Dog Soldiers (19 page)

Authors: Robert Stone

BOOK: Dog Soldiers

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She followed him into a dirt yard littered with tire tubes and car parts. A number of vehicles were parked in the darkness behind the house but they could not see how
many.

Hicks had a gun in h
is hand. As they neared the win
dows, she saw him slip it into his back pocket; the stock was
visible against his belt. She pulled on his arm.

“
It shows,
”
she said.

Hicks only nodded. He moved into the shadow of the
house and close alongside the window.

From where he stood, he could see most of the shack
’
s single room. There was a hot fire in the potbellied stove and an oil lamp burning high on a table in the corner. Two blond girls in jeans and patches were kneeling on a mattress in the middle of the floor. They looked very much alike and neither of them appeared to be over sixteen.

Against the wall behind them sat two smiling young men in denim jackets. Their smiles were steady and vacant and they leaned against each other
’
s shoulder. One of them Hicks knew as Shoshone; it was how he introduced himself. He was slight and copper-colored, an Indian or a pachuco who spoke unsullied L.A. The second man was a tall long hair with pouchy eyes who was perhaps twenty years older than the two girls. From t
he play of shadows, Hicks recko
ned that there were two more people inside who were beyond his scan. He felt they were female.

He found Marge hunkering in the darkness near the door and he pulled her to her feet.

“
This is your house,
”
he told her.
“
You better be stoned cool.
”

Now I
’
ll see who I got with me, he thought. He knocked loudly on the door. He did not want to surprise them too much. Then he pushed it open and walked into the room.

The men in the denim jackets gaped. One of the teen agers on the mat uttered a stifled scream. Across the room, a fat beetle-browed girl in a dirty serape stared at him in anger. There was a fourth girl too, a skinny redhead with prominent teeth and a cor
pselike complexion who was play
ing with a dark wig.

They watched him as he
picked up the cassette tape re
corder and shut it off. Trouble, as he suspected it would, came first from the lady with the eyebrows.

“
What the fuck are you doin
’
? Who are you man?
”

“
If I weren
’
t big and easy,
”
Hicks said,
“
I
’
d ask you the same question.
”

The blondes on the matt
ress looked up at him with fear
ful, addled eyes. Shoshone climbed to his feet and came toward him.

“
I didn
’
t see who it was for a minute,
”
he said. He was laughing, his voice slurred with reds.

The beetle-browed girl was beside herself with moronic indignation.

“
What
is
this shit? Who is he?
”

“
He lives here,
”
Shoshone said. He staggered backward and rested a lean brown hand on the top of his companion
’
s head.
“
He lives here, right?
”

Shoshone
’
s friend watched Hicks with even, sleepy eyes.

“
Well, I mean, where you been?
”
Shoshone asked. In the course of the sentence his emotional valence seemed to swing from chemical good nature to unnatural fury and at least part of the way back.

“
At sea,
”
Hicks said. He noticed that the people in the room were looking toward the door behind him where Marge stood. He glanced at her quickly and to his satis
fac
tion saw her looking cool
and arrogant. He had been some
thing of the same look about her when she was denying him his money. It had made him not trust her at first.

“
You
’
re a sailor. He
’
s a sailor,
”
Shoshone said to his friend.
“
I know this guy.
”

Shoshone
’
s friend was looking at the pistol in Hicks
’
pocket.
“
What kinda piece you got there?
”
he asked in a slow Okie drawl.

“
Thirty-eight Special
”
Hicks said.

The Okie permitted himself a single weary guffaw.

“
Like to look at some groovy weapons?
”

Hicks shrugged.

“
You might come see me before I split.
”

“
Are you a sailor?
”
the redhead with the wig asked.

“
That
’
s right,
”
Hicks said.

One of the teen-agers began to vomit quietly on the mat tress. The fat girl was on her like a bacchante, folds of tie-dyed doth billowing from under her serape.

“
Lookitcha, you dumb cunt. Look watcha doin
’.
”
She had a willow switch in her hand and she whipped the girl across the shoulder with it The blonde collapsed across her own watery vomit.

“
Take us home,
”
she wailed.

“
Aren
’
t they from around here?
”
Hicks heard Marge ask. She was still cool, half smiling. When she looked at him, he smiled back at her, trying to warn her off the issue. But he said nothing.

“
I live,
”
the second girl said,
“
at twenty-two thirty-one Sepulveda Boulevard.
”

The girl who had been hit moaned.

“
Don
’
t tell me where you live.
”

“
Pick them up hitchhiking?
”
Marge asked.

“
What
’
s it to you?
”
the fat girl began to say, but she broke the sentence off with a shrug as if she were asking herself a question.

“
They wanted a party,
”
the Okie said.

“
Yeah,
”
Shoshone said.
“
We thought they were hip but you know they
’
re uptight boojwa.
”
Hicks looked down at the mattress.
“
They took a lot pills, huh?
”

“
They didn
’
t have much choice,
”
the redhead with the
wig said.

“
Lookatcha your mattress,
”
the fat girl said.
“
Looka what those dumb cunts did.
”

Hicks grabbed a chair a
nd sat down on it backward, fac
ing his guests.

“
I was gonna air it out anyway.
”
He looked around the room and
addressed himself to the Okie.

“
I may have some heavy company pretty soon. I wish you
’
d take the party down the canyon.
”

The man nodded slowly. Everyone in the room watched him. He stood up lazily and shook himself in a little dance.

“
I can dig it.
”

The fat girl stood over the teenagers until they stood up.

“
You probably ought to lose those two down in the park,
”
Hicks said cheerfully.
“
They
’
re jailbait for sure.
”

Shoshone patted one of the girls on the ass.

“
We take care of
‘
em.
”

The fat girl whooped, covered her hand with her mouth, and shrugged.

When the others had filed outside, the Okie stood in the doorway looking at Marge, then at Hicks.

“
I
’
ll come back in a couple of days like you said. Got some things you might want to look at.
”

“
Sure enough,
”
Hicks said.

Hicks stayed in his chair as they listened to an engine start up outside the house. Marge paced up and down. When Shoshone
’
s truck was under way and the engine noise growing fainter, Hicks stood up and dragged the soiled mattress outside. He stood for a while watching the headlights coil down the canyon road. When he went in, he found Marge sitting in his chair with her head in her hands.

“
What the hell was that?
”

“
Welcome to L.A.
”
He touched her face as he walked past. He had taken a key from his pocket and opened a cabinet above a dry sink in the back of the cabin. In the cabinet were a bottle of blended whiskey and a car distributor; Hicks set them out beside the sink.

“
That
’
s just folks up her
e. This is where the canyon con
sciousness prevails.
”

“
What happens to those kids?
”

“
You
’
re thinking like a mother.
”

She stared at him; he saw her searching for the psycho path.

“
Have a drink.
”

She looked doubtful. She had been fiddling through her carry bag for something and she seemed reluctant to let it go.

“
O.K.,
”
she said, setting the bag down.

He dusted out two fruit jars and poured whiskey into them.

“
No water up here.
”

She drank, grimacing.

“
You understand,
”
Hicks said,
“
that we
’
re not in a posi
tion to make a big thing over something like those kids. You walk around these canyons enough you
’
ll come across a sleeping bag full of bones. I
’
ve seen a number, I
’
m not kidding. Fuck up a little bit once and the next bag of bones is you.
”
He drank his whiskey.
“
We
’
re everybody
’
s meat. What
’
s in that bag is what it all boils down to.
”