the gun-”
“The moles on the back of his hand were shaped like a four-leaf clover.”
31
“Don’t say anything to Ben,” Jim Bob said. “Not yet.”
He got the cassette out of the machine and turned off the television. He went over to the bar in the kitchen and got a pen and paper and wrote a note.
“I’m telling Ben we’ve gone to town for some beer,” Jim Bob said. “You and me got to talk.”
He put the note on the table and took the cassette with him out to the garage. We got in his black Dodge pickup instead of the Bitch. We backed out and drove along through the night with the cassette lying between us like a bomb. We didn’t talk for a time.
“Maybe it wasn’t real,” I said. “It could have just looked real. They can do anything now.”
“It’s okay to be hopeful, Dane,” Jim Bob said, “but there’s no use in being stupid. It was real.”
We drove on in silence until I said what{we were both wondering. “What about Russel?”
“Poor bastard can’t get a break, can he?” Jim Bob said. “It isn’t like he hasn’t gone through hell. And now this. Ain’t nothing could be worse than having your kid get killed, unless it was finding out he wasn’t a human being.”
“What’s it all about, though? Why would he do that?”
“You’re having a stupid attack again. Freddy enjoys it. Did you see his face? You don’t lick blood out of a gunshot wound unless you enjoy it. And I bet he’s gone into the movie business kind of regular. Stars himself and the Mex and some little gal that won’t be missed much. My guess is he brought her from across the border somehow. Smuggled her over. Some whore he paid, told her he was going to take her to a big party, and all she had to do to make an extra couple thousand was fuck a few of his friends. Only it was rougher than that. Christ, how old was that gal, Dane?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen?”
“Yeah. That’s about what I figure. I bet that ain’t the first gal he’s aced or the last. Tapes like that he can sell to the sicko trade for big bucks and be reasonably safe about it. Them ain’t the kind of films the owners invite the neighbors over to see. That crap is for sick shits to sit in the dark and jack off to.”
“Jesus, people would pay to see that shit?”
“Live in the real world, buddy. There’s people who’ll pay to see anything. Buy tapes of girls shitting in each other’s faces, dogs fucking them in the ass, or just what you saw. We ain’t talking stuff for an Elks smoker here. I heard of a rich man once on the other side of Houston that bought tapes of operations, animal experiments and war atrocities, and he could do that legal. I wouldn’t doubt he’s got some stuff like we saw on this here,” he touched the tape with a finger as if poking a monster to see if it were dead, “in a vault somewhere. Maybe that’s how he gets it up so he can fuck the old lady. He can pretend he’s gonna shoot her after he gets off-”
“I get the picture,” I said.
Jim Bob pulled off to the side of the road suddenly, as if his hands wouldn’t hold the wheel anymore. He held them out to me and said, “Shit. You look at that? I’m shaking like a virgin bride.”
We sat there for a time with the motor running and the lights on, and Jim Bob said, “We could ditch this tape, tell Russel I fucked up on the Fred Miller stuff, that my FBI contact was full of bull doodoo, and that it wasn’t a cover for Freddy after all. I could pretend to look some more, and after a while, give up. Say I couldn’t find any leads. He needn’t never know.”
“I wouldn’t believe that story if you told it to me,” I said. “Not after knowing you just as long as I’ve known you. You wouldn’t give up. You’re too egotistical.”
“True.”
“But even if we could get away with doing that, that wouldn’t change what we saw or what Freddy’s doing, would it?”
“No. He’d keep right on keeping on.”
“Does that matter to you?”
“Damn sure does. I think the scumbag ought to be tied to the highway and have a semi-truck driven over his head.”
“So what do we do?”
“Damned if I know,” Jim Bob said.
We drove on to town and got the beer and when we got back Russel had the couch folded out and was sitting up in bed smoking a cigarette and watching the tail end of the news.
“Got some beer,” Jim Bob said, holding it up.
“That’s nice,” Russel said. He looked at me. “And you went with him.”
“Yeah, I went with him.”
“For beer?”
“Yeah,” Jim Bob said, “beer.”
“What are you two homos really up to?”
“Beer,” I said. “Can’t a man go out and get a goddamn beer without being hassled?”
I walked past the couch and went to my room and closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. I thought about the tape and the young girl and the Mexican and Freddy. I thought about the gun and the blood and the urine. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything. I wasn’t good at that.
I thought about Ann and Jordan, but that made me more ill than comforted.
I got up and went out again and passed by Russel’s couch.
“You got jock itch, Dane?” Russel said. “Settle down, you’re making me nervous.”
“I want to walk, all right,” I said. “Okay if I do that? Am I gonna get penalized or something?”
“Don’t get on the rag,” Russel said. “It’s just you’re making me nervous. You and Jim Bob are acting like kids that got caught jacking off or something.”
“I’m just homesick,” I said. “Jim Bob, can I use your phone upstairs to call? I’ll pay the charges.”
“No problem,” Jim Bob said, “just don’t leave it talking.”
“Thanks.” I turned to Russel. “I’m just on a tear. I miss my family.”
“Understand,” Russel said.
I went upstairs. The phone was on a little end table on the landing and there was a chair there. I sat down and called home. On the third ring Ann answered. I realized from her voice, which sounded as if it were coming from underwater, that she had already gone to sleep. I looked at my watch. It was later than I thought, and she always had been the early to bed, early to rise type.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s me.”
“Richard?”
“No, your other husband.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, it’s me. How you doing baby?”
“Good… what time is it?”
“About ten-thirty. I forgot you’d be in bed. I wasn’t thinking about the time.”
“Everything okay?” “Yeah.”
“I’m real tired, honey. I got to go to work in the morning.”
That Ann, what a romantic.
“Yeah, well… I’m sorry. I just wanted to call and say I love you.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just tired is all. I love you too.”
“How’s Jordan.”
“In bed.”
“He okay?”
“Uh huh. You sound funny, Richard.”
“Connection. I’m tired myself. Ann?”
