Six Bad Things

blanket inside, probably Hitler’s. I lay T on top of it. His left eye is swollen shut and his right has blood in it, but he’s looking at me, seeing me. The gag is made out of duct tape sealed across something stuffed in his mouth. His nose is swollen and clogged with blood. He’s slowly suffocating. I look at Sid.

– I’m taking his gag off.

I rip the tape away before he can stop me, but he doesn’t seem to care. He watches me, studying my moves. I pry a blood-slimed piece of cloth from T’s mouth. He chokes and grabs my hand and hisses.

– Save me.

Sid pushes Sandy at the trunk.

– Her too.

She tries to take a step back, shaking her head from side to side, her hair flailing the air. I pull her to me and slip my arm under her legs, lifting her as if to take her across a threshold, and deposit her next to T. Her eyes are huge. She’s trying to say something; another scream will burst from her mouth in a moment. I slam the lid closed, muffling her cry and cutting off T’s guttural pleas.

Sid hands me the keys and we get in, me behind the wheel, him beside me, holding his gun. We pull out of the lot, away from the El Cortez, as emergency vehicles arrive. I catch a glimpse of the other security guard kneeling next to his dead partner, and then we are back on the Boulder Highway.

Sid wants a hideout.

– Dude, twenty-four hours of cruising around in that Cavalier? Talk about ill shit. Don’t want to be on the road in a stolen car, don’t want to risk trying to steal a new one. Don’t want to park too long in one place and have people being all, Hey, what’s with the two dudes sitting around in that car for so long? So cruise, park, call you, leave another message, cruise some more. And talk about golden tickets? Finding your cell number written on T’s hand? Huge. I mean, dude, that’s the only reason he’s alive. I mean, if we didn’t have a way of talking to you and threatening to kill him? What would be the point, right? So it all worked out. But if I don’t get to sit still for a few hours, I’m gonna freak. Also, dude, like you probably noticed this by now, but I totally reek.

He’s on a killing high again.

Feeling real.

And he wants to take a shower.

I take him to T’s trailer.

I SLOW down as we get closer, and point at the Super 8 up the road.

– You seen any news?

– Naw, dude, told you: drive, park, call, drive some more.

– They found that car you stole.

– Yeah?

He points at the entrance to the trailer park.

– Think they found this place?

I shrug.

– Might have, if someone from the Super 8 saw you guys come over here. You want a place to rest, this is the best I can do.

– OK, dude, it’s cool. Let’s do it.

He hefts his gun.

– But, dude, if there are cops? It’s, like, blaze of glory time.

I can tell he’s into the idea. But there aren’t any cops.

HE WON’T let T and Sandy out of the trunk. That’s OK with me. It means they’re out of the way.

Inside, we flip on the TV. The local stations are covering the parking-lot killing at the Cortez. They don’t know about Rolf yet. Soon, someone will see the dreadlocks on Rolf’s corpse and realize he’s the guy in the police sketch going around, and then CNN will pick up the story.

Sid makes me come into the bathroom with him. I sit on the toilet. The crank I sniffed at the hotel is peaking. My knee is bouncing up and down while I grind my jaw. He stands in front of the door and starts to strip, his gun on the edge of the sink right next to him.

– That was hairy back at that chick’s house, dude. Seriously, I didn’t know what the play was gonna be, but when your dude showed up with his huge dog? That was whack. What kind of dog was that?

– English Mastiff.

– Dude, that was a big dog.

– Sid?

He puts his right foot up on the sink.

– Dude?

– Why did you kill Rolf?

He starts to unlace his moccasin.

– Dude.

He pulls off the moccasin, switches feet, and starts to unlace the other one.

– He was being a dick.

He pulls off the other moc and stands there, looking at it and fiddling with the laces.

– He was, you know, pretty cool to me and my sis when I was a kid. And it was cool when I visited him in Mexico that time. And I thought it was awesome when he showed up and asked me for help. But. Shaaaw! All he was about was getting paid and getting high. And I started remembering things? Like, how, when he was hooking up with my sis, how he used to like to pick on me and be all Mr. Cool, like he always knew everything. And. And nothing was, like, real to him. Like, he wanted to kill you, right? After. After you left us in the desert, all he could talk about was how we’d find you and then get your money and then I was supposed to kill you? But. Dude. I. I didn’t want to. I mean. Dude, I was pretty, I don’t know, hurt by that, you splitting. But I understood. And even after you blew us off again and Rolf was all, OK, that’s it, his ass is dead and fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck, and all. Even then? I kind of had an idea of what you’re about and why you had to leave us.

He strips off his pants. Standing there in his Fruit of the Looms, looking like the skinny kid he is.

– I mean, it’s like. I meant what I said before, about being a fan. And. More than that? A, like, a admirer? And I also felt like I understood, because you’re like, all about survival, and I get that. Like, you’re all, Whatever I have to do to stay alive I’ll do it and fuck everybody else. And that makes total sense to me, and what Rolf was about didn’t. Make sense. And I didn’t want to kill you. Because. Because it seemed like being with you was real and honest, and being with Rolf was a lie. And I just want to lead a real life and do real things that affect people and change things. And then. Dude. While we were driving around? He was treating me like I did something wrong. He was all, Where were you and why didn’t you shoot him and what’s wrong with you? And at the hotel back there? He was, he was being such a dick. He was doing shit just like my dad used to do to me. Picking. Asking questions that he so already knew the answer to. Like to make himself feel big. And it totally doesn’t matter what you say because he’s gonna beat the shit out of you no matter what. I know all about that game and. And.

He rubs his eyes.

– And, I guess, I just realized that Rolf was full of shit, and you’re not. So I shot him.

He pulls off his underwear.

– Sit on your hands.

I sit on my hands. He picks up the gun and pulls the bath curtain open and steps onto the mat between the toilet and the edge of the tub. Still facing me he reaches back and twists the hot water knob. The pipes wheeze and gurgle and spit a jet of scalding water onto his arm, shoulder, and neck.

He flinches away from the water, turning his head, and I kick him above the knee. His feet skid on the bath mat and he tumbles into the tub, clunking his head on the tile and falling into the stream of boiling water.

– Fuck! Fuuuuck!

He still has the gun. He’s flopped in the tub sideways, his legs hanging out over the rim, blood starting to well from the cut on his forehead where he smacked it. He’s trying to draw a bead on me and get out of the way of the scorching water. His skin is already turning bright red.