Big Maria (18 page)

“I have to potty.” The voice turned insistent.

“Yeah, so do I, but I ain’t announcing it. Let’s try again. Is your mother, father, anyone over five there? They couldn’t’ve left you by yourself. Unless they were hoping you’d run off or try to juggle the cutlery, which wouldn’t shock me. Who’s looking after you?”

“Got to go.”

“No. Don’t,” Harry shouted.

But the sound of the receiver plonking onto a table was her answer. Harry softly banged his head against the wall next to the pay phone as he waited impatiently for the little demon to return. He briefly turned, catching the dirty looks from the people in line behind him. The best he could do was shrug.

It was a long three minutes. She must have really had to piss. The guy with the teardrop tattoo who was next in line shoved him hard in the shoulder, knocking him off-balance. He didn’t say a word, but the message was clear.

“Hello?” The little voice was back. She might have only been five, but Harry was sure that she was dumb for her age. He’d had more thought-provoking conversations with fresh turds.

“Thank God. I’m still here. Can I talk to a grown-up?”

“Bye-bye.” She hung up.

Harry squeezed the receiver and listened to the muted dial tone. He wished he had the strength to crush it.

“Kids,” Harry said and set the receiver in the cradle. He turned and gave Teardrop Tattoo a hard look. Teardrop Tattoo punched him in the stomach out of principle. Harry nodded in agreement and limped back on his crutches toward Desert Vista.

“F
rank’s in the hospital,” Harry reported to Ricky.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What hospital?”

“I don’t know. Frank. Hospital. That’s all I got.”

“Who is Frank?” Cooker asked.

Both Harry and Ricky turned to him. “Shut up.”

Ricky paced in the confined area. “I don’t know if they got a hospital in Poston. Probably take him to the one in Parker. The rez one.”

Harry said, “We can’t leave Cooker alone. Take the keys. I’ll watch him. I got to clean this mess.”

Ricky looked at the keys in Harry’s outstretched hand. “I don’t drive, Harry.”

Harry was about to ask but caught himself. He knew why.

“Right. I got it. I’ll bring my books with me. Catch some pages in the waiting room. And if jerko gives you any trouble, gag him.”

H
ospital rooms were jail cells for old people. The nurses were the guards. The doctor, the warden. Your malady was your sentence. If only Frank could figure out where to dig the tunnel.

Frank didn’t like the beds or the pillows. The nurses were okay, but the doctors drove him halfway to apeshit and back. The TV only got XHBC-TV Canal Tres from Mexicali, and between the grown men in childish costumes, the insane cleavage, and the accordion music, he couldn’t watch more than a half hour without his brain turning to oatmeal. The guy in the bed next to him was worse off than him. The poor bastard couldn’t talk. Instead he made noises that sounded like a duck trying to fuck a whoopee cushion.

The only thing he couldn’t complain about was how he felt. In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time. It might have been the drugs. Despite his episode, he didn’t feel any more tired than any given day of being an old man. They told him they had a few more tests to run. And after those tests, they told him they had a few more tests. And a few more. A little blood here. A hookup to a machine there. More tests. Monotonous and pointless.

Frank stared at the ceiling. He did the math. It wasn’t college calculus. It was simple pluses and minuses. His age was staring him down, and between the cancer and his heart, it was a matter of time before some part of his body quit. Optimism, pessimism, it didn’t matter. The machinery was grinding down. He put the over-under at a year. He wasn’t sure he was ready. Or ever would be.

“I’d say you’re goldbricking, but considering our plans, that would suggest you were actually being productive.”

Frank gave Harry a weak smile.

“I drove all over hell looking for you. You know how hard it is to drive with a cast on? Got to drape it over and work the pedals
with my left. Pinched a ball when I made a U-turn. Thought you’d be in Parker or the rez. Ended up, I could have walked. Talked to your daughter out in the waiting room. She’s a piece of work, that one.”

“Don’t mess with Mercedes. No joke. She punishes.”

“I kind of got that. Wanted to know who I was, how I knew you, why I been calling, and why she never met me before. She grilled me, man. Like a verbal strip search. I told her we were in a book club together. If she asks, we’re reading Franzen.”

“You are the worst goddamn liar.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Don’t underestimate Mercedes. Moment you turn your back, that’s when the tomahawk flies.
Ker-chunk
, right between your shoulder blades.”

