Six Bad Things_ A Novel - Charlie Huston [28]
—It’s just not gonna work this time, guy.
I’m staring up at the ceiling, but I feel it when he jumps back onto the bed. He walks around me a couple times, then flops on my chest. I scratch his head, careful not to touch the scar, because he doesn’t like that. He starts to purr.
Fuck. I’m gonna miss this cat.
THE NIGHTMARE that wakes me up is a new one. I’m at Paul’s Bar the morning of the massacre. Instead of my old friends getting killed, it’s people I know now. Timmy, Mercedes from the Pakmail, Leo, Rolf, the smiling Spanish girl. And I’m the one doing the killing, walking around the bar with a machine gun, murdering all the people. Until they are all dead, all except Pedro and two others. He’s standing in front of the others, shielding them with his body. And I can see them, and it’s my parents.
And I kill Pedro.
And aim the machine gun.
And I wake up.
A half hour later I’m crashing through the jungle, clutching Bud to my chest, with Sergeants Morales and Candito running after me.
THANK GOD for the swimming. Without the swimming I would have collapsed by now. Of course all that wonderful muscle tone isn’t helping out with the searing burn in my lungs. Over thirty years without even trying a cigarette and I had to start. It was quitting the booze that did it. Drop one addiction and pick up another. Fucking idiot.
I trip over a tree root. Which is what I get for not paying attention to where I’m going.
I can’t put my arms out to brace my fall without losing Bud, so I twist my body around and drop hard, the pack absorbing most of the impact. I start to get to my feet and hear Morales and Candito calling out to each other. They’re a ways back there and they’ve stopped running. They’re asking each other where I am. I get to my knees and peek out from behind my tree. But this being a jungle, I can’t see more than a few feet.
What I need to do here is stay cool. Cut out all the crashing around and sneak my way to Pedro’s. Bud twists out of my grasp and streaks off back toward the bungalow. Toward the cops.
There has to be, there simply has to be a statute of limitations on cat-sitting. I run after him. Almost immediately the sergeants hear me and they’re yelling again and coming in my direction. I trip over another root.
And it catches me.
I start to shout, but Leo wraps a hand over my mouth. We make eye contact. I nod. He uncovers my mouth and hands Bud to me. I hear rustling as Morales and Candito creep by on either side of us, trying to zero in on me. The sound dies and Leo puts his mouth right against my ear.
—This way.
He’s holding his arm straight out, pointing in the same direction the cops just went.
—Straight as possible, you’ll come out by Pedro’s.
—Cops.
—Shut up. Rolf will be there.
—What about.
—And hang on to the fucking cat.
He gets up and starts running loudly, and I hear the cops yell and take off after him. I head for Pedro’s.
I POP out of the trees about twenty yards from Pedro’s house, just off the highway. I can see the dune buggy parked out back and Rolf standing in the yard. I sprint over and Rolf catches me as I stumble the last few feet.
—Leo. Gasp. He. He. He. Gasp.
—He find you?
—Yeah. Gasp. He.
—Inside, dude.
We go through the screen door, he leads me to the kitchen.
—We saw them go past on the highway and head for the beach. Leo took off to warn you or whatever.
—He drew them off.
—Cool.
—No, we got to.
—Dude, we got to get you out of here is all we got to do. Leo’s cool. Those guys will never find him in there.
In the kitchen the table is covered with food. Pedro is sipping coffee, listening to ranchera music. He clicks off the radio. His wife, who is usually on her way to town with the kids by now, is at the stove. She turns and gives me a tight-lipped smile.
—Buenos dias.
—Buenos dias, Ofelia.
She gestures to the table.
—Comer.
She’s made a huge breakfast, a farewell. We’re all supposed to sit at the table and have breakfast together, and I’m late. Rolf grabs a tortilla off the table, slaps some beans into it and takes