The Final Country

'Ain't modern life grand, Hangas?'

Since it seemed that Renfro's internal injuries were still causing him trouble, he still hovered between' the conscious and unconscious worlds when I glanced into his room. A woman who looked remarkably like Renfro and a small, bald man with a ponytail hovered over his bed. So I left without bothering them. I had a couple of hours before I was due at Cathy's. I found a convenience store, bought a couple of beers and an Austin American-Statesman in which I checked the classified ads for firearms and used the pay phone. In less than two hours I had collected a twelve gauge Winchester Wingmaster pump with a full choke and a three- inch chamber, a.22 American derringer, and a Ruger Mini 14 carbine to stash in the trunk of the Caddy in case I needed some unregistered firepower, and still had enough time to slip by the Blue Hollow Lodge to retrieve one of the cocaine bindles from the emergency light before I drove over to Cathy's.

SEVEN

Betty's pickup and Cathy's rig were parked in the driveway, so I parked behind them, limped up the steps to ring the doorbell. When the tiny Judas gate opened in the door, I could see Betty's blue eyes smiling at me. She let me in quickly, double-locked the door, then held me tightly, whispering apologies against my lips. I could smell the mota and wine on her breath, could feel the smiling laughter on her face. It made my old heart sing.

'I'm sorry, honey,' she said. 'First, I badger you into letting me share your troubles, then first time I get scared, I turn on you. I'll forgive you, if you'll forgive me.'

'Not necessary,' I said, meaning it. 'But no more running away, okay?'

'I promise,' she said, stepping back so I could see her face. 'But you have to promise not to treat me like a child.'

'A child?'

'No more trying to protect me, okay?'

'That's going to be a little bit harder.'

'Listen, you son of a bitch,' she said, stomping her foot, 'I'll never see forty again, I don't qualify as a vestal virgin, and you may be from Montana but you're not Gary Cooper.'

'Love,' I said, 'that's a deeply stoned metaphor, but I'll do the best I can to do whatever you want.'

'You'll do whatever I say?' she asked, laughing, her lovely face turned to the ceiling.

'Within reason.'

'To hell with reason,' she said. 'Say yes. Or leave.'

'Yes.'

'And uncross your fingers.'

I did.

'Cathy's ready to fix your back again,' she said. 'You shouldn't be taking off on long trips while your back is in such a mess.'

'I can sure as hell go for that,' I said and let her lead me upstairs into the lowering sun that burst through the glass wall with the western exposure, its bright shafts hanging in the smoky air like golden bars. But Cathy was not imprisoned. She flitted about the large, open room like a happy bat. Within moments she had me stoned senseless, naked, and stretched on the table. When she got a full view of my back, she didn't say anything, just sucked in her breath.

'What kind of drugs do you have in your system?' she asked calmly.

'Four codeines, three beers, and two short lines,' I admitted dreamily.

'You got any more of that blow?' she asked.

'Inside pocket of my vest,' I said. I heard the search, a couple of lines chopped and snorted – maybe even one by Betty, who never did coke – then Cathy touched the new bruise softly.

'What the hell did you do? Run into a bulldozer?' she said.

'Probably a light-loaded and suppressed five-point-six-millimeter round.'

'Jesus,' she sighed. 'That's good blow. Makes me remember why I gave it up. Almost worth losing my license for.'

'You don't have a license,' Betty chuckled from the corner.

'I have a degree from the London school,' Cathy said smartly, 'and an idea.'

'What?' Betty asked.

'Leeches,' she said.

'Leeches?'

'I can have that bruise improved in a half-hour or so,' she said. 'If you can stand the sweet, squirmy little guys.'

'Shove a couple more codeines down my throat, and let the squirmy little bastards loose.'

The leeches felt like small strips of liver wriggling on my back, then no feeling at all. Even as Cathy removed them. Then she went back to the needles again. I didn't feel them at all.

Except for the smell of that even stronger incense, that was just about the last thing I remembered until Cathy slowly removed the needles. Once again they seemed to want to remain in my skin. My back felt wonderful, and I had another errant erection that almost hurt as Cathy flipped me over. Before I had a chance to even consider it or think about it, Cathy's mouth slid, wet and warm, over me, once, then twice, then so swiftly I didn't have time to protest, she slipped out of her leotard and mounted me, the slippery, tight hold of her cunt sliding quickly over me, gripping me like a living beast. I opened my mouth to say something, but what I'll never know, because the pink shadow of Betty's thigh swung over my face and her soft red pubic hair covered my mouth. My tongue, with its own volition, darted into the wet darkness, and I was lost in their dream for as long as they wanted.

Golden moments: the women lying side by side beneath me – Betty pale as a pink rose and as comfortably erotic as a sultan's odalisque, and Cathy as brown as a sunburnt bone and slippery as gristle – as I lapped and humped and snorted like a puppy; once paused inside Betty's softness while Cathy sat backward on her face, tiny, sharp teeth darting at my nipples; and that wonderful moment when all three of us convulsed in the throes of a single giant orgasm.

Other moments of startling clarity: still sitting on Betty's face, Cathy shoved a long nipple into my mouth, shouting 'Bite!' then came again like a freight train, and I realized that these women had made love before; when Betty came under Cathy's mouth it was as if a long cool sigh had rippled a crystalline pond; and when I came inside Cathy's tight cunt, Betty covered my mouth with hers in a long gentle kiss that almost eclipsed my orgasm.

After they were done with me, and I had recovered enough to pee, I slogged to the john, then rejoined the naked women on a pile of pillows against the western wall where we sipped vodka on ice and smoked dope until full dark. 'By way of apology,' was the only explanation Betty bothered giving me; 'you can't leave me behind now,' her only reason.

'A little fun never hurt anybody,' Cathy suggested.

'What if I'd died?' I asked, holding up a glass of Absolut. Suddenly, recalling what the Molly McBride woman had told me about clear whiskey and her father in Lake Charles.

'We would have chopped you open with an axe, filled you with rocks, and dumped you in Town Lake,' Cathy said. 'Parked your pimp car on Ben White with the keys in it, stolen your clothes, snorted your cocaine, and fucked your friends. Assuming you have any left.'

'Right,' Betty said, laughing, open and happy.

'A good thing I kept my wits about me.'

We chattered, as aimlessly as baby birds, until the sliver of moon scratched the top of the dark sky.

Late the next morning, bleary-eyed in spite of a long, tangled sleep, over a breakfast of chicory coffee, fresh fruit, and stale croissants, Cathy asked me, 'Have any fun, cowboy?'