The next morning I got a suitcase together and moved into a cheap motel with the money I had. It was one of those kinds of places where you pay by the end of the week, or they took your stuff and beat the living hell out of you. There weren’t any families in there or anything like that. Mostly drunks and men who’d gotten kicked out of the house for whatever reasons men do things they shouldn’t do.
I made a promise to myself not to get a haircut for at least a month. The promise ended up stretching on for years. Doris and I made plans to go away for a while, somewhere nice, just her and me, but that was still a few weeks away.
I was not a pleasant man at work on June 3. I had not slept at all that night, even though I got home by five. I was so upset about what had gone down with Alice that I couldn’t sleep a wink. Then all of a sudden the sun was up, and I had to be at work. There was nothing new in the papers, just the same old public outcry to the authorities, who, according to some of the op-ed pieces, were resting on their laurels. I was highly agitated, tired, and I needed a drink. It was scaring me how much I felt like I needed a drink. Abe did what he could to make me feel better, but there was nothing short of a magic potion that could have worked. I guess I was teetering on the edge of an abyss.
I was in the kitchen, using a wet towel to clean off the grill. Steam blasted up, and I could feel my forearm getting burned, but I didn’t care. I usually didn’t because there would never in a million years be a lasting mark, but this was different. This was penance.
The phone rang. I never answered it because of my tendency to casually curse during conversation, or sometimes even when no one was around. Abraham answered the phone. I heard him ask who it was, and then he came back to the kitchen through the double doors.
“Phone’s for you,” he said.
“Who is it?”
“Some dude.”
“Did you get a fucking name?”
He shrugged. I swallowed. Took the phone.
“Yes?”
“Hey, killer,” said the voice.
I hung up.
Abraham saw me grinding my teeth. I told him to get the fuck out of the kitchen. A second later the phone began to ring again. I picked it up.
“Be seeing you,” said the voice.
I hung up.
I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and walked out of the kitchen. I had to get out of there. “Hey,” shouted Abe, “where the hell are you going?”
“I gotta go,” I said.
“But Carlos ain’t here yet.”
“I gotta go,” I repeated. I got in the truck and took off.
Like old Bill Parker I was circling Old Sherman Road. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it because it felt right. I knew it felt right for him too, and that’s why he did it.
When I got home it was after six. The second I walked in, the phone rang. It was with this phone call that I stopped teetering on that edge and finally fell. I picked up the receiver, and the voice said, “I’m sure Frank won’t be happy that you left early.”
“I’ll see you in hell,” I said.
“I’m counting on it, because I’m going to make you pay for what you did.”
“Who the fuck is this? Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m the tooth fairy, Higgins.”
“Why don’t you come on over, then. I got something under my pillow for you.”
“Well,” said the voice, “I’ve already left something there for you.”
I hung up and rushed into the bedroom. My heart was beating in my ears. Everything looked the way I had left it in the morning. I walked over to my bed and lifted up the pillow. There was a note, folded in two.
“Oh my God,” I said out loud.
I lifted the piece of paper and unfolded it with my shaking hands.
It read, “IT’S OVER.”
I ran into the bathroom, where there was a small window that I had never wanted to nail shut because when I take a dump it is truly deadly. The window was halfway opened, the tiny little lock on the top of the frame was hanging on by one screw. Probably jimmied from the outside by a fucking flathead screwdriver. I clutched the doorframe for balance and screamed. A second later, the phone rang.
I pulled my truck into the parking lot of the first bar I came across. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was a time for being a stoic motherfucker, and a time for getting trashed and beating someone’s head in. This was a time for the latter.
I came in through the door and was greeted with honky-tonk music playing a bit too loud—just the way I used to like it—and the warm glow of a dozen neon beer signs. Sawdust littered the floor in mounds. It helped with the ambience by taking your attention away from the drunks passed out in the corners. I sauntered up to the bar, and the bartender came on over.
“Howdy,” he said. “You look pretty down. What’s going on, partner?”
“Oh, you know, lost my best friend, lost my whole way of living … all very Old Testament kind of bad things going on.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He chuckled, as if I was kidding. “Gimme a shot of whiskey and a pint. Whatever’s cheapest,” I said.
“I’m sorry, partner, I can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“I can’t serve you any alcohol.”
I was flabbergasted. “Why the hell not? This is a bar, ain’t it? Ain’t that what gets done in these fucking places? Gimme a drink, goddamn it. I got cash money, just like every other sonofabitch in here.”
My attempt at getting wasted was not working out as planned.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.”
“Well …
“Last time you was in here, you fucked this place good and proper, and we can’t go on and let that happen again, can we?”
“Oh, you prick. What is this, a joke? Where the hell did I set foot in?”
“This is Cowboy’s Cabin.”
“No shit.”
“No shit. No, sir.”
“Well,” I shouted, “I guess I’m just gonna have to get one of these slim motherfuckers at the bar to buy a drink for me. What do you say, boys?”
Four younger guys in designer outfits sat down the bar from me, a few other guys filled up some tables behind me, and I was in the mood to rumble. More than anything else, I wanted one of these boys to do their best to kill me in hand-to-hand combat. The four guys looked at me, shook their heads no about buying me a drink, and looked down, then went back to drinking.
“Well, fuck each of you and all of you, then,” I shouted.
“Sir,” said the barkeep, “I think I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve heard that. Let’s hear it again.”
“Will you please leave?”
“Don’t ask, pissant. Do it. Or try, if you think you can.”
I put my dukes up.
All of a sudden, I saw bits of wood flying past my head from behind me. A second later, I felt pain, and I
