nothing been explained to me.”
“And me,” Jim Bob said. “I’m here ’cause my plastic fuck doll ran out of air. Wasn’t nothing else to do.”
“My guess,” Brett said, “is the doll pinpricked herself and committed suicide.”
“Now, honey,” Jim Bob said, “that’s just an ugly thing to say.”
25
We pulled some kitchen chairs up and got some folding chairs out of the closet and congregated at the kitchen table with coffee and Leonard’s cookies, which from the look on his face I could tell he didn’t appreciate. Through the kitchen window I could see the rain had cleared and the almost pink sky with the bone-white clouds above it looked like some kind of strawberry brew topped by foam.
“Curious? We got to kill somebody?” Tonto said. “Not that I mind, but I like to know. Well, sometimes I mind. I got scruples, they’re just flexible.”
I thought, man, how did I arrive at this place, with a man with flexible scruples? It was bad enough I was suspicious of my own.
He took off his jacket and he had a twin pearl-handled .45 in a shoulder holster under each armpit. He was wearing a crucifix on a chain, and he pulled it out from under his shirt and let it lie on the front of the cloth in line with the buttons. Nothing says I love Jesus like a crucifix and twin .45s. He was sitting in one of the folding chairs and I feared at any moment it would wrap around his big ass and drop him to the floor.
“That’s something we want to avoid,” I said. “But one never knows. We’re not dealing with priests here.”
“So,” Jim Bob said, “instead of an ass fucking from one of God’s finest, we’re talking about bullets.”
“That would be yes,” Leonard said.
I explained, mostly for Tonto, about the kids who had run off, about Hirem, how we were patsies, and how we could expect zip help from anyone outside of our little group. I told him we had no real idea where the kids were, but that we were supposed to talk to the FBI and Hirem one more time, and then the only time we were to see them or talk to them again was when the mission was over, provided we survived. All nonsurvivors could pretty much count on being buried beside the road in a shallow grave with nothing to mark their passing except a wild- flower or the droppings of the random dog or armadillo.
“And what do we get out of this?” Jim Bob said.
