BULLETS (8 page)

“Whoa. She ever say anything else?”

“Danny asked her, when he had her in the box, if she thought she was putting them out of their misery, as an act of mercy. He was actually trying to help set up an insanity defense for her, he thought she was crazy and, well, we all did. We were all shocked by it. He asked her that and she said no. So Danny asked her why she did it. She said, ‘No reason, really.’ And that’s all she ever said.”

“Fuck man. What happened to her?”

“Died before trial. In her sleep, in jail. Completely natural. Heard tell she had a smile on her face when she went. The old guy, the one with the broken pelvis who called the cops, he wept like a baby when she died, too.”

“No reason, huh.”

“No reason. That’s what I’m telling you, I know you’re damn good at seeing people’s insides and motivations, but some folks, you just never know what makes ’em tick, and you’re never gonna. Sometimes there’s fucking nothing in there.”

“There’s always a reason, bro. Whether it’s a good reason or a selfish, egotistical one, that’s the question.”

“Christ, don’t get all metaphysical on me now, I prefer she had no reason for it, I’m a simple guy like that. And, hey, in Celia’s house, know what else we found? Sex toys. Closets full, dude. Nasty ones, too. Huge, black dildos, velvet handcuffs, nipple clamps, anal beads, she had it all.”

“I’m glad you told me that after lunch. Hey. Behind us. You see them, right?”

Slick had been watching the rear view.

“Hells yeah. I’m no fucking amateur, I made them the minute we pulled out. Blue pickup, couple cars back. There’s another one, too, rusty brown Chevy. They’re alternating on us, but they ain’t doing it like cops. Some local rednecks, I’d say.”

Thumper glanced over at Slick. “So whatta wanna do?”

Slick dug around in the glove compartment, found a state map, opened and studied it for a bit. He found what he was looking for.

“I may need another favor or two.”

“Anything, bro, you name it, you got it, but can I ask, will there be bolos thrown?”

“I’d say heavy bolos are in the forecast.”

“Then that’s a favor more for me than for you, dude.”

O
rville and Jay
followed Slick and Thumper for the rest of the afternoon, alternating different eyes on him throughout the day so they wouldn’t notice someone was on their ass, watching. They stayed in touch via their cell phones. They found out what hotel Slick had checked into, a cheap fleabag on the edge of town. Just got one room, with one bed. Orville, watching from his truck, shook his head when he heard that.

After checking in, Slick and his little buddy drove around the city awhile longer, then parked at a meter along the business strip of town and did some shopping, bought clothes and shit. Orville wondered if they’d hold hands and model thongs for each other when they got back to the motel.

Orville thought having shifts watching the nig probably wasn’t necessary, he figured white people probably all looked the same to the big black bastard, just like niggers all looked the same to him, but it was good surveillance procedure and maintaining good training mattered, especially these days. He pulled his pickup in at a meter and watched as Slick walked along the sidewalk with his little buddy, who was supposed to be a boxer or some shit like that, and supposedly killed a guy some years back with his bare hands. He even did time for it, it was said.

Orville had trouble buying that. He was fucking tiny, that guy. And that made him the bitch of the pair, of course. Had to be, he was the black bastard’s bitch. Don’t care how much boxing the little bitch knew, size matters in a fight, always has and always will. A big dude will fuck up a little dude every time. Orville himself weighed two-fifty, could bench his weight and then some. He’d pick that fucking munchkin up and roll him into a human shitball with his bare hands.

Orville liked to fight, and, even better, he liked to fight guys who were smaller than he was. He thought about what he’d do to the little guy for staining his white heritage by being that black fucker’s prison bitch, maybe he’d turn the little dude out himself, if he had the chance, though he wasn’t that way. He wasn’t gay and would beat the high holy fuck out of anyone who’d dare suggest that he might be, but he knew prison was different, even though he’d never done hard time himself.

He’d been in county lockup for drunk driving and fighting, of course, but Orville knew that wasn’t real prison and didn’t count. Orville knew real prison, or he thought he did. He loved watching OZ, he owned the whole series on DVD, it was his all-time favorite fucking show and he’d been devastated when it finally ended.

