Six Bad Things

– Where?

Also an easy one.

– All over.

A little laugh. Wait, do I know that laugh?

– Where ya headed, where do we take you?

Jesus, that’s a mind-bender. I’m headed… home? No, that’s not right. I was already home and that didn’t work out. I close my eyes and see a sunny place next to the ocean. That’s nice. That’s where I want to go.

– OPEN YOUR eyes, dude, got to stay awake.

I open my eyes. Where am I?

– I want to go to the beach.

Whew, that just about took it all out of me. I close my eyes.

– WAKE UP.

Water splashes my face. I open my eyes. I’m moving. Someone is looming. What am I doing? I’m moving. Moving? Oh right, I was going somewhere. It was real important.

– Are we there?

– Where, dude?

Well, how do I know? Oh, wait, I do know!

– Vegas.

– Vegas?

– Are we?

– Is that where?

– Vegas.

Mom and Dad snapshot into my brain, fade, disappear. A Polaroid developed in reverse. I try to sit up.

– Vegas, I have to get to Vegas.

Someone pushes me back down.

– It’s cool, dude, we’re on our way. Sid.

– Yeah?

– Head for Vegas.

I close my eyes. Someone shakes me, but it’s too late, I’m chasing myself down a long dark tunnel, away from all the things I know are waiting to hurt me when I finally wake up.

If I wake up.

– I’M TELLIN’ ya, dude, they ain’t shit without Taylor. We ain’t getting any help.

– Yeah, but.

– No “yeah, but” about it, dude.

– They’re at home.

– They’re choke artists. Everyone knows you never take the Dolphins in December.

My mouth is gunky and my throat is a dry rasp, but I still manage to get in my two cents.

– He’s right.

Silence.

– Was that him?

– Get some water.

Footsteps. Water running. Footsteps.

Water splashes my face. It feels good.

– You in there, dude?

More water. I open my eyes, see someone I know.

– Hey, Rolf.

– How you feeling, dude?

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed I’m lying on. I turn my head to look at the room. My eyes aren’t focused yet, but I don’t really need them. Motel. Cheap. Anywhere. I turn back to Rolf.

– Let me have some of that water.

The blurry guy behind him hands him a plastic cup and Rolf holds it to my lips and I guzzle it down.

– More.

Rolf gives the cup back to the blurry guy and he leaves and I hear water running in a sink.

– Where are we?

– The Downtown Motel.

– Where?

– The Downtown Motel.

– Where?

– Oh, Barstow.

Barstow. Have I ever heard anything positive about Barstow? No. Just a town in the desert that sounds like a good place to dump a dead body. The blurry guy comes back with more water. He comes into focus as I drink it. Younger than me and Rolf. A short, bleached Mohawk; a bare torso of lean, flat muscle; a small, blue Ocean Pacific logo tattooed over his left breast, just where it would be if he was wearing one of their shirts.

I pass the empty cup back.

– Thanks.

He takes the cup, grinning.

– No prob, dude.

Rolf points at him.

– This is Sid. Sid, this is my friend, Henry Thompson.

– Cool, right, I know. Cool to meet you, dude.

He sticks out his hand. I manage to lift mine off the bed and shake. Rolf reaches in his pocket, takes out some money, and hands it to Sid.

– Why don’t you run over to the IHOP and grab a grilled cheese for Henry? I’ll take a chef salad.

– Cool.

He backs away, eyes locked on me, then turns suddenly, unlocks the door, and dashes out. Rolf smiles at me.

– I think he has a crush on you.

I try to push myself up in the bed and get hit with a sack of cramps and aches. Rolf helps to get me sitting and puts an extra pillow behind my back.

– So, Rolf?

– Yeah.

– Funny seeing you here.

– Yeah.

– What’s it about?

He digs in the back pocket of his shorts, pulls out a piece of paper, unfolds it, and hands it to me.

– It’s about this.

I take the paper. It’s a photocopy of my NYPD wanted poster, the Spanish language version. It has blood on it.

CANDITO HAD the wanted poster in his pocket. Rolf found it when he was looking for the Bronco keys so he could meet me and Leo back at the highway. But he had to kill Candito first.

– Dude, was that nasty. I was thinking bushwhack: get back in the tequilaria and hide behind the bar and blast him when he came back in. No go. You took off and I went in and he was just coming in through the back door with the town medico. Old guy, fat, with a big old mostacho. The real deal, right out of a Sergio Leone flick. I come through the door and the Federale goes for his gun and I raise my hands and start babbling about how I dropped the car keys and I just need to get them and I’ll be gone and, dude, just be cool. He tells the doc to get to work on