Giles Blunt - No Such Creature

“I don’t know, Max. He doesn’t seem all that smart to me.” “I warrant you, sir”-Max flapped his hands against the table in a series of tiny slaps-“Billy Bob Bonehead knows exactly where the tigress hides.”

The one named Stu hadn’t driven very far when he pulled over into a parking lot. From what Roscoe had seen so far, Stu was the comparatively sane one of the three, but he was agitated now-sweating heavily, cursing every other car, and driving off the shoulder and back on, over the white line and back, though the car didn’t smell of alcohol. And now they were sitting in the parking lot of an insurance company, closed at this hour. There were no other cars in the lot. It was raining again, and Roscoe wondered if this would be the last time he would hear that sound, fat drops exploding on metal.

“Okay,” Stu said, “I’m gonna let you eat your burger now.”

“My hands are cuffed behind my back, Stu. Why don’t you take the cuffs off for a second-or at least put ’em in front?”

“No way. I’ll feed it to you.”

He unwrapped the foil from the burger, and the smell of fried meat billowed through the car. He held the burger in front of Roscoe’s face, and Roscoe took a big bite. These guys hadn’t been too regular about feeding him, so it was definitely the finest burger of his life. This was a good sign, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t buy him a burger if they were planning to kill him, right?

“You want some root beer? I got you a root beer.”

“Root beer. Sure. What’s going on, Stu?”

Stu didn’t answer. He held out the paper cup and straw, and Roscoe took a long sip. The ice had melted, making the root beer watery, but it tasted as good to him as champagne. For the next few minutes Roscoe couldn’t do anything but eat and drink.

“Man,” he said when it was done, “I give that burger a ten out of ten. Thank you.”

“Sit back now.”

Stu started the car again and pulled out into the traffic.

“Where we going, Stu?”

“I told you. The train station. Ship you home.”

“You’re going the wrong way. I’ve been to Dallas before. I know where the train station is.”

“We’re going to the suburban one. Less crowded.”

“Uh-huh. Stu, are you aware there is root beer all over your back seat? Blood, too. Looks like someone had a hell of an accident back here.”

“That’s right. Someone had a hell of an accident.”

They passed turnoffs for Plano and Rockwall. Roscoe hitched forward a little on the seat.

“Where’s Clem, Stu?”

“Who knows? Took the day off.”

“Took the day off, huh? He know people in Dallas?”

“Search me. I don’t know Clem that well.”

“No? You seemed to get along pretty good. I figured you two for-well, not old buddies exactly-but long-time colleagues, so to speak.”

“We’ve known each other awhile.”

“So would this be Clem’s blood on the back seat here?”

“Stop talking.”

They drove another ten minutes, then Stu exited onto a boulevard that ran under an expressway. It was down to one lane owing to construction. He veered around a ROAD CLOSED sign and pulled off onto an undeveloped area that was just scrub grass and sandy soil. He switched off the car, and there was only the clatter and hiss of the expressway overhead.

Stu got out and took a shovel out of the trunk. He opened the back door. “Okay, Jeopardy. Now we dig.”

“You expect me to dig my own grave?”

“Don’t panic. It’s not for you.”

“Why am I here, if it’s not for me? What happened to the train station?”

“It’s not for you, I said. It’s for Clem.”

“Uh-huh. Zig killed him?”

“Just get out and start digging.”

“Start digging or you’ll what? Frankly, Stu, I don’t see a lot of downside if I just sit right here in this car. What’re you gonna do, shoot me?”

Stu looked off in the distance and sighed. “I knew you were gonna say something like that.” He folded his arms and looked up at the sky-or where the sky would have been if they weren’t underneath an expressway. The overhead traffic sounded like a waterfall.

“Anyway, how am I supposed to dig with my hands cuffed behind my back?”

“I’ll cuff ’em in front.”

“And then I come at you with the shovel. Bash you over the head.”

“And I shoot you. Okay, fine. You’re right. That doesn’t work either.” Stu leaned on the shovel, thinking. “I could shoot you in the balls.”

“You think that’s going to improve my digging? Anyway, I don’t think you’re like that. It was Zig and Clem took my toes. No, no. You want a grave dug, pal, you’re gonna dig it yourself. I’ll just sit right here and watch.”

“Fuck,” Stu said. He flung his jacket into the car and started digging. Even though the expressway afforded some protection, a stiff wind had come up and was blowing rain all over him, though not enough to soften the ground. He soon started cursing.

“So what’d he kill him for?”

“Who you talking about?”

“Why’d Zig kill Clem?”

“You said that. I never said he did.”

“You said the grave was for Clem. Why’d he kill him?”

“Because Clem did something he shouldn’t have. Zig doesn’t like people who don’t listen.”

“So what’d Clem do that he shouldn’t have?”

“What do you care?”

“I don’t-but you should. You’re the one gotta work with the guy. What’d Clem do that got him the death sentence?”

“He was supposed to keep an eye on a certain party, and he didn’t do it.” Stu’s words came out between jabs of his shovel. “And now we don’t know where that party happens to be. I recognize it may seem like an overreaction.”

“Oh, no, Stu. Anybody’d do the same.”

“I admit Zig can be unreasonable.”

“Well, here’s a question for you-not trivial, for once. Here’s a guy shoots someone he works with for making a mistake. And here’s you. You saw him do it. What possible reason could Zig have for letting you live?”

“He respects me. He didn’t respect Clem.”

“Uh-huh. It seems pretty clear you don’t need me anymore. Which means you know where Max’s score is, or you know who knows. Are you betting your personal well-being on the notion that Zig can’t wait to share that money with you?”

“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to sweet-talk me.”

“Yes, I am. But that doesn’t make what I say any less true.”

“So you think I should let you go. On the possibility that Zig’s gonna kill me.”

“More than a possibility, Stu. Stop digging, for God’s sake. You and I have been around the block. We know how people work. Right away I figured you three guys out. You tell me if I’m wrong. There’s you: tough guy, get-ahead guy, but not a berserker, not a thug. Right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then there’s Clem. Not the smartest guy in the world. A follower. Kinda scared. He’ll do stuff he knows is wrong, real wrong, if it keeps him in good with the boss. Might even kill, if push comes to shove. Right?”

“Yeah, I’d say that pretty much covers Clem.”

“And Zig. Zig is a fucking psycho. Zig does not care how far he has to go to get what he wants. Knew it the minute you guys grabbed me. There’s no connecting with that guy. He’s missing whatever it is makes one human being recognize another. That’s why he formed the Subtractors. That’s why he works this way.”

“Subtractors?” Stu laughed and started digging again. “That’s a good one. You thought we were the goddamn Subtractors?”

“I can’t imagine what gave me that idea.”

“We’re not the Subtractors. The Subtractors are just a legend, man. The Subtractors are just a scary story.”