He always fantasized about it, doing hard time, what he’d do and who he’d turn out. Beat the shit out of fuckers, put them on their knees and tell ’em to make him happy or die. Orville liked that, and it wasn’t gay, either. It was fucking prison; it’s what you had to do to survive. You had to turn punks out and make ’em your bitches to earn respect. Nothing gay about it.

He amused himself with those thoughts as Slick and Thumper went into Radioshack and bought some stuff, he couldn’t see what, exactly, but it didn’t matter. You could buy guns in most stores in Arizona, but Radioshack wasn’t one of them.

They came out and walked to their rental car, stopped and talked for a while. Shook hands, came in for a man-hug, a tight one, too.
Shit,
Orville thought,
they might even kiss right there on the street, fuck.
He was gonna like busting this nigger up.

After serious man-love hugs, the little guy got into the car and drove off. Orville picked up his cell, called in.

“Yo Jay.”

“What’s up?”

“They’re separating, the short bitch is getting into the car and driving off without his husband. Just went down Beltran Avenue.”

“What about the jig?”

“He’s on foot, pimp-strutting down the street like he fucking owns it.”

“I’m on the little bitch. Same car, right? The sedan?”

“Yeah. The way they hugged seemed like the bitch was leaving town.”

“Faggots. I’m on him, no worries.”

Slick kept walking down the street, bags in hand, and went into a car rental office, Hertz, the O.J. Simpson rental place.
That figures, just fucking figures,
Orville thought. Orville would like to put some hurts on that black fucker’s ass, and soon.

When Slick pulled out of Hertz in a convertible, top down for all the world to see, Orville put his truck into gear and followed him. He drove all around town, taking in the sights, for at least two fucking hours, if not longer. Orville was getting hungry, and the hungrier he got, the more pissed he got at having to follow this asshole.

Slick found the mall, parked the convertible in the lot and went inside. After thinking about it, Orville also parked and went inside. He wandered around until he spotted Slick shopping at a bookstore. Bookstore! Probably checking out the latest issue of
Cosmopolitan
, shit like that. Orville picked up a paper from the newsstand and pretended to read it. Slick left the bookstore without buying anything, going right past the food court without stopping to eat there—it fucking tortured Orville, it really did. Would it kill the black bastard to stop for a burger and fries or something? Then Orville could eat, too. He could smell the beef tacos and his stomach growled.

Then Slick went into a café and ordered tea, for crissakes, tea! Orville could tell it was tea because he dipped the tea bag into the cup just like a proper lady would. Orville shook his head and waited. And waited. He hated waiting, he really did. Especially while hungry. The fucking coon just sat there and sipped his tea. Christ Almighty. Orville’s cell rang. He saw it was Jay and answered.

“What up?”

“The little dude left, he’s gone, man. I followed him all the way to Carver City, he’s in the airport now. Just turned his rental car in, too. He’s flying out, looks like.”

“Fuck, I wanted a piece of that little bitch, damn,” Orville said.

“What do you want me to do? I can’t get into the airport, not without a boarding pass, anyway. Should I wait, or what?”

“Nah. Head on back home. Call up the boys. I’ll stay on the nig, and when the sun goes down, it’s party time, border-style.”

“Yee-haw!”

Orville hung up and wondered if he could chance a run at the food court before it was too late. Probably not, looked like the coon was done with tea. He got up and left. Orville followed him out of the mall, cursing the entire way out.

O
rville stayed on
Slick’s ass for the next two hours, his mood going from bad to terrible to fucking-nuclear-meltdown levels as he watched the other man just drive around town aimlessly, without a destination or purpose. Not only was Orville hungry as hell, this was burning serious gasoline. He’d started with a full tank and most of it was gone already, his truck inhaled premium like it was mother’s milk.

That shit was up to four bucks a gallon, which meant it cost Orville plenty to fill this monster up. And he doubted he’d be getting reimbursed for it either.

Orville hoped, hoped and prayed with every fiber of his being, that he’d be able to put a boot up this coon’s ass for the mental anguish he’d caused Orville, he just needed the nig to at some point pull over and get out of the car and in a dark, secluded area. It looked promising when Slick took a sudden turn and got on the highway, heading out of town. Orville picked up his phone.

“Jay, yo. He’s hightailing it, driving out on the five.”

“He spot you and decided to run for it?”

