Joe Lansdale - Cold in July

“You know how to do all that?” Russel said. “You know about computers? Where’d you learn that?”

Jim Bob looked hurt. “A manual, you jackass. Hell, I’m smart as a whip. You know that. And I got sense enough to know you got to keep up with the times. Just because man was born with his butt hanging out didn’t mean he had to stay that way. He made clothes out of a bear’s hide, then cotton, then that synthetic shit. Same way with computers. That’s how things are now. You don’t keep up, it’s like some gal using the rhythm method instead of the pill. It don’t make sense.”

“Or,” Ann said, “it’s kind of like a man depending on a woman for birth control instead of caring enough to do something about it himself.”

“All right,” Jim Bob said. “You got your lick in. That too. And besides, you can get these little games to go with computers, and they’re neater’n hell. They got this one with this monkey that climbs a ladder and throws coconuts, and there’s all sorts of traps and pitfalls for the monkey, and it’s a challenge, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s some others I been wanting to try, but they don’t just give those dudes away, you know.”

“Guess this is what you meant when you told Russel Radio Shack, huh?” I said.

“Yeah. And by the way, you just bought yourself a computer and modem for your business, I don’t need one. I got a big system at home.”

“I don’t want to buy a computer, and you said your fee didn’t count expenses.”

“I consider this an exception,” Jim Bob said.

I started to argue with him but decided it wasn’t worth it. Jim Bob was like a force of nature. If you were going to deal with him, you had to accept the consequences. The hard part would be dealing with Ann later. I hoped I could convince her my business needed a computer. I refused to look at her; things would be bad enough with her after they left.

“All right,” I said. “I roll over. Tell us what you found out for Christsakes, and just get on with it.”

“Bottom line,” Jim Bob said, “is he’s in Houston, using the name Fred Miller. The question now is, do we want to take this thing any further.” Jim Bob turned to Russel. “He’s your son, Ben, and it’s your choice. If you want to find him, we’ll do it. If not, we’ll just let it go, find out what Dane wants to know and the rest of it is so much wind.”

“He doesn’t sound like what I had in mind,” Russel said.

“He’s your son and you’ve come this far,” Jim Bob said, “and now that he’s away from that Dixie Mafia bunch, maybe things could be different. I don’t think he’s gonna be singing no hymns or nothing, but he might turn out all right. He might not even have been into anything real bad, just found out some real bad things. Maybe he squealed cause it was getting on his conscience… On the other hand, things could turn out a lot worse than you can imagine.”

Russel looked at me. “If you still have a mind to finance me so you can find out what you want to knou want ow too, then I’m for going on.”

“Can’t turn back now,” I said. “I’ve got to know.”

“See it through no matter what it costs you, huh?” Ann said.

I looked at her. “Sorry, but yeah.”

She shook her head but didn’t say anything.

“All right then,” Jim Bob said, “we do it. Tomorrow night, late, we leave this chickenshit town. I got me a promise to keep tomorrow, and I won’t be free till late.”

“What kind of promise?” Russel asked.

Jim Bob grinned. “Well, I promised this sweet little thing that works at the hotel restaurant that she could have my undivided attention all day, and I don’t break my promises. Besides, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly to deny her what may be the most rewarding experience of a lifetime.”

“I said it earlier,” Ann said, “and I’ll say it again. You don’t lack for confidence.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jim Bob said.

I woke up about three in the morning and rolled out of bed and sat on the edge and thought about the dream I’d had. I couldn’t quite recall it, no matter how hard I tried, but it had been dark and dreary and very sad. There were tears on my face. I think maybe I dreamed I died and no one cared. It didn’t make much sense.

I sat there thinking about it, and Ann rolled over and touched my back.

“You’ve got to see this thing through?”

“I do,” I said.

“I just have this horrid feeling it’s all going to turn out so ugly, baby.”

I didn’t tell her I felt exactly the same way. It was like I was a toy windup soldier pointed in a direction I couldn’t alter. I had no choice but to go until I wound down. The thought of being driven made me think of Russel, his dissatisfaction with life, the feeling that there was a hole in him and his soul was rushing out of it and he didn’t know if he could get it back. How did that happen? Could it happen to me?

“You’ll be careful?” Ann asked.

I turned back onto the bed and took her in my arms and pulled her to me and smelled the scent of her so strongly that there were tears in my eyes.

A man without a soul didn’t have anything to cry about, so I considered the tears a good sign.

“Please tell me you’ll be careful,” Ann begged.

“I will,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”

Jordan and I love you. We need you.”

I had needed my father, but he had left me. My mother had left me and I had needed her. I couldn’t remember either of them ever needing me. I thought of Dad holding me that last time and looking at me and telling me he loved me.

“Jesus,” I said.

“Make love to me,” Ann said. “Don’t worry about anything. Just make love to me.”

I kissed her and did just that. When we were finished, I lay there holding her. She smelled wonderful, an aroma concocted of perfume and sweat and sex. There in the bad light she looked very young, like the girl I had fallen in love with so many years ago. Her skin seemed smooth and untroubled by lines of worry, just the way it had been when she was young and things were simple and sleep canceled out all pain.

I nuzzled in her hair and felt her warmth and solid-ness, felt myself filling up again with life and soul and everything that was good.

But I knew it wouldn’t last.

Damn me, I knew it wouldn’t last.

When I awoke, I was disoriented. The world had been spun around and my bed had shrunk during the night. I started to call for Ann when I realized where I was. On the outskirts of Pasadena, Texas, at Jim Bob’s house in the spare bedroom. Jim Bob was upstairs and Russel was asleep on the couch in the living room.

I sat on the side of the bed and scratched my head and thought about coffee. Last night seemed like a dream, a bad dream. We had left LaBorde about midnight, and I had fallen asleep in the backseat of the Red Bitch, awakening as if from a violent mugging.

I remembered sitting up in the seat of the car as we went over the Ship Channel bridge and seeing the water and ships out there and later the foundries as we entered Pasadena. There was something grim and alien about those places with their smokestacks chugging dark, stinking loads to the sky, and every time I saw those foundries, especially at night when great spurts of fire shot skyward from tall, narrow pipes to mix with the foul smoke, I was reminded of Dante’s Hell. I thought it must be dreadful to work at those foundries, out there in all that heat and smoke and stink, those chemicals and boilers constantly cocked for disaster.

The thought of all that put me back down in the seat, and I drifted off to the sound of Jim Bob and Russel talking about old times, their words losing meaning, becoming a drone, having an effect on me not too unlike a mother’s cradle song. When next I understood a word, it was Jim Bob tugging my shoe and calling my name, trying to get me awake.