Sucker Punch (23 page)

Marie grabbed the bottle from me as I twisted to one side, coughed and spewed water.

“Yeah,” said Ed. “You definitely caught the sun.” He waited for me to stop heaving, then put his hands in my armpits. “We need to get you inside, son. You need to cool off.”

“I told you,” said Marie, her voice rising. “I told you he wasn't dead.”

“Yeah, and I told you to get in the damn vehicle.”

The “vehicle” was a motorhome idling by the side of the road. One of those amazing flats-in-a-truck that you could live in for the rest of your life, as long as you didn't mind shopping at petrol stations. I pawed at my mouth, wiping away a thick string of spittle. Marie opened the door to the motorhome and Ed helped me into it. The bliss of real air conditioning hit me.

“Get a towel,” said Ed, pulling me over to the couch. He helped me lie down. “Goddamn it, Marie, get a wet towel.”

I could hear Marie fussing. Not too keen on Ed's choice of words, by the sound of it. I caught “… no need for that at
all …
”

“I'll tell you right now, you're a lucky guy,” he said.

I looked up at him. Ed looked like a groomed mountain man. A voice that belonged in a Peckinpah western and a face that had the texture of a saddle bag.

“You're lucky my wife's a damn nag.”

“I heard that,” said Marie over the sound of running water.

“Of course you heard it. You hear everything in this thing. Not like we can go in separate rooms.” He looked at me. “Two rooms: inside and outside. It was her idea. 'See all those places you wanted to see all your life, Ed. It'll be an adventure. We need an adventure…'“

Marie brought a sodden towel over to me. She pressed it against my head, water running in icy streams across my cheeks. “You were going to stay in your garden and murder crickets, Ed.”

“This is your adventure.” Then, to me: “Way I saw it, son, we should've left you where you lay. Too old to be getting involved in that kinda business. You were dead.”

“I said you weren't,” said Marie. “I
knew
you weren't.”

“The hell with it. You just wanted another gander at the corpse.”

Marie made an O with her mouth. “I did not. I had faith. I made him turn the RV around. He was grousing, but I had faith.”

She pressed the towel again. My head started to clear. Just a little, the fog lifting at the edges, but it was a good start.

“Yeah, my wife has more faith than I do. I know when to steer clear. This country, it's no place for old men, so I got to look out. My wife, she thinks she's one of God's only women, a real saint.”

“I don't think that.”

“You don't think that. You're closer'n me. Because I said no, we drive on, we're on vacation, for Christ's sake.”

Marie's face turned to stone. “That's enough of that.”

“That's what I said.”

“There was no need for it then and there's no need for it now.”

Ed shrugged what could have been an apology. Marie accepted it.

“What I say is, I say there's no
good
way a car ends up in a ditch. When I see you, I say there's no
good
way a guy ends up shot. Which reminds me…”

Ed put one huge hand on the side of my head, turned my face away and puffed smoke at my mangled ear.

“It hurt?”

Course it fucking hurt. I nodded.

“Ah, it's a flesh wound. Won't even need stitches. You'll be fine.”

Marie flipped the towel on my forehead, patted it down. “I need to freshen this.”

When she got up, Ed leaned in and said, “How'd you end up out there?”

“Let the boy rest.”

“I want to know. Hell, I
need
to know, Marie. Yeah, he's weak right now, but who's to say this kid isn't a serial killer or something?”

“I'm not a serial killer,” I said. Then coughed. One cough led to another, then a full-blown fit. I had to sit up, bend double. Ed shifted along the couch, obviously worried that I was going to throw up again.

“So you got a voice,” said Ed. “Beginning to think you were a mute.”

I nodded slowly, tears streaming from my eyes. At least there was
some
moisture left in me. Ed took the cigarette from his mouth, gathered up a small ashtray from the side and stubbed out what was smoking. He waited for me to breathe deeper, then placed his hands on his knees.

“So what happened?” he said.

Marie stopped where she was, folded the towel over her arm. I looked well enough to do without it, then. She moved to a seat opposite Ed and me. I glanced at her, at those large brown cow eyes and felt sick again. She was so desperate for me to be a loser, a kid knocked black and blue by life and dumped by the side of the road, it killed me. Mostly because at that moment I was so grateful to her for being such a harpy and making Ed drive back.

