Six Bad Things Part 34

--He, you know, I told him you wanted to meet later so he's not coming by for awhile. So what about it?

--Weeell, you know I want to, but I still don't have any wheels.

There's a pause and a rustle, like maybe she's covering the mouthpiece.

--I could come and get you.

I keep my mouth shut, listening. I can still hear Hitler's nonstop barking. I flick some ash onto the carpet.

--You know what, baby, that's great, but I still think it's a bad call. I'm so wasted I'd probably just conk out right next to T. What time is your guy gonna show?

--Uh, well.

Another m.u.f.fled rustle.

--Around twelve.

I bend over and stub my cigarette out in T's overflowing ashtray.

--No, that's still too early. I really need to crash.

--I, well, baby that's up to you, but I don't think he.

--No problem, I want to talk to the guy, but if we can't do it later.

--No. I. When? I can probably.

--Just, you know, a little after six, maybe.

--OK, I'll need to.

--Hey, what's your address, anyway?

--Um, I.

I snap my fingers at Rolf and make little writing gestures in the air. He digs through the back issues of Mojo and Hustler that are piled on the coffee table and finds a ballpoint.

--What was that, Sandy?

--Um, 262 Jewel Avenue.

--262 Jewel Ave. Got it.

I watch as Rolf writes the address in the whiteness of a naked thigh on one of the magazine's covers.

--But, Wade, I should really talk to.

--No problem, I'll be there right around six and Terry will either be there or he won't.

Rolf is holding up his hand trying to get my attention.

--Gotta go, baby.

--OK, I'll. I'll call after I talk to Terry and.

--I'm gonna turn my phone off to get some sleep. I'll just see you at six.

Rolf is waving his arms now. I turn off the phone. Rolf stands up.

--Dude, the Chargers game is on tonight.

--So?

--Dude, it's a ESPN game. A Thursday night game, it starts at six.

--Rolf, believe me when I tell you, I know how you feel, but it's about having priorities right now.

--Yeah, I know. I know I'm being lame, but, dude, I really wanted to see that game.

--It won't take long. We'll see the second half.

I'm out of cigarettes again. I remember T getting a pack of smokes from the fridge. I head for the kitchen. Rolf sits back down.

--You don't think this chick and her guy are gonna freak when you show up with two extra dudes? 'Cause you know you ain't going over there without us.

I open the freezer and pull a pack out of one of the three cartons inside. I remember Wade's dad used to do that, keep his cigarettes in the freezer so they'd stay fresh longer. I wonder if that's where T got it. From Wade's dad. Wade. Did you keep your cigarettes in the fridge in your garage? Did you buy cartons and store them there and sneak out to smoke late at night? Did Stacy ever come out with you to have a couple drags and sip a beer? s.h.i.+t, Wade, oh s.h.i.+t.

--Dude.

I come back from where I was, close the freezer door, and open the pack of Marlboros.

--Sorry. Fazed out for a second. I think I need some food and some sleep.

--Sure, but answer the question?

--What?

--Why didn't you tell her you were bringing a couple extra dudes?

I light my fresh, cold cig and draw chilled smoke into my lungs.

--What's the point? If I tell her I'm bringing guests, she'll say no way. And, like you said, you aren't gonna let me go over there alone. We just show up? What are they gonna do? The guy's gonna want his five bills, so he'll have to talk. And if he doesn't want to talk, there are three of us there and he won't want to p.i.s.s us off. Either way he'll end up telling us where Tim is.

Rolf looks at the clock on the VCR; it's not even eight AM yet.

--We got some time to kill, dude.

--I'm gonna crash, you guys kill it however you want.

I GO to the room down the hall, take off my clothes, and lie back on the foam pad. I'm desperate for sleep, but I need to think first.

I think about our meet with Sandy at the strip club. After we talked she put the call in to her boss, this Terry guy. She said she left a message, that he'd call back. But she could have talked to him, told him there were guys looking for Tim. And he could have told her what to do: string us along, keep us out waiting for a call, keep us drinking and blowing crank. And then she just about begged us to come and party at her place. And she told T she didn't want him to bring Hitler.

Someone was waiting at her house when she got home with T. At least two guys who work for Terry. Or maybe two Russian gangsters reneging on their deal with Dylan and coming after me for the money. Take your pick.

So I'll go over to Sandy's and walk into whatever trap is waiting for me, because she's still the only lead I have on Timmy. But I'll bring Sid and Rolf with me.

Whoever's waiting over there won't be ready for Rolf and Sid. n.o.body is ready for Rolf and Sid. I just need to be ready, ready to grab T when the shooting starts.

I close my eyes.

The chemicals in my body are still fighting a pitched battle. My heart leaps and starts like a faulty engine.

I open my eyes.

They feel dry, almost cracked. My tongue is swollen and rough and my whole mouth is seared from inhaling smoke. I'll never be able to sleep.

I close my eyes.

And am swallowed whole by jungle, darkness, and nightmares.

I JOLT awake, covered in sweat. The scream sitting at the back of my mouth. I bite it and swallow it back down.

Sid is sitting on the edge of the foam pad, holding my arm. He's changed into a pair of T's black Levis and a pink bowling s.h.i.+rt with the name Al embroidered over the breast pocket. He releases my arm.

--Sorry to wake you, dude. You were totally having a nightmare.

I pull the blanket up to cover my body. He looks at me.

--You OK now?

I nod. He gets up. I tilt my chin at him.

--Nice threads.

He looks down at himself and tugs at the loose waist of the jeans.

--Yeah. They're a little big. Anyway, dude's taste is not mine, but I need some kind of disguise, I guess. I got some shades in my pack and a bandana I can like tie like a do-rag?

I nod.

He points at my cowboy hat sitting on the edge of T's desk.

--I get the cowboy thing, dude. I didn't when we saw you, but then I saw all the other cowboys at the strip club and remembered the signs for the rodeo. Good call.

--Not my idea.

--Good one, anyway.

The sun is s.h.i.+ning brightly through the hall window.

--What time is it? Can I catch a few more Zs?

--It's early, but you better get up, dude. We have some s.h.i.+t to figure out.

I nod. He steps to the door, stops, looks back at me.

--I know what that's like, dude, nightmares. If you ever want to talk, or.

He shrugs once. And leaves the room.

Sid was so high-strung when I met him at the motel in Barstow that I a.s.sumed that was what he was like. I was wrong. This is the real Sid; shy, pensive, glum. He was up at the motel because of what had happened in the strawberry field. He was up from killing Deputy Fischer. But the high has worn off. He'll be wanting that high again. Soon.

I get up and dress.

WE HAVE a new car.

I peek out the living room window and see one of the most fabulously nondescript automobiles ever manufactured. I turn to Rolf.

--Chevy Cavalier?

--I know, dude, but it's not like I was looking for style. I needed something easy to rob.

--Where'd you get it?

--I hopped one of those CAT buses and rode over to UNLV. Got it out of the parking lot.

--Gas?

--Dude, I'm not a f.u.c.king amateur. I stopped by a Sh.e.l.l and filled it up and checked the oil and s.h.i.+t.

--What happened to the car you boosted last night?

Sid looks up from the TV. As promised, he has tied a red and white bandana over his head and is wearing chrome-finish sungla.s.ses that fit his face tightly, like a pair of welding goggles.

--The cops will be looking at stolen car reports from anywhere near where we dumped the Westy. That thing is no good for us.

--Where is it?

Sid looks away, embarra.s.sed.

--About a half mile up the road. At the Super 8 we checked in to.

I stare at him.

--A half mile?

--Dude, I know.