Six Bad Things_ A Novel - Charlie Huston [108]
—I heard about that, that trouble you were in. How’d that turn out?
—Don’t know, it’s still happening.
—What’s that about, kid? What’s all this trouble about? Kid like you in all this trouble.
—I wish I could tell you.
—What are you thinking out there, doing all that stuff?
—I dunno.
—I do. You’re not thinking, that’s the problem. Smart kid like you, if you just think things through, you’ll always do the smart thing.
—Ya think so?
—I know so.
—Thanks.
—Kid with skills like yours. Yeah, I remember you, eight years old and I could tell you were a pro soon as I saw you. You could have been the greatest Giant ever.
He winks.
—Or the second greatest, anyway.
—Nobody will ever be greater than you, Willie.
—Weeeell.
—Nobody.
—Nice of you to say that, kid. Look, let me give you some advice.
—Sure.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. Willie tucks his ball away and gets into his hitting stance.
—It’s about your swing.
Another tap. I turn. It’s Mickey, wearing a Dodgers cap and holding up a ball and a Sharpie.
—Excuse me, Mr. Mays.
I frown at him.
—Wait your turn.
I look back at Willie. He’s stroking the bat through an imaginary strike zone.
—And keeping your balance back like this.
Tap.
—Mr. Maaaaaays!
I turn.
—Look, you’re not even a Giants fan, so wait your turn.
I turn to Willie, who is putting the bat back on his shoulder.
—If you do all that, you’ll bring your average up at least ten points.
—But.
TAP!
—Williiiiiiiieeeeee!
I spin.
—Wait! Your! Turn!
And I shove Mickey. And he stumbles back. And he balances at the edge. One foot raised. Arms waving. Ball and pen still clutched. And then he falls.
All.
The.
Way.
Down.
Willie and I stand there, looking down into the darkness. He shakes his head.
—See what I’m saying, kid? You didn’t think about that at all, did you?
—HEY, HEY, baby, you OK?
I open my eyes. A pretty girl is sitting on the side of my bed. She has long black hair with sharp straight bangs, an amazing body, and is wearing very little. I come back from the jungle and remember her name.
—Hey, Sandy.
—Nightmare?
—Uh-huh.
My eyes don’t want to stay open, they keep sliding me into darkness. Sandy’s are doing the same.
—Me too. I love Percs, but they fuck with your dreams.
I drag my eyes open.
—My dreams are always fucked.
She scratches her head.
—Can I get in with you?
—Sure.
I hold the covers up and she gets in and spoons her back against my front. She smells good.
—You smell good.
—Thanks.
She yawns. I yawn. She reaches a hand out to the radio.
—Can I put on some music?
My eyes are closed again.
—Sure.
I hear stations flip by and then a DJ for UNLV radio talking and then Nick Drake sings “Place to Be.” Sandy sighs.
—I love this song.
My eyes are closed again.
—Yeah.
—Wade?
I’m almost asleep again, but the name of my dead friend brings me back.
—Yeah?
—What did you see when you looked in my house? When we were running away?
Bad things.
—Nothing, really.
—What do you think happened to T?
Bad things.
—I think they killed him.
—Your friends?
—They’re not my friends, but yeah.
Her breathing is getting deep.
—Sandy?
—Umhunh?
—Why did you let T go? Why did you unlock his cuffs?
—I told you, I like T. I was getting ready to go out the window and I wanted him to go too. But he didn’t.
No, he didn’t. He tried to help me instead. She twists her head around to look at me.
—What about us? Will those guys try to find us?
Hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, they’ll try to find me. What else do they have now? And Sandy? She’s a witness. Sid will want her.
—They might.
She reaches back, finds my hand, and pulls it around her like an extra blanket.
—So then we have to stick together.
I count the people who have been hurt or been killed because they’ve stuck with me. Like counting backward from ten when you’re on an operating table, I am asleep before the pain starts.
I wake up