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‘I just slept for thirty-six hours.’

‘I don’t know then.’

‘I remember this time when my mom was out of town visiting her sister. This was when I was ten, maybe twelve. My little sister was taking a bath. She was probably six or seven. My dad had this thing about water around the bathroom. Water on the floor. Anyway she gets out of the tub and runs around the house, then gets back in the tub, gets out, and runs around the house, you know?’ He paused and wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Just little kid stuff. He was in the family room watching TV. I was in there, too. For a long time he didn’t notice her, didn’t pay attention to her. I did. I saw it, but I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why. Did I want her to get in trouble? I don’t know. I mean, I was young, too. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Finally he sees her naked and wet running around the room. He yells at her and she screams and runs back into the tub. Five or ten minutes later she comes running back out doing the same thing, and I remember sitting there thinking, “Jesus Christ, Jessica, what the hell are you doing? Get back in the fucking tub.” I remember watching her, scared for her. And then allthe sudden, he sees her again and he gets up and starts yelling at her. He follows her into the bathroom. He sees all the water on the carpet, and sees all the water on the bathroom floor. I can still remember him yelling at her. I got up and walked down the hall. I heard him pick her up and her scream. I looked inside and he was holding her by her ankles. He was yelling at her and she was screaming. He started dunking her head in the tub water. Over and over. I was screaming at him, he looked at me and yelled at me. Then he let go of her ankles, and when he did I ran for the door. But I didn’t make it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

He began crying again. ‘And that was nothing. That was nothing. That was just one night. There were others.’

‘Come on,’ she said and stood up. ‘Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home.’

He wiped his eyes and finished his beer.

‘All right,’ he said.

She held out her hand to help him stand, and he reached for it.

Chapter 8
Johnny Cash

They walked to the car and set off for home. Once they had got out of the Flying J and onto the highway, though, he had opened a beer and taken a drink off the half pint he’d bought her, and changed his mind. All of a sudden he wanted to go to the party in the desert. He turned the car around, drove back to the truck stop, and bought a twelve pack of beer and a fifth of Jim Beam. He put in a mixed tape of Johnny Cash and had the girl drive.

‘The crazy thing’, he said, ‘is that Johnny Cash wrote that song “San Quentin” for the guys in there, the inmates, and just for that one show. During the concert he talks about the song, then plays it for them. The prisoners like it so much he asks if they want to hear it again, and of course they yell their asses off, ’cause he’d just written a song about them, so of course they want to hear it again. So he does it again and everyone goes ape shit. The craziest thing is, when you buy the record, it’s on there, both times. Back to back.’

She rolled down her window and rested her arm on the top of the door while she drove. The breeze rushing past her, the night air on her arm, blowing through her hair.

‘You remember when we saw him at that outdoor place in San Diego?’

‘Yeah,’ she said.

‘We stayed at that motel. That was one of the best times in my life. I remember it that way. You and me sleeping the whole day away. And then us getting dressed up and going out to eat and then seeing that show.’

‘He was good, too,’ the girl said.

‘He was fucking great. Even for being such an old timer, he was good.’

Jimmy took a flashlight from the glove box and turned it on. He was looking at a flyer. ‘I hope all these guys aren’t a bunch of gun shooting idiots. Do you remember that skinhead party where there was a band in the backyard and the sliding glass door got broken by those two drunk girls fighting?’

‘I remember that,’ she said.

‘I don’t know if I told you, but I had this conversation with a guy there. He says that the cops are on his ass ’cause they think he threw a Molotov cocktail at some black lady’s car. But he tells me, “No way did I do it, man.” He doesn’t know me from anyone. I’d never met the man before in my life. I could have been an undercover cop. He was drunk, a real moron, you know? So I ask him, “Why do they think you did it?” And he looks at me and says, “They’re picking on me ’cause I’m a skinhead. If it was me that did it, if I’d of thrown it, it would have torched the fucking car. There’d be nothing left. Those dumbfuck cops say it hit the trunk and could’ve gotten to the gas tank and so I could be up for attempted murder. But the fucker landed on the hood. The cops don’t know shit. Maybe I was there, but I didn’t make it. If I made it, it would’ve exploded. The guys I know can’t hit anything, but I got the arm.” He was that fucking dumb. I mean, he couldn’t even keep his story straight. And he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, not for even one night, not even in front of someone who doesn’t give a shit about him or what he does, in front of someone who doesn’t even know him.’

