Christian Kiefer - The Animals

So what does that mean?

Means I’ll either have to move back there or hire someone to take care of her.

Dang, Nat said. Move back there?

I don’t know what else to do at this point. I’m pretty much out of time.

It was silent for a long moment and then Nat said quietly, I can’t move back.

I’m not asking you to.

No, I mean, Johnny Aguirre told me that I can’t leave. He said if I leave he’d find me. And he knows I’m from BM.

How does he know that?

He asked me when he was giving me the first loan.

Rick looked out into the casino now. Christ, man, you really got yourself in it, didn’t you.

I didn’t mean to, he said. It just kind of happened.

I don’t get it, Rick said. I don’t get it at all.

I’m trying to pull it together.

Are you?

Yeah, Nat said. Totally.

Seems like you’re just digging yourself deeper.

What do you want me to say?

Rick shook his head. I’m done talking about it, he said. He looked up past Nat and called out, Hey, babycakes.

Susan had arrived and she slid into the booth next to Rick. How are the boys? she said.

Boys are OK, Rick said. He glanced over at Nat briefly. How is the girl?

The girl is tired of stupid video store questions, she said. Do you have that one movie about that guy who did that thing? Um yeah, we have that. It’s over there. She gestured vaguely around the room. I swear I’m going to shoot someone one of these days.

Did you get a video machine? Rick asked.

I tried, she said. Everyone wants one for the weekend.

Damn, Rick said. That’s too bad.

Yeah, well, the store’s pretty much picked through anyway.

Rick shrugged and then lifted his coffee cup and sipped at it.

I gotta hit the bathroom, Nat said.

He slid out of the booth and skirted the slot machines and then stood at the mirror in the bathroom, staring at his own reflection. There were no thoughts now, no guilt or fear, only his own face staring back, his eyes, his hair, his mouth. His hands on the edge of the sink. This is who you are. And no one can save you.

He turned on the tap and splashed water into his face and when he stood upright once more he thought the image of Johnny Aguirre staring back at him from the mirror was only his imagination. But then that reflected image spoke: You’re a hard guy to track down.

Mike stood next to Johnny. On the other side stood a large, block-shaped man Nat did not recognize. He felt himself go cold. His finger throbbed.

Johnny, he said, his voice wobbling. I was just thinking about you.

Were you?

Totally.

Turn around.

He did.

Behind them the door opened and Mike’s hand caught it. Bathroom’s closed, he said.

Uh … my friend’s in there, Rick’s voice came.

Who’s your friend?

Nat Reed.

He’s busy, Mike said.

Uh … I think I can help, Rick said.

Mike looked up at Johnny. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day, Johnny said. Mike smiled. The other man, the one Nat did not recognize, only stood there expressionless, his face mashed in like a gangster from some old black-and-white movie.

All right, Johnny said. It’s a party. Open the door.

Mike pulled the door open and Rick stepped into the bathroom, Mike frisking him quickly, Rick finding Nat across the room, their eyes locking for one single moment.

So who are you?

Rick Harris.

All right, so here’s the question, Rick Harris: Does your friend have money for me or does he not?

Rick had moved to stand next to Nat and now he looked back at the trio standing near the door: Johnny and his two bodyguards. Yeah he’s got money, he said. He just got paid on Monday.

That true, Nat? Johnny said.

Nat was silent for a long moment, his eyes on the floor.

What the fuck? Rick said. You just picked up your check two days ago.

Still Nat did not respond. He could feel himself falling out of his body somehow and he could feel himself stuck inside it, not only his body but the town, the desert, the basin from which no river reached the sea.

This is starting to get pretty old, Johnny said.

Whoa whoa whoa, Rick said. Hang on.

Nat looked up now. Johnny held a black pistol in his hand, its angles square and sharp.

We’ll get you the money, Rick said.

Yeah, I’m sure you will, Johnny said.

He stepped forward then and with one quick fluid motion struck Nat in the side of the face with the pistol. Nat went down all at once, the pain sharp and terrible, and in the red darkness he could hear Johnny’s voice: Get the fuck back.

Jesus Christ, Rick said. I told you we’d get you the money.

Keep your hands where I can see them, Johnny said.

Let me give you what I have in my wallet. Can I do that?

He opened his eyes then. His face felt warm and he knew he was bleeding. His finger throbbed where he had jammed it when he fell and his face felt like it had simply exploded, the pain arcing into his jaw, his eyes, his skull. Above him, Mike had taken Rick’s wallet.

Eight dollars, Mike said.

Eight dollars? Johnny was smiling now and when he said the number again his voice broke into a laugh. Eight dollars? You two are like peas in a pod. Un-fucking-believable. Eight dollars?

The door behind them cracked open and the other man said, Bathroom’s closed for cleaning, and slammed the door with a loud crack.

What’s your name again? Johnny said.

Rick Harris.

Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Rick Harris?

No, he said. But listen—

No, you listen, Johnny said. I’ve heard all the excuses I want to hear for today.

Nat looked up at them from the floor. Rick and Mike and Johnny Aguirre. The other man. Behind them the urinals covered the back wall. Rows of sinks. The toilet stalls lining up beyond them into the room.

Get him up, Johnny said, and then Mike was crouching over him, pulling him to his feet. I’ve given you plenty of time, Johnny said, his voice calm and clear.

Nat managed somehow to continue standing, even though his body felt limp.

Just give us a little more, Rick said.

Listen you little faggot, Johnny said, turning to him now, the gun barrel floating between them in the air. You can go fuck yourself.

We’ve got some stuff we can pawn, Rick said. We’ll get the money together. I promise.

You promise? Johnny stepped forward toward Nat, his face only inches away now. The thing is, I don’t hear you saying anything, Nat. Not a word.

His hands were shaking so hard now that they seemed separate from his body. Flapping like the wings of birds.

Tell him, Nat, Rick said.

Yeah, Johnny said, tell me. Tell me you’re gonna pay me back. Because I haven’t heard that before.

Please, Johnny, Nat said. He had begun crying, weeping, his body wracked with the force of it. Please.

Please please please, Johnny said. He stepped back now and nodded and Mike came forward.

I told you, kid, Mike said. Nat tried to speak but the words were a mumbled whisper and Mike leaned in to his face. You got something to say?

I gave you the Atari, Nat whispered. What about Pitfall?

Ah Nat, Mike said, his own voice quiet and soothing like a parent calmly sympathizing with an errant child, his hand coming up to lay for a brief instant against Nat’s cheek. We’re way way beyond that now.

And then the first blow came and Nat doubled over. There was no air. He could see Mike’s legs, watched as the blue shape of his pants cocked back and the foot came blurring forward. He could not understand what was happening even though it was all clear and plain and obvious. He was on the ground and he was in pain and he deserved it all. Christ, he’s pissing himself already, Mike said. I’ve barely even started.