Joe Lansdale - Mucho Mojo

Charlie stayed by the car, and Hanson walked across to MeMaw’s where we were working.

“You boys got a moment?” he said.

We put up our materials and crossed the street and went into the house with them. Before we could get seated at the kitchen table, Hanson said, “Charlie’s in on it, boys. I had to have some help.”

I looked at Charlie. He looked the way he always looked. Calm, a little bored, old-looking for his age, disinterested, dumb. I figured he was about as dumb and disinterested as the proverbial fox. When we were seated, I said, “OK. How’d it go?”

“Well, he was down there,” Hanson said.

“Identify him?” Leonard said.

“It’s Illium Moon. Looks like a suicide. Providing you accept the old bookmobile in the pond method.”

“That’s unusual, all right,” I said.

“I’ve seen weirder,” Hanson said. “I seen a guy that had frayed a lamp cord, plugged the good end into a socket, put the frayed end in a cup of water, along with his dick. Barbecued that fucker.”

“His dick?” Leonard said.

“The rest of him too,” Hanson said.

“About Illium,” I said. “Find the goods on the couch?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“I think it’s like you guys think,” Hanson said. “A setup. It’s too goddamned cute.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Some of those kids’ clothes were new. Could be of recent victims, but we don’t think so.”

Hanson said, “Whoever did Moon in wanted to make him look like he killed some kids and had some souvenirs from the killings, but he didn’t want to give up his own souvenirs, ’cause I’m sure he’s got ’em. A killer like this has always got ’em. A few magazines he’s willing to lose, but the actual clothes his victims wore, that’s much too special for a dick like this.”

“Couldn’t part with the stuff,” Charlie said, “so he went and bought some at Kmart. I checked myself. Kmart is where I like to shop.”

“They got some deals all right,” I said.

“Yeah, and they take shit back easy, it don’t fit right,” Charlie said.

“I know a man likes Wal-Mart for that same reason,” I said.

“Yeah, well,” Charlie said, “Wal-Mart’s all right.”

“You guys through shopping?” Hanson said.

“He’s always business,” Charlie said. “He don’t get any recreation.”

Hanson ignored him. He got out his sloppy-ended cigar and put it in his mouth and did the side-to-side routine with it. He said, “Some of the jeans are brands and styles not made until this year. There might be one authentic piece in there, something belonged to one of the dead boys, but that’s it. And I’d stake my career on it.”

“Actually, way this is going,” Charlie said, “you’re staking my career on it too.”

“Wouldn’t that be a loss?” Hanson said. He turned to us. “Newspapers are gonna be bad to Moon, I think. I can’t do anything about that. We can hold off what we found a little while, but not long. Best thing we can do is prove the truth here, show he’s been set up. You boys look at the files?”

“Sure.” I said.

“Anything?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Don’t be coy,” he said, “we had a deal.”

“Still do,” Leonard said. “The deal is we let you in on what we know when we want you to know it.”

Hanson took the cigar out of his mouth and put it in his coat pocket and took a deep breath like his chest hurt. I hurt with him. I wasn’t sure we were right in holding anything back. I was still going by Leonard’s rules, but I wasn’t certain how much longer I could do that. I was getting scared.

“Listen,” Hanson said. “I’m playing with you guys ’cause I think you got something and I want it and I don’t want to climb mountains to get it. But you start thinking we’re too cozy, start thinking this is all play, I’ll wring your fuckin’ necks for you. I’ll throw you so far under the goddamn jail you’ll be wearing a coolie hat.”

“Damn,” Leonard said, “I think my pulse just jumped a little.”

Hanson seemed to swell. “Fuck with me, you smart-ass motherfucker, just fuck with me, see where it gets you.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you with Hap’s dick,” Leonard said. “Hell, I wouldn’t fuck you with Charlie’s dick.”

Hanson moved toward Leonard, and Charlie caught him, and I put an arm across Leonard’s chest. I said, “Boys, let’s ease off, now.”

Hanson took a deep breath. He tried to smile but made a face like a man that had just found a dog turd in his mouth. “All right,” he said. “All right, I’m OK. I’ll play your way. But only for a little while. A very goddamn little while.”

A night of heat lightning. A giant bed.

Leonard had found that the couch was more to his liking for some reason, so the bed had stayed mine. That had been all right when Florida was around, but now I felt I ought to try and get him to trade. I decided that would be an important topic of conversation tomorrow. Why I should have the fold-out couch and he should have the bed. It was the time of night when stuff like that seemed significant.

I lay there and counted sheep, tried to remember the name of every dog I had ever owned, attempted to let my mind go blank, all the stuff you do when you’re restless, but I still couldn’t sleep. I thought about Florida. The way she smiled and talked, the nights we had spent together. That special first night we had made love, that night out at the overlook when I thought our relationship was cementing.

I thought about Hanson. I wanted to be mad at him, but he hadn’t done anything but respond to what was there to respond to. Hell, I liked the big bastard. Really. He was a swell guy. I just hoped his dick would fall off.

I got up and sat by the window awhile and watched the heat lightning leap around. When that bored me, I watched the drug sellers and their clients. The clients came and went as brisk as patrons at a drive-through hamburger joint. I attempted to listen in on conversations, but all I could hear was talking that sounded like bees buzzing, that and occasional bursts of laughter and the sound of their music, which from where I sat was mostly the throb of the bass line; I felt it more than I heard it.

When I tired of that, I put on my sweatpants and did a few Hapkido moves, shadowboxed a bit, then turned on the end-table light, stretched out on the bed, and tried to get back into reading The Hereafter Gang.

I was managing to do that when along about midnight I heard a noise, like whimpering. Then there was a slight banging under the house, followed by silence.

I listened a moment, and it didn’t repeat itself. I figured a dog had gotten up under there, bumped its head, and moved on, but I was too nervous to let it be. Lately, with the stuff we’d found and the assholes next door, a bird chirped, Leonard cut a fart, I was ready to leap.

I turned off the reading light, got out of bed, put on my shoes, got my. 38, and went out into the living room.

Leonard was up and putting on his shoes. I wasn’t the only one hearing things. There was enough moonlight in the room I could see his face. He nodded at me. He went over to the closet and opened it quietly and got the twelve-gauge pump.

“Front or back?” he said.

“Front.”

“Get the door, count twenty-five slowly. That’ll time us close.”

I went to the door and quietly as possible freed the locks. I was up to fifteen on my counting when I heard Leonard open the back door and slip out. The shitass was counting too fast. I opened the front door and darted onto the front porch, bending low.

The outside was lit with starlight and the clean silver rays of the moon, and off in the east was the heat lightning. I could see quite well, but there wasn’t anything to see.