‘You mind if I have a beer?’ the girl said. Her nerves were beginning to go. They were driving so far away from town. She had to work in the morning. She knew he wouldn’t want to leave the party. She’d miss work, she’d be put back on probation, maybe this time she’d be fired.

He handed her a beer. She opened it, took a drink from it, and put it between her legs.

‘You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s just one beer.’

‘You’re sure?’ he said.

‘I won’t.’

‘If you do, do it in the car so I don’t have to look everywhere for you.’

‘I won’t.’

He finished the half pint, threw it out the window, opened the fifth of whiskey, and took a drink off it. ‘You know, Johnny Cash never spent any real time in jail. He wrote all that shit about it and about Vietnam by reading books. He wrote books himself. Now that’s something.’ He turned on the flashlight again, glanced at the flyer, then looked at the mile markers passing them and told the girl the turnoff was just after the next marker. She slowed when she came upon it. She saw the road leading from the highway, and turned onto the dirt and gravel surface.

They were in the desert now with nothing around them. No buildings or stores or gas stations for miles. They drove for twenty minutes on the dirt road. The girl drank the beer and got another one. She almost started crying.

She wasn’t listening to him anymore. She just pictured them driving on a mountain road, in the middle of nowhere. She’d open the door, and without him even noticing, jump out. It didn’t matter to her if she fell off the cliff or rolled down a mountain or got hit by an oncoming car. Just the thought of jumping calmed her. The thought and the image of his tail lights slowly flickering and fading away and her body falling, crashing, and disappearing.

Chapter 9
Sitting Bull

‘There sure ain’t nothing out there,’ he told her as he looked out the window. ‘I wonder if any crazy old hermit ever lived out here? Or some old miner or hippie?’

‘Do you see the fires in the distance up there?’

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘They look strange, don’t they?’

‘I guess.’

‘How many you think there are?’

‘Maybe seven,’ he said.

‘I got to work tomorrow,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I don’t plan on being here all night.’

‘Okay,’ she said.

‘Just park before the first car. That way we can get out easy.’

As the fires came into focus they could see lines of cars in front of them, and she parked behind the first car she came to. He got out and put the whiskey in his coat pocket. She put two beers in her purse and he carried the rest.

There were dozens of cars lined up along the road, and they walked past them for almost a hundred yards before they came to the party. There was a band playing on a makeshift pallet stage. There was a fire going on each side of it. There were people around them, talking. They walked to where they could see the band playing.

The singer had his shirt off, and had tattoos covering his chest, arms, and neck. The music was fast and he was screaming as hard as he could while the rest of the band played. When the song ended, the thirty or so people watching cheered and screamed. People threw beer into the air and onto each other. There were kegs that sat near the stage and the people there were drunk, laughing and yelling. There were tents and separate fires in the distance that she could just make out.

A kid walked past them with blood coming down the side of his head. In one hand he was carrying a beer and in the other a bloody shirt. He was laughing, talking to a couple other kids as he passed.

‘Jesus,’ the girl said and moved closer to Jimmy. ‘Did you see that?’

‘What a fucking idiot.’

‘He should go to a doctor.’

‘He probably doesn’t feel a thing,’ Jimmy said and turned to her. ‘Stay here for a couple minutes. I’ll go look around and see if Warren’s here.’

‘Can I come with you?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to just stand here by myself.’

‘I’ll be back in a couple minutes. I’m gonna search the fires. You look around here where the band’s playing. Don’t worry, if you find them, tell them to stay here with you until I get back.’

He then turned and walked into the darkness. The band played another song. The girl opened her purse and took a beer from it. She lit a cigarette and began looking for their friends.

A trail of men passed her dressed in matching German military uniforms. One kid wore desert goggles and had a short black mustache. One had his hair completely shaved, and the other wore an old German army helmet. They were drunk and talking loudly. The band finished another song and the crowd cheered again.

She finished her beer and took the last can she had and opened it. She was beginning to feel drunk and her nerves eased. The band started another song and she saw her friend Nan Endrick in the distance walking towards her.