“A bloke I thought I could trust… He flipped out and shot me.”

“Why?”

I stared at Ed. “It's a long story.”

“Were there drugs involved?”

“Ed.”

“Drugs are involved, I want to know about it.” Ed frowned. “I got all the time in the world to hear this story, son.”

“We need to get going,” said Marie.

“No, we ain't going nowhere until I hear what this boy has to say.”

Marie started to protest, but Ed had final say.

“I mean it,” he said, looking directly at me. “You tell me what happened, son. You tell me from the beginning, don't leave nothing out, right through to your ass out there in the desert. And tell it straight. I been alive long enough to recognise the smell of bullcrap.”

I looked across at Marie, thinking she'd have to say something to get me out of this, but she was too busy watching her husband, the towel between her hands. When our eyes met, I could see her mind was made up. The RV was going nowhere until I spilled my guts and made it convincing. My first instinct was to lie, make it up and see what stuck.

But then I thought, fuck it. Tell the truth.

It's the easiest thing to remember.

So I started talking.

“So did you tell the truth?” says Munroe.

“I told them most of the truth.” I lean forward in my seat, put my elbows on the table. “Some things I had to keep out.”

“Like now?” says Wallace.

“Sorry?”

“Are you telling us the truth now, or are you leaving some things out?” He crosses his arms the other way.

“I'm telling you the truth,” I say.

Like fuck I am. Replace the facts with plausible lies. I've had time to polish my story so it hangs together like the truth. Got so I almost believe what I'm telling the cops.

“Then what happened?” says Munroe.

“They dropped me off in the city and I went back to the hotel.”

Munroe nods. “Okay.”

I wish they'd just dropped me off at the hotel. Wish it was that easy.

Wish Ed didn't listen to my story and say, “I'm sorry, Callum. But I don't believe a damn word you just told me.”

“Ed…”

“I don't, Marie. I may be getting suspicious in my old age, but I don't believe a damn word.” He pushed himself to his feet. At full height, the top of his head brushed the ceiling. “That's not to say what you just told me was all lies. But there were lies in there. A lot of 'em. I can't point to which one's truth and which one's lie, but I asked you to tell it straight and you didn't.”

Ed ducked as he made his way to the front of the RV. He slumped painfully into the driver's seat and said, “C'mon up, Callum.”

Marie blinked. “We're going?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Callum, get up here.”

I got up, moved to the passenger side as Ed checked the mirrors. The engine already running, a throbbing undercurrent that went through the entire vehicle. I sat down, buckled up.

“A man doesn't shoot another man unless he's done something wrong,” said Ed, throwing the RV into gear. “That's the way the world is.”

As he drove, he reached for a soft pack of Lucky Strikes on the dash. He held the pack out to me; I took a cigarette. He lit both, puffed smoke as he continued. “Look at it this way: there's two guys in a bar, they ain't talking to each other, just drinking. One of the guys gets up, he moseys over to the juke, sticks a quarter in the slot and puts on a song. A couple bars in, the other guy goes crazy, starts beating on the music lover. Now what do you think?”

“Bloke didn't like the song?”

“Maybe. Your thinking is it's the song that set him off. But it's never just the song. It's what the song means. Maybe he didn't like the tune because the music lover stole his girl a long time ago and that was her favourite song, or it was the song playing on the radio when he found the two of 'em in bed together or it was the song playing when she told him she didn't want to be with him anymore. Or it could be the singer reminds him of his father or his mother who used to beat on him. Or maybe it's just that this guy's had too many beers and reckons this is a fine time to start a brawl.”

“Okay.”

“Now, when it's all over, are you gonna ask the guy why he beat the crap out of the music lover?”

“No.”

“No. Exactly. That's what I'm saying. I'm saying there's a reason things happen. You don't always have to know the reason, just accept that there is one. That's what started it, that's the reason. You got yourself shot up, and you deserved it.”

Marie made a disapproving noise. “Ed, that's not fair.”

“Don't take offence, son. That's just the way it is.”

