Six Bad Things_ A Novel - Charlie Huston [60]
—I said, do you need help?
—Stay out of the wheel marks!
—What?
—Just get back up on the road.
—Sorry, just trying to help.
—Get out of the tracks and get back up on the road.
—Yeah, sorry. Dude.
And a pop.
And another pop.
And another.
And feet scrunching through the dirt. And hands unbuckling my seat belt and pulling me from the car as a new song comes on the radio. Led Zeppelin: “When the Levee Breaks.” Now this is rock ’n’ roll. But I just can’t stay awake to enjoy it. So I don’t.
—WAKE HIM up.
—Huh?
—Don’t let him sleep.
Someone is shaking me.
—No go.
—Slap him.
SLAP!
—Dude, not so hard, just a little smack.
Smack.
—He’s out, dude.
—Try some water.
My head is tilted. Something is in my mouth, filling it.
—Choke! Cough! Choke!
—On his face, on his face!
—Dude, you come back here and try.
My eyes open.
—No, wait, he’s awake.
I’m on my back. Lights swirl above me. I’m moving. No, I’m on my back inside something that’s moving.
—You OK?
Something dark looms over me. Someone.
—Sid, take the wheel.
The someone disappears. I hear shuffling.
—Got the wheel?
—Yeah.
The moving thing lurches, then straightens out. Someone new looms.
—You OK?
There’s that question. Am I OK? Well, honestly, that’s just a little too deep for me to handle. So I don’t handle it.
—Are you hurt?
That’s much less ambiguous, I can handle that one.
—Yeah.
—Where?
Also an easy one.
—All over.
A little laugh. Wait, do I know that laugh?
—Where ya headed, where do we take you?
Jesus, that’s a mind-bender. I’m headed . . . home? No, that’s not right. I was already home and that didn’t work out. I close my eyes and see a sunny place next to the ocean. That’s nice. That’s where I want to go.
—OPEN YOUR eyes, dude, got to stay awake.
I open my eyes. Where am I?
—I want to go to the beach.
Whew, that just about took it all out of me. I close my eyes.
—WAKE UP.
Water splashes my face. I open my eyes. I’m moving. Someone is looming. What am I doing? I’m moving. Moving? Oh right, I was going somewhere. It was real important.
—Are we there?
—Where, dude?
Well, how do I know? Oh, wait, I do know!
—Vegas.
—Vegas?
—Are we?
—Is that where?
—Vegas.
Mom and Dad snapshot into my brain, fade, disappear. A Polaroid developed in reverse. I try to sit up.
—Vegas, I have to get to Vegas.
Someone pushes me back down.
—It’s cool, dude, we’re on our way. Sid.
—Yeah?
—Head for Vegas.
I close my eyes. Someone shakes me, but it’s too late, I’m chasing myself down a long dark tunnel, away from all the things I know are waiting to hurt me when I finally wake up.
If I wake up.
—I’M TELLIN’ ya, dude, they ain’t shit without Taylor. We ain’t getting any help.
—Yeah, but.
—No “yeah, but” about it, dude.
—They’re at home.
—They’re choke artists. Everyone knows you never take the Dolphins in December.
My mouth is gunky and my throat is a dry rasp, but I still manage to get in my two cents.
—He’s right.
Silence.
—Was that him?
—Get some water.
Footsteps. Water running. Footsteps.
Water splashes my face. It feels good.
—You in there, dude?
More water. I open my eyes, see someone I know.
—Hey, Rolf.
—How you feeling, dude?
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed I’m lying on. I turn my head to look at the room. My eyes aren’t focused yet, but I don’t really need them. Motel. Cheap. Anywhere. I turn back to Rolf.
—Let me have some of that water.
The blurry guy behind him hands him a plastic cup and Rolf holds it to my lips and I guzzle it down.
—More.
Rolf gives the cup back to the blurry guy and he leaves and I hear water running in a sink.
—Where are we?
—The Downtown Motel.
—Where?
—The Downtown Motel.
—Where?
—Oh, Barstow.
Barstow. Have I ever heard anything positive about Barstow? No. Just a town in the desert that sounds like a good place to dump a dead body. The blurry guy comes back with more water. He comes into focus as I drink it. Younger than me and Rolf. A short, bleached Mohawk; a bare torso of lean, flat muscle; a small, blue Ocean Pacific logo tattooed over his left