Charlie Huston: Six Bad Things

There’s no burn cream in Tim’s bathroom, but there is a bottle of aloe. We smear that over my scalded skin. There’s nothing to use as a burn bandage except some Saran Wrap from the kitchen. Sandy carefully wraps it around my knees, arm, shoulder, and neck. My face and hand will have to go without. She drapes a sheet around me like a toga and helps me into Tim’s room and I sit on the edge of the bed. T’s awake.

– My dog.

– I’m sorry, T.

– My fucking dog.

– I know.

– Gonna kill the fuckers.

Too late.

Sandy has already stripped him and wrapped a towel around his calf. It’s still bleeding. My hands are shaking from the speed and I don’t think I could hold a needle in my burned right hand anyway. And I could just black out again at any moment. Sandy shakes her head when I ask if she thinks she can sew him up. We have to stop the bleeding.

I give T two Percs and he goes out. I tell Sandy to try and clean up his face and I go in to the kitchen. I want two Percs. Really, I want all the Percs in the world, but I’ll have to live with the one I took back at El Cortez. In the kitchen I find a serving spoon. I turn one of the stove’s gas burners to high and set the handle of the spoon in the flame and go back to the room with a whiskey bottle. We unwrap T’s leg and bathe it in Tullamore Dew and I have Sandy hold a clean towel around it while I go for the spoon. I hold it, the glowing handle sticking out of a wet rag, and press it into one end of the hole in T’s calf. He jerks and I tell Sandy to hold the leg tighter and she gags at the sound and the smell and then it’s over. Then we do it again, cauterizing the other end of the hole, as well.

That’s all I can do for my friend. There’s a murdered body at his home and his car was seen speeding away from the scene of another murder and soon the cops will be after him, and when they catch him they will send his ass back to California and lock it up for the rest of his life.

So he has to go now.

SANDY DRESSES T in a pair of Tim’s shorts and a Les Paul Live at the Iridium sweatshirt. I find a pair of overalls that touch as little of my burned skin as possible.

T comes to as we slide him into the backseat of the Chrysler.

– What the fuck?

– Hey, T.

– What the fuck?

– Yeah, I got that.

Sandy gets behind the wheel and buckles herself in. I sit in the passenger seat, but don’t close the door. T focuses his good eye on me.

– You look all fucked-up, superstar.

– It’s going around.

– I wanna go home.

– I’m sorry, T, you can’t.

– Fuck you.

– I’m sorry about your dog, T.

– Said, fuck you.

– Thanks for helping me. I.

I shake my head, unable to finish. He reaches out a hand, puts it on my arm, and closes his eye.

– Fuck. You.

His hand slides off and he’s asleep again.

I close the door and go stand next to Sandy’s open window.

– You sure?

She runs a finger around the steering wheel and nods.

– Yeah. My fault he’s all fucked-up, anyway.

– OK. Just find a place out of the way, over the state line where the cops won’t look for him. Arizona, not California.

– I’ll find someplace safe.

– And get rid of the car as soon as.

– I will.

I show her the money belt, now stained with the blood of three men.

– Take what you need and give the rest to him.

– What about you?

– I don’t need money anymore.

I hand her the belt.

– Once he’s safe from the cops, go find a lawyer for yourself. You’ll be fine if you.

A car comes down the street and I duck to avoid the headlights as it passes. She points at Tim’s apartment.

– Get back inside.

– Yeah.

I touch her shoulder with my left hand. She brushes it off and starts the car and turns on the headlights and pulls away from the curb. And just like early yesterday morning, T and Sandy are driving away, leaving me alone. I watch until they turn the corner, and then go upstairs.

I GAVE Sandy some of the Percs to feed to T for his pain. I sit on Tim’s couch and spread the ten Percs I kept on the coffee table, right next to the Anaconda and Danny’s 9 mm.

IT’S GOING to be easy.

Doing this is going to be so easy.

DYLAN WILL come here to this address. He’ll come himself because he won’t trust anyone else to get his money. He may bring muscle, but he’ll come. I don’t care about muscle. I just need Dylan here.

At first I wanted him here so I could threaten him and force him to make a call, make him tell his men to back off. And then I could kill him. But that’s not the smart thing to do. I’ve finally figured out the smart thing. The smart thing is for me to die.

But I need him here for it to work. I need him to see my corpse with his own eyes. He’ll get the message. It’s over. The money is lost and it’s over. He’ll call in his dogs and leave Mom and Dad alone. Killing people costs a lot of money and it involves risk. Dylan is an asshole, but he’s also a businessman. After all, who’s gonna drop a nuclear bomb on their enemy when the enemy is already dead?

This is the smart thing. I’ve thought about it, and I’m sure.

I could use a gun, but I don’t have the guts. Funny that. So I swallow the Percs one by one, washing them down with Tim’s Tullamore Dew.

It’s nice, not having to worry anymore. Not having to worry about staying in control, about keeping it all together, about what to do next. I can just take these pills and they’ll do all the worrying for me. I love you Mom and Dad. But I don’t want to hurt people anymore.

– HOLA?

– Pedro, it’s me.

Silence.

– Pedro?

– Si?

– Have you seen the news, do you know?

– Si. I know.

– I should have told you.

Silence.

– How’s Leo?

– He will be OK.

– The police?

– We will be OK.

– OK.

Silence.

– How’s Bud? Is he?

– The cat is fine. The hijos love the cat.

– Good.

I hear a voice in the background, Ofelia. Pedro covers the mouthpiece and says something to her and then comes back on.

– I must go.

– Yeah, I’m sorry.

– No problema.

– Good-bye, Pedro.

– Via con Dios. Henry.

I hang up. My hand goes to my neck, but I’ve lost the holy medal he gave me. Where? Doesn’t matter. Not likely that any saints are going to be looking out for me these days.

I probably shouldn’t have made that call. But it was the closest I could get to calling home. I look at the clock. How long since I took the pills? How much longer will it take? My eyes drift shut. I open them. Not long.

I flick on the TV to pass the time. I flip past CNN and ESPN. Cartoon Network is doing a twenty-four-hour marathon of Christmas shows. I settle in to watch.

I black out.

I’M SITTING on Tim’s couch. The TV is on. It’s a cartoon. A Charlie Brown Christmas. It’s the part where Linus stands on the stage and the spotlight turns on and he explains the meaning of Christmas. My favorite part.

– Hank.

I turn my head. Tim is sitting next to me on the edge of the couch.

– Hey, Timmy.

– Thank God, man. I wasn’t sure you would ever wake up.

I point at the TV.

– Let’s watch this.

– OK.

We watch Linus finish his speech and then a commercial comes on. I turn back to Tim.

– Where ya been, Timmy?

– New York.

– No kidding. How’s the old neighborhood?

He shrugs.

– The same. You know.

– Yeah.

He reaches out a hand to touch me, but doesn’t.

– Hank, you look pretty messed up.

– Well, yeah.

– Maybe we should do something.