‘It’s hard to believe we’re out in the middle of nowhere,’ the girl said.

‘It was raining last year,’ Nan said. She was under five feet tall and must have gained fifty pounds in the last year. Her arms were tattooed, her hair was one step away from shaved and dyed black and blonde. She wore Levi cutoffs and a men’s undershirt.

‘It’s been going for three days straight. Are you staying the night?’

‘I have to go to work in the morning. Did Jimmy find you?’

‘He pointed to where you were. I didn’t think you’d make it.’

‘We weren’t sure we could.’

‘I’ll show you where we’re camped,’ she said and they walked down a trail to an old army-issue tent, where the three men – Warren Cooper, Jimmy, and Keith Henry – sat inside at a portable picnic table drinking beer, talking. The smell of speed mixed with the smell of beef stew cooking on a Coleman stove and filled the tent.

‘We’re all gonna take a walk to the canyon,’ Warren said when he saw the girls. He took a backpack that lay on the tent floor and filled it with bottles of beer. He put two flashlights in a side pocket. He turned off the camping stove, covered the stew, and shut off the lantern.

With the moon out and almost full, they didn’t use the flashlights, and Nan and the girl drifted behind while the three men disappeared in front of them.

‘He’s good looking,’ Nan said quietly.

‘Who?’

‘Keith.’

‘I don’t know—’

‘You never know anything when it comes to men,’ Nan said.

‘Maybe,’ the girl said.

The three men stopped and stood looking out over the canyon. There was a dry creek bed at the bottom and rough rock on the sides of it. The moon and the stars shone down on the sage brush with a pale blue light.

‘It’s the sort of place Sitting Bull might have relaxed at if he ever had to come down this far,’ Jimmy said and opened a beer. ‘He’d of probably sat back and smoked a pipe and thought things over. Tried to figure out what to do.’

‘He probably would have fucked some dirty squaw and then thrown her off the edge,’ Keith said.

‘Jesus,’ Warren said. ‘That’s an image.’

The two men laughed.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Jimmy said calmly. ‘Sitting Bull was a hero. He fought like a motherfucker. He didn’t want anything from us. Maybe guns, maybe he wanted them, but that was only ’cause he had to get them to beat us. If it weren’t for disease and guns, who knows what would have happened? He didn’t want to live on a reservation, live on shitty land with nothing to do but start drinking and wait for handouts. I got no problem with the Indians back then. It’s now that they’re all fucked up, and the government’s to blame as much as anything. But they have to quit drinking. That’s something. If they did that, they’d probably have most of it licked. Sitting Bull, he was nothing like you think. He’s one of the great ones. His people believed in him. He didn’t want to integrate. He didn’t want his people to go to our church and be shit on or go to our schools and get laughed at. We should have cut off a state or two and let them be.’

‘I don’t give a shit about Indians,’ Keith said. ‘I don’t give a fuck what anybody says.’

Jimmy took a long drink from his beer and sat down.

‘I don’t mind Indians,’ Warren said.

‘You wouldn’t,’ Keith said and laughed.

They all looked out at the night, at the moon and the stars.

Jimmy leaned over to Warren.

‘You know the Indians,’ he said quietly, ‘they used to chase deer or buffalo or rabbits and herd them towards a cliff, and the animals would be so freaked out that they’d jump right off. They’d have other people from the tribe – the women and kids probably – below, and their job was to make sure that once the deer or rabbits or whatever landed that they were all dead. They’d have clubs with them. Then they’d clean them, tan the hides, and have a huge celebration that’d last for days.’

‘Jesus,’ Warren said, looking out over the canyon. ‘Can you imagine seeing that from below? All them buffalo diving off cliffs. Did they have horses? How’d they herd them off?’

‘I’m not sure how they did it, but they didn’t have horses for a long time, so I’d imagine in the beginning they did it without them somehow.’

‘The stupid fuckers didn’t have horses or much of anything before the white man,’ Keith said.

Jimmy threw his empty beer bottle as hard as he could down into the canyon and took a new one from Warren’s pack.

‘I don’t like wasting my time talking about Indians,’ Keith said.

‘Then don’t talk,’ Jimmy said. He was no longer able to sit still. His hands were twitching. ‘You shouldn’t be allowed to say a goddamn thing anyway.’