Tricks (13 page)

me, finally said,

Tell a soul,

I'll do your sister too.
He knew

*

that was a bigger threat than saying he'd hurt Iris or some

other TV kind of shit. Because

*

I knew he
would
come back for Mary Ann. She was only

eight. If he did this to her, she'd

*

die for sure. It had almost

killed me. I'll probably

always link sex with pain.

221

All That Comes Back

Like a sucker punch, mirrored

now in Harry's corpse-cold

eyes, moving all over my body--

*

climbing up, shimmying back

down. I hate them. Hate him, because he's no different from Walt.

*

Iris doesn't notice, or maybe

doesn't mind. She's always

saying,
You be nice to Harry.

*

We want to keep him happy.

She's bold about bringing

Harry around, bold because

*

Gram is mostly at the hospital.

Her path has only crossed

Harry's a couple of times,

*

and when that happens, their dislike for each other hangs

thick in the air like smog.

*

Iris pretends that it doesn't.

Iris is good at pretending.

She breathes make-believe.

222

Not Sure

If Harry is tuned in to how Iris earns her booze and pill money. Don't think

*

so, though. She has always

tried to keep pleasure and business in two different boxes.

*

Ugh. Bad double meaning

there. A sick sort of laugh

escapes and Iris, who is at

*

this very moment sitting across the room from me, asks,
What's so funny?

*

Which makes me bust up even more. All I can do is snort, "Nuh... nothing."

*

Harry, who is sitting next to Iris, slurping a Keystone, butts in.
Then why the hell

223

are you laughing? Those
crow

eyes take even bolder liberties with my body, and there's

*

something in his voice--

something far beyond mean.

Something approaching

*

sadistic.
People don't just up
and laugh for no damn

reason, do they little girl?

*

Anger firecrackers. I want to yell. Instead I keep my

voice very low. "I don't know

*

who in the fuck you think

you are, but you're nothing to me. I don't answer to you."

*

Fists knotting, Harry jumps to his feet. Iris reacts by jumping to hers.
W-wait,

*

baby. No need to get mad.

The words puff from her mouth.
She's just a dumb kid.

224

A Nuclear Bomb

Goes off inside my skull-- a white-hot mushroom

cloud of rage. "Yeah, well,

*

least I'm not a whore! Wait.

'Whore' is too good a word for you and what you do.

*

'Hooker' works much better."

I hesitate just long enough to gain some satisfaction from

*

the look on Iris's face. Then

I escape out the front door before the shit smacks the fan.

*

It's May, and Mojave heat

practically knocks me off my feet, but I run. Run from

*

Iris, from her crow. He'd pick

my bones clean, and I know it.

Run from Gram's house, not

*

home without her in it. Run from shadow into overbearing

sunlight. Run toward town.

225

I wish I could keep running.

Farther. Forever. Wish

nothing could turn me back.

*

I run all the way to Alex's house.

By the time I get there, sweat

streams from every pore, washing

*

away hurt and anger. Luckily, when I pound on the door, it is Alex who answers.
Hey.

*

She steps back, and I fall into cool darkness. It's like diving

deep.
What happened?
she asks.

*

We are alone in the place, and that is good, because for some stupid reason, I tell

*

her the entire story, including the stuff about Walt. Words

keep spilling out of my mouth

*

as if a faucet broke. When I

finally stop, I'm crying.

And Alex is holding me.

226

No One Has Ever

Held me like this before, strong but kind. Gentle, even. Fact is, I'm surprised

*

I'm letting her hold me.

My MO is to withdraw.

But this feels good, and that

*

makes me cry harder. What

have I missed? "I'm sorry.

You didn't need to hear all that."

*

Alex brushes the hair from my

forehead, mindless of sweat.

It's okay. I understand. Men

*

are dogs for the most part.

Scratch that. Dogs are kind of cute, and they only come on

*

strong when the bitch is
in heat.
She goes quiet, lets me finish feeling sorry

*

for myself. Finally I go quiet

too. I look up, wanting to thank her. She smiles. Kisses me.

227

It's a Soft Kiss

On the mouth, sensual, and it's exactly the way

I imagined it might be.

*

Her lips are smoothed by a sheen of raspberry

ice, and they make no demands

*

beyond this sweet three

seconds of connection.

Iris's men dissolve, salt

*

in rainwater. There is no

more, no "let's have sex,"

which leaves me both content

*

and confused.
I
think you

need a drink,
she says.

As she goes into the kitchen,

*

a new fantasy springs to life. "Have you ever

thought about running

*

away?" I call after her.

She returns with a couple of

Cokes, spiked heavily

228

with what I think is rum.

All the time. No one would

even miss me. What about you?

*

"I'd go right now, but who would take care of the kids?

And anyway, where would I go?"

*

We sip our drinks in silence.

The afternoon slips by, hazy with alcohol. Finally I glance

*

at the clock. Almost six. I don't

want to go, but someone has to make dinner. When I get home,

*

Iris is on the phone. She turns, smiling.
Sandy will be okay.

They'll release him in a few days.

229

A Poem by Cody Bennett
Release

I'm not the religious

type. Mom goes to church but I mostly ignore it.

