Charlie Huston - Six Bad Things

I turn off all the lights, draw the curtains and shades so that the room is nearly black, and lie on top of the bedspread of my own bed. The clock radio on the nightstand glows 4:46 PM. I close my eyes. And I am instantly wired and restless. I lie on the bed with my eyes closed, praying desperately for a sleep that seems to be creeping further and further away, until, over an hour later, I finally give in and turn on the game.

And when that is over and sleep is still no closer, I surrender again to weakness, take two Percs, and return to the jungle.

I AM back at Chichen Itza, on top of Kukulkan. It is night. I’m alone, looking out at the darkness, the jungle black against the slightly lighter sky. I hear someone behind me and I turn. It’s Willie Mays, dressed in San Francisco Giants’ home whites. I smile.

– Say hey, Willie.

He smiles back at me.

– Say hey, kid.

He has a bat in his right hand, the barrel resting casually against his shoulder, and he’s tossing a ball up and down with his left. I point at myself.

– You won’t remember, but we met when I was a kid. I did a Giants fantasy camp and you visited one day and gave a hitting clinic.

– Sure, I remember you. You had a cap with Dodgers Suck written on the bottom of the bill.

– That is so cool that you remember. You signed a ball for me that I still have. Or, I don’t have it, ’cause it was in my apartment when I got into some trouble a few years ago. So now it’s maybe at my folks’ place or maybe the super or a cop or someone stole it. I don’t know.

– I heard about that, that trouble you were in. How’d that turn out?

– Don’t know, it’s still happening.

– What’s that about, kid? What’s all this trouble about? Kid like you in all this trouble.

– I wish I could tell you.

– What are you thinking out there, doing all that stuff?

– I dunno.

– I do. You’re not thinking, that’s the problem. Smart kid like you, if you just think things through, you’ll always do the smart thing.

– Ya think so?

– I know so.

– Thanks.

– Kid with skills like yours. Yeah, I remember you, eight years old and I could tell you were a pro soon as I saw you. You could have been the greatest Giant ever.

He winks.

– Or the second greatest, anyway.

– Nobody will ever be greater than you, Willie.

– Weeeell.

– Nobody.

– Nice of you to say that, kid. Look, let me give you some advice.

– Sure.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. Willie tucks his ball away and gets into his hitting stance.

– It’s about your swing.

Another tap. I turn. It’s Mickey, wearing a Dodgers cap and holding up a ball and a Sharpie.

– Excuse me, Mr. Mays.

I frown at him.

– Wait your turn.

I look back at Willie. He’s stroking the bat through an imaginary strike zone.

– And keeping your balance back like this.

Tap.

– Mr. Maaaaaays!

I turn.

– Look, you’re not even a Giants fan, so wait your turn.

I turn to Willie, who is putting the bat back on his shoulder.

– If you do all that, you’ll bring your average up at least ten points.

– But.

TAP!

– Williiiiiiiieeeeee!

I spin.

– Wait! Your! Turn!

And I shove Mickey. And he stumbles back. And he balances at the edge. One foot raised. Arms waving. Ball and pen still clutched. And then he falls.

All.

The.

Way.

Down.

Willie and I stand there, looking down into the darkness. He shakes his head.

– See what I’m saying, kid? You didn’t think about that at all, did you?

– HEY, HEY, baby, you OK?

I open my eyes. A pretty girl is sitting on the side of my bed. She has long black hair with sharp straight bangs, an amazing body, and is wearing very little. I come back from the jungle and remember her name.

– Hey, Sandy.

– Nightmare?

– Uh-huh.

My eyes don’t want to stay open, they keep sliding me into darkness. Sandy’s are doing the same.

– Me too. I love Percs, but they fuck with your dreams.

I drag my eyes open.

– My dreams are always fucked.

She scratches her head.

– Can I get in with you?

– Sure.

I hold the covers up and she gets in and spoons her back against my front. She smells good.

– You smell good.

– Thanks.

She yawns. I yawn. She reaches a hand out to the radio.

– Can I put on some music?

My eyes are closed again.

– Sure.

I hear stations flip by and then a DJ for UNLV radio talking and then Nick Drake sings “Place to Be.” Sandy sighs.

– I love this song.

My eyes are closed again.

– Yeah.

– Wade?

I’m almost asleep again, but the name of my dead friend brings me back.

– Yeah?

– What did you see when you looked in my house? When we were running away?

Bad things.

– Nothing, really.

– What do you think happened to T?

Bad things.

– I think they killed him.

– Your friends?

– They’re not my friends, but yeah.

Her breathing is getting deep.

– Sandy?

– Umhunh?

– Why did you let T go? Why did you unlock his cuffs?

– I told you, I like T. I was getting ready to go out the window and I wanted him to go too. But he didn’t.

No, he didn’t. He tried to help me instead. She twists her head around to look at me.

– What about us? Will those guys try to find us?

Hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, they’ll try to find me. What else do they have now? And Sandy? She’s a witness. Sid will want her.

– They might.

She reaches back, finds my hand, and pulls it around her like an extra blanket.

– So then we have to stick together.

I count the people who have been hurt or been killed because they’ve stuck with me. Like counting backward from ten when you’re on an operating table, I am asleep before the pain starts.

I wake up and find Sandy sitting at the bottom of my bed, eating French toast from a room-service tray. I pull back the covers. Sandy looks at me over her shoulder. She chews and swallows the food in her mouth.

– Morning, Henry.

The tube is on, but Sandy isn’t watching MTV.

THEY FOUND Sid and Rolf’s hot car at the Super 8. The clerk identified Sid and was able to give a good description of Rolf. So they have a sketch of him now. There’s a decent chance someone who knew him in San Diego or Mexico will see it and identify him.

There’s also some footage of Danny standing with one of the lawyers from O.J.’s defense team, but I make Sandy change the channel before I have to hear them say anything. Sandy is taking it all pretty well.

– It’s just a relief more than anything else. Like when you know you’ve seen an actor in a movie before, but can’t figure who he is. Or the name of a song you can’t remember? How annoying is that? I mean, I knew you had to be wanted for something. But I was like, who is this guy? I saw something on the news about something happening in California a couple days ago, but I had no idea you were supposed to be here. Weird. And now I’m thinking I almost hope those assholes that killed T and Terry find us, ’cause I got you on my side.

At first I thought she was so wired because she got some good sleep, but then I realized she had found the last three bindles of crank in T’s jacket. I watch as she dips the tip of her cigarette into the yellowish powder and then lights up, giving herself a little freebase hit on her first drag.

– Wheeew, that’s good. Sure you don’t want some?

– No.

My body is still trying to wring out the last of the poisons I’ve been dumping in it, but at least I got some real sleep. I have that stupid feeling you get when you sleep too much. I look at the clock. 9:27. Shit, I slept almost twelve hours. I go to the curtains and pull them open. It’s dark out. Sandy laughs.