Moondogs - Alexander Yates [159]
“Elvis and Lorenzo for sure. Dead as the day before conception. Don’t know about Efrem. Shot him twice but I won’t be sure till I see the body. You overhearing anything about Howard?”
He’s done. A day more, maybe two. And he won’t wake up in between. You’re in the clear.
“You mean we are, handsome.” Reynato leans back in his chair, hands clasped over his belly. “And you? They say yet when you can come off the vent?”
Well, at first they said I’m not going to last the chopper ride to the hospital. Then when I get here they say I’m going to die within the hour. Then when I made it through that they said I wouldn’t survive the night—even argued over what critical patient gets my bed when I’m gone! Come morning they’re all promising each other that I’m a corpse by midweek. And since then they’ve more or less stopped coming into my room. I think they’re mad.
Reynato takes the pencil from him, sharpens it and hands it back. “They lack imagination,” he says. “You’ll be golfing by the end of the month.”
Not so sure. Racha pauses, his hand twitching. I feel different this time. I mean, I don’t think I’m dying. But I don’t think I’m getting better. It’s kind of nice actually. The suspense always used to kill me.
Reynato stays quiet awhile. He tears Racha’s notes off the pad so he’ll have a fresh page to write on. “I have a question for you,” he says, his voice low and quiet. “Since the eruption, have you ever felt like someone is watching you?”
I feel it all the time. I tell you what, I’m a sight!
“That’s not what I mean.”
Racha begins writing something but crosses it out. You look terrible. I mean really bad. Are you sleeping enough? A pause. You think Efrem’s still alive.
Seeing the name in writing sets Reynato’s stomach churning. “He might be.”
And you think he’s going to kill you?
“Wouldn’t you?”
No. I mean, I love you. But I know what you’re getting at. You’re worried he’s going to get you. You’re worried he’s already got you. That he’s just waiting for the right time. Well, I wouldn’t stress about it. Efrem was never that malicious or creative. If he’s out there, then I’m sure he’ll take you in a private, dignified kind of way. Like when you’re in the shower or something.
“This isn’t a joke,” Reynato says, running his palms across his wet cheeks. He can usually tear up at will and now he can’t will himself not to. He must be overtired. “Listen,” he says. “I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve decided to put this whole business behind me.”
Well behind. Far behind. Where’s the business? I don’t see it. You’ve got whatever you’ve got left to look forward to. You could run away with that white girl—the one with the temper. Hey, what happened to her, anyway?
Reynato doesn’t answer. He produces a syringe from his pocket, pricks it into Racha’s IV and pushes the plunger home.
Racha’s fingers tighten around the pencil. Why would you do that?
“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s true, he is very, very sorry. “This is more than just a money decision.”
Ba-ha-ha. Racha’s body shifts slightly in bed. The pencil drops and rolls along the floor. Reynato retrieves it and gives it back. I recognize that taste. That’s drain cleaner. Drank a capful of the stuff when I was ten. A bad day for Mom.
Reynato smiles. Racha was always one of the shy ones, but when you got him alone he had this charming, unexpected, self-deprecating humor. But that’s in the past. Reynato knows that if he and his family are to survive Ka-Pow, he’ll need the cleanest break possible. “I’ll come back every day if I have to,” he says.
You’ll have to.
“I’ll set the bed on fire if I have to.”
You’ll have to.
“Why make this hard? I mean, honestly, look at yourself.”
Racha doesn’t write anything for a while. It’s true. I’m a mess.
“A big mess.” Reynato stands and gives him a squeeze. “Listen, I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I might not be alive tomorrow.
“We can only hope.”
REYNATO TAKES THE PAD from Racha—evidence, after all—and leaves his room crying like a big, stupid baby. He’s almost out of the hospital when, owing