Leonard was right. Tanedrue was hit through the meaty part of the thigh and he was losing blood from the hole in his leg, but the main artery had been missed. I tore some more of the shirt off the guy on the floor and wrapped Tanedrue’s leg as best I could, put my ear to his chest to make sure he was breathing. Leonard had used a blood choke, but sometimes they don’t come back.
“I guess that’s Gadget passed out over there,” I said.
“She wasn’t as glad to see us as I had hoped,” Leonard said. “I saw you hit her. You hit her hard. If she was wearing a Tampax, I bet you knocked it out of her ass.”
“She rearranged my looks a little,” I said, touching the scratches on my face.
“You look like an old-fashioned German duelist.”
I picked up Tanedrue’s automatic and went to the back of the trailer, just in case someone was hiding back there with a shotgun and a machete. There was no one else left. On a chest of drawers in front of a mirror there were some bags of white powder that I didn’t mistake for self-rising flour. There were some boxes of baby laxative there too, for cutting the stuff. On the floor were empty cheese cracker boxes, lots of wrappers for sweets and empty soft drink cans and bottles and a near-empty jar of peanut butter with the lid off. There was a box of half- eaten Cracker Jack. That would be the property of the health nut of the bunch. What remained of the peanut butter had turned dark as dried dog shit. And there was plenty of that to go around too. Dog shit in the corner, on the floor by the bed, at the edge of the dresser. There was a footprint in that pile. Not mine. This footprint was bare. There were some other piles that someone had thoughtfully covered with paper towels. Whoever did that was probably considered prissy. A fat roach crawled out of the peanut butter jar and scuttled under the bed.
Taped to the mirror on the dresser were birthday cards, an old Christmas card. They said “To Tanedrue” and were signed “Mom.” I felt a little sick looking at those, had to wonder how his mom felt about how her boy had turned out. For that matter, if my mother was alive, how would she have felt about me, hitting people and throwing dogs out windows? It wasn’t a line of thought I wanted to linger on.
When I looked up, I noticed the walls of the trailer were moving. I had seen it before in white trash housing and poor black folk shacks. Cockroaches. They were so thick in the walls they made the paneling flex like it was breathing. Yuck.
I went back to where Leonard was slapping Tanedrue briskly on the cheeks to either bring him awake or give his cheeks a touch of color.
“Wake up, nigger,” Leonard said.
“They got some real bad stuff back there,” I said. “And perhaps, as a nod to political correctness, I should note, for your own good, that you’re using the N word.”
“I’ve been busy with words and slapping in here,” Leonard said. “I’ve done run out on the cocksucker word, and I wore out motherfucker, and sonofabitch seems so lame, so I’m going for the gold … Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes.”
7
Tanedrue woke up. We were squatting down beside him. Leonard said, “Every time I think of Gadget’s grandpa beating your ass with a cane, I get a kind of warm feeling all over. In fact, my dick gets hard.”
Tanedrue said, “I’m bleeding to death.”
“You ain’t bleeding to death, dumb ass,” Leonard said. “Not yet, anyway. It got the fat part of your leg, went all the way through. Bleeding has mostly stopped because Hap, who is like goddamn Florence Nightingale with a pecker, stuck your buddy’s shirt in the bullet hole and stopped the bleeding. Course, you might want to worry about blood poisoning from the dye in the shirt, that would be my concern. Oh yeah, and the bullet.”
“You could have shot my balls off.”
“You’d have to have some first,” I said.
Tanedrue was sitting on the floor with his legs stuck out, his back against the refrigerator, looking around. “You fucked everybody up, you done killed them.”
“No,” Leonard said, “nobody’s dead. The fucked-up part is right, probably a concussion here and there, so I’d wake them up pretty quick. Word is on concussions… you shouldn’t sleep. Do that, sometimes you don’t wake up, and what a shame that would be. Think of the loss to art, science, and literature. Oh, and the big guy there, with all the hair. He may not have a real profile anymore, so photo shots of him might be best from the front, him wearing a bag over his head, standing somewhat at a distance.”
“They could die,” Tanedrue said. “You might have hurt them real bad. And me, I don’t feel so good either.”
“Boy, that’s a shame,” Leonard said. “Considering you were going to shoot us, you fuckin’ asshole! Pour some monkey blood on it and shut up. Now listen here: Leave Gadget alone. Stay away from her. And if you have a day where you think maybe we’ve forgotten about you and you decide to bother her again, that’s the day we kneecap you, asshole, and then I’m gonna put your ass in an ant bed after I stuff it full of Gummi Bears, and then I’m gonna set your head on fire, and then I’m gonna get mad. Savvy?”
“Gummi Bears?” I said.
Tanedrue was almost crying, but he was still defiant. “You don’t know what you’re up against, nigger.”
About that time the guy whose shirt I had torn off woke and tried to sit up. I said, “Lay back down, ball sweat.”
He lay down and closed his eyes and stretched his arms out at his sides with the palms down and was quiet as a dead mouse.
“Now,” Leonard said, standing, “we’ll be taking Gadget with us, and before I go, I want to leave you with one more piece of wisdom.”
Leonard kicked Tanedrue in the head, hard, knocking his noggin back against the refrigerator. Without knowing it was going to come out of my mouth, I said, “Ouch.”
“You get my drift, dick cheese?” Leonard said.
Tanedrue nodded, blood dripping from his mouth, his hand held to the side of his head.
