Killshot

“I forgot to write down the number. I had to call Ferris.”

“Oh, shit, you didn’t. I’m leaving, right now.”

“Wait a minute, will you? Did he come in the house again?”

“He’s been driving by all day, sneaking around. If he knows I’m alone—he could be on his way right now.”

“His girl said he was out on the job.”

“Wayne, I have trouble telling you things you don’t want to hear or you don’t believe. This guy, this creep, is after me. He walks in the house and thinks he can do anything he wants. Do you understand that? He has told me he’s coming by when you’re not home. Now do you want me to stay and wait for him?”

“I’ll call him up.”

“Wayne, I’m walking out of the house. I’m leaving right this minute.”

There was a silence.

“All right, then I’ll see you at home. I mean our real home. Yeah, that’s fine with me, I’m ready. I’ll see you tomorrow. It’ll be later, but I’ll see you. . . . You found the keys, huh?”

“Yeah, I found them.”

“I knew you would.”

“Wayne, I’ll most likely be at Mother’s.”

There was a silence again.

“Well, if you are, I’ll see you at your mom’s,” Wayne said. “That’s how much I miss you.”

This was a low-life place but comfortable, a workingman’s bar; the only thing different about it was the pizza smell. The guys, though, could be in any trade. Wayne looked around, but didn’t see the mate anywhere. The bartender brought him a shell of beer and Wayne said, “You know of anybody in here’s on a boat going north?”

The bartender said, “I look like a travel agent? Ask around.”

He started to move away, the size of him making a slow turn, and Wayne said, “Wait a minute. Where’s the bag was sitting here?”

The bartender looked over his shoulder at him. “Your buddy took it.”

“That was my bag,” Wayne said. “That wasn’t his.”

The bartender came around to face him. “He’s into you for the drinks too. Four dollars and eighty cents.”

“I went to make a phone call, I said give him one.”

The bartender said, “Are you gonna be trouble?”

***

Carmen made a sandwich, fast, to take with her. She put the meat loaf back in the refrigerator and stood there with the door open looking in at the milk that would sour, the food that would spoil, grow a furry white mold and smell awful, remembering the odor when she opened the refrigerator that first night in the dark, in candlelight, Ferris saying the woman wasn’t much of a housekeeper . . .

She slammed the door closed, amazed at herself, worrying about food spoiling, leaving a mess, when she had to get out of here right now. She’d let Wayne take care of it, but would have to remind him, leave a note. Going to the breakfast table she began composing it in her mind. Unplug the fridge, throw everything out, leave the door open ...Be careful with my nice car, I’ll try not to wreck the truck. See you late tomorrow. Love ...No, I love you . . .

The phone rang.

Carmen jumped and stood rigid, because she knew it was Ferris. It could be Wayne, but it wasn’t, it was Ferris. She said, Yeah, it has to be. And began to relax then, wanting it to be Ferris, Ferris somewhere else, not here or on the way. She did, thinking about it as the phone rang, she wanted it to be Ferris and felt so sure it was, and so confident about herself at the same time, that she picked up the receiver and said, “Ferris?”

“Hey, how’d you know?”

“Where are you?”

“You sound different, real calm for a change. I mean not all, you know, up in the air.”

“Are you at your office?” All she wanted to know was where he was, how near.

“Yeah, I came in, I see a note here says your old man’s out of town. I wish I’d known. Listen, don’t look for me tonight, I have to run down to New Mad-rid, pick up some confiscated items, like guns. But I can make it tomorrow, no problem. How’s that sound?”

“I won’t be here,” Carmen said, still calm, about to tell him she was taking off and what he could do with his house, wanting to rip into him; but stopped, aware that maybe she was overconfident.

“You going out?” Ferris said. “I could come by early, catch you in your jammies.”

Or he could come right now if he thought for a moment she was leaving. She had to be careful. Say too much, even if it would make her feel better, and that cream-colored Plymouth would be cutting her off at the bridge.

Carmen said, “Do what you want,” and hung up, proud of her restraint. That was cool. Do what you want. Just right.

The phone was ringing again as she left the house, slammed the door. It wasn’t until she was driving away that she realized, if Ferris did come tomorrow, he could walk in the house and find Wayne there.

19

DONNA SAID TO ARMAND, the two of them sitting in the living room this evening among the stuffed animals, the TV off so they could talk, “I’m gonna tell you something I never mentioned before.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“There’s people that believe it and there’s your skeptics who don’t. There’s people won’t believe nothing even if they’re looking at it. Take my word.”

“That’s right.” Armand nodded, thinking he wouldn’t mind pushing this woman over on the sofa.

“People make up their minds something is true or isn’t and there’s no way you can get them not to be convinced of it. Well, I’m not one of those persons. You know why?”

Armand shook his head. “Why?”

“Because I think you have to believe what you see, sure, but also things beyond what you see, when something tells you it’s true, if you know

what I mean.”

Jesus Christ, Armand thought.

This woman could put you to sleep. If she wasn’t sitting in her pink robe showing him that dark place in there the way she had one leg raised, her foot on the sofa, he might have trouble keeping his eyes open. He was thinking of saying to her, “Why don’t you tell me whatever it is in the bedroom, we get comfortable.” Take hold of that dark place down there and she’d forget in a second, this one going off like a gun when you touched her hair trigger. He’d do it right now, except Richie would be home pretty soon and make remarks through the door. “What you two doing in there? You want me to get in with you?” That kind of shit. He had gone out to call the woman who had a trap on her phone. Richie, if he was here now, would tell Donna to shut up. “Jesus Christ, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” And she would, she would shut up. Armand wanted to ask her what she thought of Richie, but felt he had to listen to her first. She was still talking, saying something else, and then she said:

“That’s why I know Elvis is still alive.”

Armand said, “You believe that?”

“I don’t believe it, I know it.”

“You showed me a picture of his grave.”

“I didn’t mention it at the time,” Donna said, “but did you notice the name on it? Elvis Aaron Presley. Aaron with a double a?”

“Yeah.”

Donna leaned toward him against her raised knee. “It so happens that Elvis spelled his middle name with one a.”

“The person in the grave then,” Armand said, “is a guy that spelled it with two?”

“I don’t think there’s necessarily a body in there. What they’re saying is, hey, Elvis isn’t in here. Don’t you think we’d have spelled his name right? Come on.” Donna squirmed her butt on the sofa cushion. “Listen, I saw a man, it was on Kelly and Company, who has actually seen Elvis since his death. They also