I took a drag from the Lucky Strike, blew smoke. Looked out at the road and watched the lines on the asphalt break as they passed under the RV. “I deserved it.”

Ed nodded. “You're damn right you deserved it. You don't get shot if you don't deserve it.”

“What about that poor guy in Tulsa?” said Marie.

“That guy in Tulsa, he did
something
in his life.” Ed's hands loosened on the steering wheel, then flattened as if he was trying to shake out pins and needles. “He must have. I mean, Marie, you're a God's honest Christian, you believe He has a plan.”

Marie started to say something, but stopped herself.

“And part of that belief is knowing when to question and when to accept. You don't question God's will, you accept it. But you, Callum, I question.”

“That's okay.”

“I have to question. I sold insurance too long
not
to question. You go to someone's door, you ask yourself, 'Can these people afford what I have to sell?' and then, then you ask yourself, 'Can these people afford to pass me by?' You understand what I'm saying?”

“You question,” I say.

“But I don't always ask the
right
questions. I'm not always blessed with the intelligence to ask what I need to ask. Sometimes you need someone who knows what they're doing. Sometimes you need a professional.”

“I see.”

“So you get it.”

I narrowed my eyes at the sun. “Yeah.”

“I know you're not keen on the cops,” said Ed. “But if any of this story is as serious as you made it out to be, then the authorities need to be notified.”

“It's for the best, Callum,” said Marie.

“I'm sure it is.”

These two rescued me, only to throw me back to the lions. I nodded. They thought I was agreeing when I was twisted up inside.

“I'm glad you understand, Callum. And this ain't to say I didn't believe
everything
…”

“You just didn't know the questions.”

“Yeah. We're helping you.”

“Helping you help yourself,” said Marie.

I ran through it over and over in the silence that followed. As much as I wanted to get this sorted — find Liam, hop on the next plane out of LAX — it was just a pipe dream. An abandoned car was one thing. But an abandoned rental car in my name, fractured with bullets and covered in blood, that wasn't going to stay unreported. The police had to be involved. Telling Ed and Marie the story so far just crystallised events. I didn't have an ending. And I thought, let the police handle it, clean up the mess. But I still needed to find Liam. Nobody else would. If he was still alive, that would be enough. If he wasn't…

Well, I'd have to play it by ear.

The city started to close in on me, the blur of the desert turning back to civilisation. I closed my eyes for a moment, opened them and familiar-looking streets came into focus. At second glance, I didn't recognise the places other than the usual brand chains. Starbucks, 7-11, Dunkin' Donuts. Mangle it into one solid movie memory and dust with the fear of going to prison. Because American cops were movie cops. They wore mirrored sunglasses, pointed a gun with half a hot dog hanging out of their mouth. The police stations were clean and sterile. Or else the sweaty heave of an overcrowded cell, packed with
pendejos
and perverts. Chucked in there until the cops could work out what to do with a Brit who came right in and 'fessed up to…

What? I hadn't done anything.

Not that Ed believed it.

There was a reason for everything in Ed's philosophy. It was all part of God's big plan.

And Shapiro found God in prison. Maybe it was this kind of bullshit He was locked up for.

I saw a street sign: E. 6
^th
Street. Downtown. I looked out of the window and there was a police station, large gold letters hammered into a red brick wall. A stars and stripes fluttered outside. The message was clear enough:
we are going to fucking incarcerate you
.

Ed eased the RV over to the side of the road, a manouevre that made him grunt with the effort. Motorhomes aren't built for urban driving, which made me wonder why he'd taken me all the way to the middle of the city. Ed let the engine idle as he turned in his seat.

“You know what you have to do,” he said.

I clicked off my seat belt, stared at the station. Yeah, I knew what I had to do.

“You want us to come in with you?” said Marie.

“Nah, you're alright,” I said. Then, to Ed: “You got another cigarette?”

“Yeah, sure.” He handed me another Lucky Strike.

I stepped down from the RV and lit the cigarette. The smoke closed my chest, rose up and into my eyes. I realised how dry my mouth was. Looked at myself in the side mirror of the RV, got a dusty and bloody look in return.