Charlie Huston - Six Bad Things

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

– It’s early, but you better get up, dude. We have some shit 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 assumed 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 fucking amateur. I stopped by a Shell and filled it up and checked the oil and shit.

– 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 sunglasses 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, embarrassed.

– 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.

– A half fucking mile?

Rolf puts his hands up palm out.

– Dudes, chill. Even if they find it.

– When they find that car they’re gonna wrap up this whole area. We have to go.

Sid points to Rolf.

– Told you, dude.

– Dude! You said it’d be cool.

– Well, you were all, We can’t walk too far. So, I was, like, OK, we can leave it at the motel, but we don’t want to be around it too long, and you were all, No prob, we’ll scoop up Hank and be outy. So, yeah, I said it was cool to be here for a little while, but dude, not this long.

They grab their day packs while I collect the cell phone and my hat and put on my boots. Rolf goes out and starts the Cavalier. Sid and I wait inside for him to beep, telling us the coast is clear. The car horn sounds, and Sid starts to open the door. I put a hand on his shoulder.

– Hang on.

I run back to the spare room and find the map I bought at the ampm. I head back to the front door, but stop at the bathroom. My head feels like badly scrambled eggs. As much as I need to clean it out and get it straight, I also need to be mellow and clear for the next hour. I open the medicine cabinet and get out the Percs. I try to shake one onto the palm of my hand, but a whole pile tumbles out. I put one in my mouth, start to drop the others back into the bottle, and shove them in my pocket instead. T may be in bad shape. He may need them. That’s what I tell myself.

SID AND I pile into the car, me in the back and Sid up front. Rolf pulls away from T’s trailer and stops at the exit from the park. Sid and Rolf look left. Down the highway I can see the Super 8 sign, sticking up above the telephone poles. Rolf elbows Sid.

– See, dude, no problem.

– Whatever.

– Well, where to?

Where to? It’s just after two PM. I slept for almost six hours. Might as well get started.

– Got that address?

Rolf pulls the scrap of Hustler cover from the tight pocket of his leather pants.

– 262 Jewel.

I uncrumple the map and spread it on my lap. I point to the right.

– That way.

– Dude, I thought we weren’t supposed to show till six?

I check our route on the map. Jewel Avenue is just a few miles away. Ten minutes at most.

– No problem. She kept saying the sooner the better. And this way, we’ll be done in time for kickoff.

Rolf flicks his turn signal and takes the right.

SANDY LIVES in a pink stucco tract house with a roof of fake ceramic tiles. There’s a tidy little lawn out front with a sprinkler waving water over it. A red Miata with a dented back end is parked in the driveway. T’s Chrysler and a black Land Cruiser are at the curb. Rolf drives past, flips a U-turn, and parks across the street. We sit there, the engine running, and Rolf adjusts the rearview mirror so he can see me without turning around.

– Dude, remember all that shit about me not being a tool?

I poke at one of the bruises on my torso.

– Yeah.

– Just for the record, I know something is fucked-up here.

I can see only his eyes in the mirror, staring at mine. I shrug.

– OK.

He turns around.

– What I’m saying, dude, is, let’s not fuck around here. For everybody’s spiritual and physical well-being. Is there anything going on in there we need to know about?

I look at the house, then back at him.

– I don’t know what you want me to say, man. You were there when I took the calls. Far as I know, Sandy took my buddy T home with her, he passed out, she got the call from her guy, and now we’re here. Are they gonna be displeased I brought friends? Sure as shit they are. Do I think it’s gonna be trouble? No. Could the whole thing be a setup? Shit, man, anything can be a setup. Should we be on our toes? Well, it always pays to be prudent, right? That’s all I can say. If it’s not good enough, we can drive out of here and wait for her to call again and set up something else. But I’d just as soon get this done.

He looks me over, turns back around, and looks at Sid. Sid nods. Rolf reaches under the dash and untangles the two red wires twisted together there, and the engine dies.

– OK. But, dude, if it’s fucked in there? Sooner or later we’re just gonna get sick of your shit and kill you, money or no.

He opens his door and gets out. Sid tucks his pistol into the rolled waistband of his too-loose jeans, drops the tail of his shirt over it, and we get out and follow Rolf.

From the porch we can hear Hitler barking somewhere inside the house.

Rolf taps me.

– That your buddy’s dog?

– I guess.

– What’s he pissed about?

– Nothing, he always barks.

I face Sid and Rolf.

– All paranoia aside, guys, let’s remember these are just some mellow potheads. Try to be mellow too, OK?

Rolf shrugs.

– Hey, dude, they be mellow, we be mellow.

Sid adjusts the pistol in his waistband.

– Whatever.

I ring the bell.

Hitler’s barking gets louder. I wait a minute, ring again, and hear what sounds like someone shouting at Hitler to shut up. We wait another minute, then Rolf nudges me.

– Ring again, dude.

– Hang on, they’re probably sleeping or fucking or something.

Or getting ready to jump us.

– Just ring.

He reaches past me and pushes the button three times in a row and Hitler gets even louder.

– Hang on! Who is it?

Sandy’s voice, right on the other side of the door.

– Sandy! It’s me, Wade.

Barking.

– Hey, baby, what’s up?

– I’m here. Open up.

Barking.

The door opens a crack and Sandy’s face is framed in the five-inch gap.

– Hey, hey, Wade.

– Hey, I got my shit together a little early and thought I’d come by.

– Yeah, uh.

She’s looking past me to Rolf and Sid.

– Sorry, these are my buddies. They gave me a lift over. Is your guy around, or?

– Uh, uh, yeah, he’s here, but.