“Nah, he didn’t see shit, and he still ain’t in no hurry, not that I can tell. Still looks like he’s sightseeing. Where you at, can you pick him up? My truck’s down to fumes.”

“Yeah, I can swing around, I ain’t far away. By the time you hit the Shell Station, I should be on his ass. We still gonna do this, right?”

“Hells yeah, try to fucking stop me, I wanna stomp this nigger so bad I can taste it. He’s gotta stop soon. He pulls over outside city limits that’s even better for us, in fact, we get him far enough out of town, we’ll run him off the road and fucking tap dance on his skull. Call Hartzler, tell him to meet me at the station. And Freddie, too.”

“Got ya, I already picked up Vaughn, he’s in the truck with me. That gonna be enough? This fucking spear-chucker is supposed to be a black belt in karate.”

“Five guys is too many for anyone, don’t care what they know. And fuck him and his black belt, I used to beat the shit out of those fucking college boy black belts back in the day every time we went out to the bars. I’ll make him eat that shit, watch me. Nothing I like better than hearing that some fuckhole’s got a black belt right before I break his fucking leg. This is gonna be sweet, Jay.”

“We ain’t supposed to kill him, remember—”

“I know that, asshole, I know what I’m doin’. He’s gonna be one hurtful nigger when I’m through, I’m gonna turn his ass out.”

A
fter fueling his
pickup at the Shell Station, Orville met up with Jay and the boys about an hour outside of town, this roadhouse called Missy’s that he’d been to once or twice, decent beer on tap, okay food, usually had a band on the weekends and so on. It was a weeknight, though, so only the serious drinkers would be there and they’d only be interested in what was in their glass.

Orville climbed out of his pickup, nodded to Hartzler and Jay and Freddie sitting on the tailgate of Jay’s truck. He unwrapped another candy bar; he’d been chowing down on the chocolate since the gas station.

“He in there?”

“Yeah,” Jay grinned. He was missing a couple front teeth and never got around to having them replaced. “He’s in there at the bar, eating a goddamn salad. Vaughn’s inside, keeping an eye on him, but he ain’t going nowhere.”

“And after?”

“Luke Paulson owns this place,” Hartzler said. “I know him, he’s good folks. He’ll pass the word around, story will be nobody saw nothing, and if they did, the coon started it. Said just to make sure we keep it outside, that’s all.”

Orville nodded, his bad mood lifting at the thought of what he was gonna do to this black fucker. He cracked his knuckles and stared at his buddies, who were dressed as he was—jeans and boots, trucker caps and flannel shirts with the sleeves torn off. Orville was bigger than any of them and the most fearsome brawler. He wanted this.

“All right, I’ll go in and get this party started.”

“I dunno, Orville, he might not want nothin’ to do with you,” Freddie said. “Even a big bastard like him might have second thoughts about stepping outside with someone your size. Vaughn’s the smallest one, maybe we should just have him—”

Orville finished his candy bar and spit on the ground.

“Hell no, I’m sick of waiting for this fuckhole. I’m goin’ in, I’ll get him out here if I have to drag him by his big ass lips. You fellas, you don’t do nothin’ when it starts, you wait until I’m done before you wade in, got me?”

They all nodded, nobody wanted to be on Orville’s bad side, and plus there was nothing they loved better than watching Orville kick some fucking ass. Jay leaned into his truck cab, pulled out a pistol and checked the rounds.

“You ain’t gonna need that,” Orville said and went on inside.

O
rville paused once
inside Missy’s, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the bar. A few dedicated drinkers dotted the tables here and there, but the bar was nearly deserted and it wasn’t hard to see why. The black bastard sat there, the remains of a salad on a plate in front of him, fiddling with his phone. Stupid fucker.

Orville saw Vaughn at the other end of the bar, caught his eye and grinned. Orville jerked his chin and Vaughn finished up his beer and scurried on out of there, smirking the whole way. Orville hitched up his pants, walked over to the bar and sat down heavily next to Slick, signaled for a beer from the tap. Better to quench his thirst before letting the beast out of the cage.

Orville took a deep drink, belched, licked his lips and turned to Slick. Orville had the perfect opening line, too, he knew just was he was gonna say to this spade. Before he could open his mouth, though, the big black bastard turned and spoke to him.