“We got us a real problem.”

“My heart exploded and we have
real
problems?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, Frank. How you doing? You look fine to me. I mean, as well as a dude as old as you can.”

“I’ll live. Tell me what you assed up.”

Harry took offense that Frank immediately assumed it was something he had done. But considering that it had started with something he had done, he let it go. Harry gave Frank the rundown: his meeting with Cooker, Ricky’s battle royale in the trailer, and the problem in miniature biker leather that was tied to Harry’s only unbroken chair.

“You don’t got many options,” Frank said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Can’t leave him tied up. Can’t let him go. Can’t trust him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I’ll do it. I’ll kill him.”

“Whoa,” Frank said. “You jumped to that quick.”

“Not so quick. Came to me when I was driving around.”

Frank didn’t saying anything. He didn’t nod or shake his head.

“I’m not saying it’s right. Or I want to. But it’s what we got. The best solution,” Harry said.

Frank held his stare.

“It’s our gold,” Harry said.

“That’s a big decision. Can’t take it back,” Frank finally said.

“Fucking hell,” Harry said, suddenly exhausted.

“You said it.”

Harry grabbed a chair and set it next to Frank’s bed.

“I didn’t bring you nothing this time. Been thinking so much on the gold and this Cooker thing, forgot to bring you a gift. You’re in the hospital, you’re supposed to get flowers or something. Want me to grab you a burger? Some tamales? Food can’t be any good in this dump. I got more girlie mags. Big stack of Mexican newsstand swag. Couple of them so filthy—weird and hairy—I can’t look at them no more. But you may like ’em.”

“Thanks. I’m good. But if you want to stay for a bit, I’d like that.”

Harry nodded.

“The Go Go Gophers come by? If not, I could sneak you some, you know.” Harry made the universal symbol for pot by putting his pinched fingers to his pursed lips.

“I’m an old man in a hospital in California. All I need is a prescription.”

Harry nodded. They listened to the disgustingly cartoony sounds of Frank’s bunkmate.

After a long silence, Harry said, “I’ll take care of the problem. I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure about this?”

“No, but there’s no other way I can think of.”

“T
hat’s my gold. Mine. And no one, not some leather-daddy midget, some Keebler convict, some criminalizing scum-sack, is going to stand in the way of my gold.”

The slurring, low-rent halftime speech had been frothing from Harry’s mouth for the better part of a half hour as he paced in front of his trailer. Paced might be a strong word. It was more of a crazy arc caused by his cast. Through a dry mouth, Harry kept up the banter, hoping that he would eventually forget what the words actually meant.

Harry had sent Ricky down to the hospital to visit Frank. He knew the kid would never go along with murder, not even of a lowlife like Cooker. Easiest way to avoid the conversation was to have it after the fact. Asking Ricky to bury a body was easier than asking him to kill a guy.

Harry took another swig from the paper-sacked bottle of scotch. The more booze he drank, the more the argument made sense. Leave it to alcohol to streamline debate.

“You can do this, Harry. People die every day. This guy is a garbage. What do you do with a garbage? You put it in a bag and leave it on the curb. He’s a drug dealer. A scourge. I can make the world a better place. For the world. For me. For Frank. For Ricky. For everyone. He’s got to go. So shut your mouth, Harry, and do it already.”

I
nside the trailer Cooker could only hear snippets of the one-man conversation happening outside. He didn’t have to hear
much more than the constant repetition of
kill
,
gold
, and
scum-sack
to know which direction the wind blew. Right up his ass.

He pulled at the tape that bound his wrists, but the kid had used the whole fucking roll. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was fucked and he knew it. It was time to prepare for the end.

Cooker’s eyes drifted to the cabinet under the sink where that weird, soapy head sat covered in beer bottles and fast-food wrappers. He didn’t want to think about what this sick fuck did with the bodies of the poor bastards he killed. He hoped he didn’t fuck them. Cooker had avoided losing his ass virginity in the orphanage, military service, and prison, but there was no way of defending his ass after death. It made him sad that this psycho might pluck that flower.

The ranting stopped outside. Cooker closed his eyes to listen. Had Shitburger gone away? What was happening?

The door opened slowly and Harry entered. He kept his eyes to the ground.

