Charlie Huston - Caught Stealing

– Look here. See how the bruises are knobbed and distinct? The skin is abraded in each of the bruises.Torn. This kind of bruising you get when someone wears brass knuckles. Or sometimes, you see it if the perpetrator wears several rings.

I think about Ed and Paris in the hall outside my apartment. I think about them knocking on Russ’s door, knocking with their hands covered in silver rings.Naked women and skulls. Roman puts the picture in my hand. I look at it and think about Yvonne in herKnicks jersey, spooned against me on her futon.

– Your legal problems are significant, but not insurmountable. I can help you there. More importantly, you have enemies, enemies who are fierce. I can help you there as well.To get away or to get revenge.

I think about the first time I slept with Yvonne, how drunk we were, how we laughed. I think about her hands, callused, scarred and covered in small burns from her work. I look again at the picture of her sweet neck mottled, red, black and blue. Roman watches me.

– Did you give them the key?

– No.

– Did you tell them where it is?

– No.

– Where is it?

– It’s at the bar. It’s in the safe at the bar.

– Let’s go get it.

I’m staring at the picture, feeling the pain in my feet and listening to the rushing sound in my ears, and really, I’m just not that surprised when Bolo opens the car door, pushes me over and climbs in, wedging me tight between himself and Roman just like Red is now wedged into the backseat between the Russians, who are wearing their tracksuits again. In the rearview, I can see Red’s face, a huge gauze pad over his nose held in place by a big X of white tape. He looks at Roman, who is starting the car.

– I told you it was the bar.

Bolo adjusts himself in the seat to settle his bulk and looks down at Bud.

– Hey, man, how’s the cat?

– Spalding Gray.

– What the fuck, Spalding Gray? Who the fuck?

– Spalding Gray, he’s a, a,whaddayacallit, a performance, a monologist. He talks.

– Actors, fucking actors only.

– He is a fucking actor. He’s in movies, too.

– Bullshit.

Bolo and the Russians are playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Bolo is kicking their asses. Tempers are flaring. Bolo looks at his watch.

– Come on, man, Spalding Gray.

– I don’t know fucking Spalding. Fucking Spalding is a fucking ball.

– So forfeit the point.

– Fuck you.

Red is leaning forward against the back of the front seat. The Russians put their heads together behind him and whisper to each other. Bolo grins.

– Come on, forfeit, you don’t even know who the fuck he is.

– Fuck you.

Red flicks the back of my ear again. He’s been doing it for a few hours now but doesn’t seem to be getting bored. Sometimes he just moves like he’s going to do it so he can watch me flinch, then he laughs a little. The car smells like the coffee they keep getting from the grocery across the street and about a half hour ago someone started passing gas. Fortunately, Roman makes the Russians get out of the car when they want to smoke; otherwise it might be unbearable in here. Roman just sits there behind the wheel and keeps his eyes on the front door of Paul’s down the block and across the street.

– How much longer, do you think?

It’s getting close to 5:00A.M. and a handful of folks are still in the bar and Roman wants them out soon.

– I don’t know, sometimes Edwin will hang out partying till almost noon.

Roman runs his fingertips around the steering wheel and nods.

– Spalding Gray, Spalding Gray, Spalding Gray.

– Fuck you, fuck you,fuck you. Fucking, fuck, fuck, Spalding, fuck.

– Hey, man, is that your own rage you’re choking on or just bile?

– Forfeit, we fucking forfeit.Our turn.

Red also whispers into my ear from time to time, the same thing over and over.

– Pussy bitch, pussy bitch, pussy bitch.

– Christopher Lee!

Bolo laughs.

– Christopher Lee? Are you sure about that?

– Fucking Christopher Lee.

– OK. Lee to Peter Cushing in Horror of Dracula , Cushing to Carrie Fisher in Star Wars , Fisher to Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally , Crystal to Robin Williams in Father’s Day , Williams to John Lithgow in Garp , and, of course, Lithgow to Bacon in Footloose .

– Fuck! Fuck!

And again in my ear.

– Pussy bitch, pussy bitch,puuuuuuuussy bi-tch.

Bolo is still laughing.

– Christopher Lee! That your big gun, boys? Christopher Lee?

– Quit! Fucking fuck you, we fucking quit this fucking shit game.

– Yeah, fucking, yeah. Quit, you always fucking quit.

Right in my fucking ear.

– Pussy bitch, pussy bitch, pussy bitch.

I clear my throat.

– Hey, Roman, did Red mention that when he ran into me earlier today, not only did I kick his ass, but he tried to get the key for himself? “Fuck Roman,” is what he said. “Fuck Roman.” That was it, wasn’t it, Red? “Fuck Roman”?

The whispering in my ear stops and everything is really very quiet as Roman swivels around, crams the barrel of a small automatic in Red’s mouth, and pulls the trigger. There’s a muffled pop. A flashbulb goes off inside Red’s face and smoke shoots out his nose. The car is quiet and stinks and then I start screaming like a girl until Bolo clamps one of his hands over my mouth and shuts me up.

The Russians wrap what’s left of Red’s head in some old newspaper, dump him in the trunk and stay on the sidewalk to smoke as Bolo goes to the grocery. Me and Roman sit in the car with the windows rolled down to let out the stink of cordite, blood, and crap from Red’s bowels letting loose as he died.

5:23A.M. Saturday morning on Avenue B and the streets are empty; no witnesses, except maybe a junkie or a squatter, and who cares anyhow?

Roman looks at me and taps his upper lip. He points at my face and taps his lip again. I get the idea and wipe my lip with the back of my hand; it comes away bloody. Roman shakes his head and taps his lip again.

– No, there’s still some. Here.

He takes out a handkerchief and wipes it across my mouth and chin a couple times.

– There. Sorry about that.Messy.

He folds the bloody handkerchief and puts it back in his pocket.

– You’re sure you don’t know the combination?

– I’m sure.

– Well, I guess you’re going to have to go in and get the key.

The blood is still on the back of my hand, drying. I rub it against the seat to get it off.

– No. I don’t. I don’t want any more. I can’t do. I can’t. I’m so.

I’m trying to say something. Fear robs my voice and I gasp out half-finished words. Bud is getting squirrelly in my lap. All the action and noise and smells are riling him up and I’m trying to calm him, but it’s not working because he can feel how scared I am. Roman reaches over and takes him from me.

– Here, let me.

He holds Bud tight and starts scratching him behind the ears. Bud starts to settle and rubs his head against Roman’s chin.

– Give the cat back.

Roman stops and smiles a little.

– Sure.

He passes Bud back and I settle him in my lap. Roman leans forward, crosses his arms over the top of the steering wheel and rests his chin there.

– You see it happening, don’t you?Circumstances spinning out of control, out of your realm of experience. The world you know is receding. I know. I know that the further you travel down this road, the less likely it is you will ever return to home.So.

– So what, man? So fucking what?

– So, if you can’t go in to get the key, then I guess we’ll have to go in and get the key.