Six Bad Things_ A Novel - Charlie Huston [104]
How am I doing now, Dad?
I DRIVE us back to Boulder Highway, take a left, drive up the road, and pull into the first parking lot I see: The Boulder Station Hotel. I park the Chrysler near the other cars in the lot, leave the engine running, and reach under Sandy’s seat. The plastic bag snags on something and I give it a yank and it tears and the guns and the boxes of ammo spill out onto the floor next to Sandy’s feet. She gives a little shriek at the sight of the guns and pulls her feet up onto her seat as if the footwell were full of spiders. I flip the cylinder open on the Anaconda, pop open the box of Magnum shells, and start to load the revolver. My hands are still shaking, it’s hard to get the rounds in their chambers, but I manage. I close the cylinder and turn around in my seat and look out at the highway through the back window. I give it a couple minutes and see no sign of Rolf and Sid chasing us. I turn around.
Oh, my God. Oh please, Jesus. I close my eyes and see Terry crawling, trailing blood. Oh, Jesus, what have I done? I open my eyes and see the gun in my hand and raise it and press the barrel against my forehead.
—Jesus, oh, Jesus. Make it stop, please make it stop.
—Nonononononono.
Sandy is pressed against the passenger door, still in her kimono, blood still trickling from her mouth, staring at me, as I’m getting ready to kill myself. I pull the gun away from my head and drop it in the back-seat.
—It’s OK.
—Nonono.
—It’s OK, Sandy. It’s over. It’s OK.
I touch her. She closes her eyes.
—Sandy.
She whines.
—Sandy.
She opens one eye, like a kid who’s watching a horror movie and doesn’t want to see too much of the scary stuff.
—I’m not gonna hurt you.
I reach in my pocket and take out a pill.
—Take this. It’ll help.
—I TOLD you, Terry’s my boss, my dealer. And kind of my manager.
Oh, Christ.
—Your pimp, Sandy?
—No! My manager.
We’re still in the parking lot at Boulder Station, but the Perc has Sandy mellowed out. She’s in the backseat changing into clothes from her bag.
—I’m not a total cliché, Wade. He, he knows people at the big casinos, and I want to dance in a show, and he was helping me. He got me an audition at Bally’s for Jubilee! But they didn’t like my tattoos and I didn’t get the job. I’m tall enough and I have the tits and ass and I can dance, but once they get a look at my tattoos they say no go, and it costs a hundred times as much to get the things taken off as it does to have them put on. Fuckin’ tattoos.
She climbs into the front seat, now dressed in faded blue jeans, black Doc Martens, and a black AC/DC tank top.
—What else is Terry into, baby? What else does he do?
She wipes her eyes.
—Mostly he deals. He works for some people, I don’t know. The people he gets his grass from. And sometimes he does other stuff for them, like collections and stuff.
—What about the Russians? Do they know who I am? Do you know who I am?
She looks at me sideways.
—You’re Wade?
I let it go.
—Why was Terry there with those clowns?
—Because I called him.
—When?
—After we talked at the club, before I asked for a lift. I called Terry and told him you were looking for Timmy, and he told me to get you guys good and fucked-up and get you to come back to my house. But. But. But. You didn’t come, and I went back with T anyway and I told him to leave the dog in the car, but he wouldn’t, and then I said to put him in the garage, but he wouldn’t, but he locked him in the bathroom in my room, in the master bedroom and then I got him to lie on the bed and handcuffed him to the frame like I was gonna strip for him, and then Terry came in and started asking T about Timmy, why he was looking for Timmy and who you were and why you were looking for Timmy, and T didn’t know anything, and Terry, he had those hicks with him, and they started beating on T. And. And.