“This is it,” Harry said.

“Fuck me.”

Harry pulled a samurai sword from his closet. He ran his thumb along the blade, yanking it back when it drew blood. He tasted it.

“Salty.”

“H
e’s going to what?”

Ricky stood up from the chair next to Frank’s hospital bed. His arm got caught in an IV tube, but he managed untangle himself before he ripped it from Frank’s body. Frank put his hand on Ricky’s arm. He had no grip, but the contact was enough to freeze Ricky.

Frank spoke slowly. “Stay here, Ricky. Nothing for you to get involved in.”

“We’re in this together. All of us.”

“Yes and no, kid. Yes and no.”

“What does that mean? I have to stop him.”

Frank took a look at the clock on the wall. “Ain’t the kind of thing you dilly-dally with. Either done it or he’s never going to. Both ways, it’s best you stay.”

Ricky gently removed Frank’s hand from his arm and moved toward the door.

“You shouldn’t have let him,” Ricky said.

“Come back in here and sit the hell down,” Frank said, loud and stern.

Frank’s voice was so commanding that it didn’t occur to Ricky that there was an alternative to obedience.

“Harry brought this guy in. He made the mistake. He created the problem and he needed to fix it. Maybe it’s wrong. Hell, of course it’s wrong. But this is our chance. I got no doubt about that. Dumb a plan as we got, we have to see it through. And no matter where it takes us, there’s something you got to remember.”

“What?” Ricky leaned in.

“Harry is an idiot. Nothing against him as a friend, but he’s a goddamn moron. For all the work he’s done, for as far as we’ve got, his ideas are the stupidest I’ve ever heard. Follow him too close, he’s going to stupid you into deep trouble.”

“He kills that guy, we can’t erase that.”

“That’s why you have to let him go through with it.”

“That doesn’t make any kind of sense.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me. I kind of got lost in the conversation back there. We’re talking about Harry and the guy, yeah? I’m on a few painkillers. Have been all day.”

“I’m going.”

“Let him do it. On his own. That’s what I’m saying. When Harry decides to do stupid, you have to let it be Harry’s stupid. You have to step back.”

“You don’t let friends make those kinds of mistakes. This isn’t just a law he’s breaking. It’s a commandment.”

“Unless you have a better idea of what to do with this fella, I don’t see another choice. Think about your family. That’s what’s at stake. We got to do what’s necessary to get the three of us up those mountains.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re not going anywhere. Look at you. You really think you’re in any kind of shape for this trip?”

“I’m going.”

“I thought Harry was the moron? And his plan was stupid?”

“He is. It is. But it’s one thing to follow. It’s another thing to go along. I ain’t going to pretend what Harry’s doing ain’t the right thing. All I’m saying is that we ain’t the ones doing it. His mess, his cleanup.”

Ricky said nothing, the gears turning in his head.

“I don’t know what they got me on, but it’s some good shit. What were we talking about? I’m so high.”

“There’s another way.” Ricky took off in a run out the door.

“P
lease. Let me confess. Listen to my confession.”

“Don’t make this harder, man. Do I look like a priest? Take a minute. Say your confessing to yourself. I’ll give you time.”

Harry gripped the sword in both hands, holding it front of his body. Every couple of seconds, he took a practice swing, stopping inches from Cooker’s neck. Cooker flinched, his eyes and pants wet.

“Please. Please don’t do that.”

Harry rested the sword against his leg. “Yeah, right. Sorry. You want me to do a decent job, right? Have to take a few warm-up whacks. Practice swings are going to make it better for both of us.”

“Thinking my confession in my head ain’t enough. I got to say it. So it’s official. Let me say it out loud.”

“Yeah, okay. Show on the road.” Harry leaned back and took a big swig.

Cooker sucked in snot through his nose, swallowed, and gathered his thoughts. He blinked the tears from his eyes.

“I could’ve lived better. Done less bad. When I was sixteen, I cut this guy up because he—you know what—I didn’t have no reason. I done it because I fucked his sister and he was pissed. I didn’t kill him but fucked him up solid. He came at me with a Wiffle bat. Like that could’ve hurt me. He didn’t deserve it. Defending his little sister. She wasn’t no more than fifteen. That same year, I cooked up my first batch.”