Cruddy - Lynda Barry [98]
“Come here, darling, come here, baby girl. Sweet girl, pretty girl, that’s right, that’s right.”
My throat closed up when I saw Cookie wag her tail a little and step toward him. And then the yipe. “Got your damn dog! Clyde!” He jerked her by the leg and she yelped again. I came running.
Chapter 51
HERE ARE we going?” asked the Stick. He wanted to ride in the front seat and I wanted him to ride in the front seat but Vicky had the front seat and wouldn’t give it up. She said, “I’m not riding with the psychos. They’re psychos, Roberta. Real ones. Supposedly they are geniuses but they are the fucked-in-the-head kind.”
I turned a tight curve and floored it onto the highway that passed through a tunnel and opened onto a bridge. “What direction is this?” asked the Great Wesley.
“East,” I said.
And there were some tangled protests. Beneath us the tires sung on the grated bridge. My stomach was churning. It is true that I am a person with black pockets of evil and hatred in my heart. There are underground places inside of me. Many underground Dreamlands that rove. A cold flavor was in my mouth and it made saliva flow over my lips. The second rush of Creeper was beginning. Vicky whapped the side of my head and shouted, “Roberta, you’re not LISTENING!”
My jaws were very clenchy and my forehead was ice-cold and itching terribly. We were almost to the other end of the bridge and I was concentrating hard on the road, trying to see only the road and block out all other things so I missed what it was that the Stick said to make Vicky go so insane and caused a fight to break out, legs and arms flying. I got kicked in the head really hard. I saw the swimming lights. We swerved all over the road. When the violent tangle ended the Stick’s face was badly gouged and his nose was dripping ferociously.
“I hope you die,” said Vicky, “I hope you fucking bleed to death. Hey, everybody, you want to know something about my brother? He still pisses the bed.”
There was a second violent outbreak and in a weird way it helped me concentrate on my driving. It took the place of the hollow roaring in my head, like a jet flying low.
And then the fight was over and all was quiet for a while. All was peaceful and glidey-smooth in the sleek car.
“Seriously,” said the Stick. “Where are we going?”
“Scene of the crime,” I said.
“What crime?”
And during those first hours of our journey, as we climbed through the mountains on the familiar curving road, I told them. I told them everything I have told you. And Vicky slept through most of it. But the Turtle and the Great Wesley and the Stick hung on my every word.
“He put her in the trunk,” I said, and a chill shot up my back when I remembered him slamming Cookie in. The father nudged a pack of cigs at me. I shook my head. Cookie cried a little at first and then stopped. The father explained how everything depended on me now. This was the final test. Was I Navy? If I was Navy I would go into the office and flush Gy-Rah out. I would get him to tell me where the last suitcase was. If I was Navy everything would be fine, but if I wasn’t, my story was going to have a sad ending.
While he was talking, Gy-Rah shot out of the office door and disappeared into his lair. And the father hit me for that. Hard. Like it was me who gave Gy-Rah the signal.
“That’s my half brother, Clyde. Supposed to have an IQ of a million and a half.” And the father gave me some gnarly family tree explanations, about how Old Dad lost Doris to Carl Horace. Called Haywire Horace. Scared of nothing. Hung off ropes a thousand feet in the air. Just swung down and snatched Doris away from Old Dad. She was Navy. She was slaughterhouse. She was Old Dad’s dream. Haywire was Air Force. He was circus. It never should have happened, but it did.
“You know why they called him Haywire, Clyde? It ain’t what you guess. You ever hear of Bent Nail Syndrome? When you get a hard-on your dick kinks. He was famous in Baraboo.”
“Hillbilly Woman,” interrupted the Turtle. “Bent Nail Syndrome. I too am afflicted. Yes. It is a poignant condition.