Not sure

if there is a God or why

some all-powerful being would give half a damn about the likes of me. Lately, though, I've tossed out a prayer or two, thrown

them like fastballs at heaven, if there is such a thing.

I'm afraid they only

bounced back to

Earth, or spun out into space, unheard. Either way, guess I'll give it another

try. Why not? What the hell

have I got to lose?

230

Cody Falling Apart

That's how everything feels, like it's dissolving one molecule at a time. I'm scared. Damn it,

I hate to admit it, but my gut churns

night and day. I can barely eat.

Only booze goes down and stays.

*

Mom is at church right now.

Church, of all places! We haven't been regular churchgoers since we left Wichita. Now she's not only

religious. Apparently she's Catholic, and asking for intervention. Praying

*

for a miracle. Some sort of Hail Mary

sign that Jack will make it home

again, happy, healthy, and maybe a little wiser about indigestion and what that can mean. That persistent

bellyache? Turned out Tums

*

weren't going to fix it. No wonder

I can't eat. Too much information about what causes stomach cancer and what happens when it metastasizes, infiltrating blood and cells to infect the esophagus, pancreas, and who

231

knows what else. It's just about enough to make me choose a liquid

diet. Water. Bottled. (Tap water can

be carcinogenic.) V8 (low sodium--

salt is a factor in stomach cancer) for your veggies. A little bouillon

*

(takes care of the protein requirement, right?) watered down with vodka.

And for dessert, stiff megashots of gin. Hey, someone besides Cory

should drink it. He's developed a tidy habit and isn't real good

*

at hiding it. But Mom and Jack

can't turn him around. They barely

notice him. Or me. More important

shit on their minds. Like praying for miracles. Like staying alive

just one more fucking day.

232

So Cory Drinks

Way too much. Pickling his brain, and much too young to end up relish.

But how can I say anything when I

drink? And more. I smoke. Snort.

Pop pills. Anything to keep from thinking about death, come knocking.

*

When Cory and I finish off Jack's

dwindling booze stash, scoring more

won't be a problem. Vinnie will happily

buy. At least as long as I keep bringing

bud to the Friday night games.

I've become a regular, and I've learned

*

to play poker, not that I always

win. Not even. I've dropped a dime or two. But the rush that comes

when I do win is worth every penny down the drain. Gambling is like snorting cocaine. Up. Down. Up.

*

And, despite knowing you have to crash sometime, all you can think about when you're doing it is the high.

I've dropped two hun in a single night.

That sucked. But once I won almost six.

Oh, yeah! Put me clear through the roof.

233

A New Rush

I've just tapped into is online

gaming. Roulette. Blackjack.

Poker. More. I've learned how to play games I never even knew

existed. It's fun. Really fun. In

fact, it's a total, amazing rush,

*

and you don't even have to leave

home to get it. All you need is a computer and a way to deposit

some cash in your own Internet

casino account. And hey, I've got a bank card. Not a whole lot in my

*

personal checking, but that's about to change. All I need is one big win.

And what's really insane is the casino

gives you a cash bonus to sign up. I put in five hundred; they threw in three.

I'm ahead already. Well, was ahead.

*

I've gone through the bonus and a little

more. But that's the nature of gambling.

Win some. Lose some. Just have to stay on top of things. Walk if it isn't

your night. Tonight I'm almost even.

All I need is one hand, the right hand....

234

Shit!

Okay, that wasn't the right hand.

At least I only had twenty riding.

Maybe I should switch to roulette.

My brain isn't working so well right

now. Not sharp enough for poker.

Roll the ball, watch it go round

*

and round. Come on, twenty-seven!

Just as the traitorous ball drops into thirty-four, my cell phone rings.

My face flushes hot, like a little kid

caught dipping his fingers in the frosting.

But it's just Ronnie.
Hey. What's up?

*

"Uh... not much. What's up with you?" She wants me to come get her, and as she waits for my response,

I can picture her face, all pouty with impatience. Pretty face. Better

body, all sleek and tan and...

*

Ah, what the hell? I'm not making

much progress here tonight. "Sure, babe. Give me a few." Why not?

Would be good to get out of the house, and boning Ronnie is the one thing that

can take my mind off everything else.

235

First Things First

Just one more spin of the ball.

Come on, twenty-seven, come on, twenty-seven. Sixteen? Shit!

Stop. Ronnie's waiting, something

she's not real damn good at.

Besides, Lady Luck doesn't seem

*

to have joined me tonight. Bitch.

One more. Ten on twenty-seven.

Odds are better if you play the same

number. Yeah, I know I could play

columns or colors, but what's the fun of winning even money or two to one

*

when thirty-five to one puts you over the top? Come on... Twenty-seven!

Fuck yeah! There it is! Maybe you

just gotta call ol' Lady Luck names.

Three-fifty in the bank and I'm going after the finest little piece of pie

*

in Vegas. In a minute. I'm playing on casino bucks now, and I'm on a roll. Think I'll try a hand or two of blackjack. Another swallow of gin to keep the courage flowing.

Oh yeah, it's definitely this boy's night.

236

Damn Lucky Dealer

So much for three of the three-fifty

I won earlier. Blackjack

isn't my game tonight, that's for sure. I need to learn the finer points, like when to double down. Ah, hell.