Percival Everett - Suder

Daddy answered, “McCoy’s got this religious group that Kathy, for some reason, is interested in. McCoy makes me nervous. He’s crazy and I wonder how my colored wife fits in with a peckerwood like that.”

“You don’t think he’s dangerous or anything like that, do you?” Bud asked.

“I don’t know,” Daddy replied. “I guess not.”

I began to think of McCoy.

Bud broke the silence. “Seriously, Doc, you think your wife is okay?”

Daddy didn’t say anything. He just looked at the night sky. I didn’t like the pain I saw in his face. He was wearing the same concerned look he wore when I was really sick with the flu. I was seven and they thought I might die and Daddy sat by my bed all night with that look on his face. If I couldn’t hate Ma before, I was closer now.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about France,” Bud said.

“France, huh?” Daddy said.

“Yeah, I’d like to go there. You know, get away from this country. I hear things are different there, real different. People are free.”

I listened carefully to Bud’s words.

“Free. Can you imagine that?” Bud added.

Daddy chuckled and shook his head.

“Yeah, France.” Bud finished his tea and looked at his empty glass. “Think I could make a long boat trip like that, Doc?”

“After a little rest, yeah,” Daddy said.

“After a little rest,” Bud repeated. He got up and he walked into the house and he soon was playing the piano.

I looked at Daddy. “What’s wrong with Mr. Powell?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure is hot, huh, Daddy?”

“Yep.” Daddy paused. “Shit.”

Martin came home and went straight up to our room. When I finally went upstairs, I found him clipping things out of the backs of magazines.

“Sending off for stuff?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“What? Soldiers? A kite?”

“None of your business.”

I was trying to make things okay, even though I was upset with him about Naomi and all. I wasn’t really mad as much as upset. He just kept going with the scissors.

Finally, we were in bed. Martin had his flashlight out, the beam moving from nude to nude. He just kept sighing and then he turned the flashlight off and pushed the magazines onto the floor. He tossed the light into the corner and sighed loudly. I closed my eyes.

My eyes open and there’s a little early-morning light floating around the cabin and I see Sid sitting by the bed, looking at me.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Drifting.”

I notice there’s no engine noise. “Drifting? Where?”

“Just drifting.” He’s got a funny look in his eyes.

I sit up and stretch and look out the window and I can’t see the coast.

“You ever think about dying?” Sid asks.

“What?”

“Dying.”

“No.”

“You oughta.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, what’s the story? The motor act up?”

“This slump of yours really has you down, doesn’t it.”

I don’t say anything.

“Suicide might be a thought.”

I’m up and walking across the cabin to look through the other window. “Where the hell are we?”

“I told you. We’re drifting. We’re contemplating suicide.”

“The hell. Why are we just floating out in the middle of nowhere?”

“If you don’t do it, I will.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll kill you,” he says.

I laugh.

“I ain’t bullshittin’.”

I stop laughing. “Now, Sid….”

“What do you have to live for? Luck has decided you’re the greatest patsy since the Jews.” He stands up. “So, after this morning’s business, I’ll put an end to your miserable, pathetic life.”

There’s the sound of a foghorn outside and Sid scurries up the steps to the deck. I follow him and I see another boat and Sid is waving to them with both arms.

There are two fat men on the other boat who look sorta alike. Both of the men are about forty and their haircuts are short and greased back and they’ve got slippery black mustaches. The fat men are wearing them loud beach shirts and big baggy white pants. There are two younger men with them, big and muscular fellas, in trunks. Their boat pulls alongside of us.

“Sid,” says one of the fat man, stepping aboard, extending a hand.

Sid takes the man’s plump hand. “On time, as usual.”

The other fat man is staring at me. “Who’s he?” he asks, pointing.

“He’s a friend of mine,” Sid says.

“Which drum?” asks the first fat man.

“That one.” Sid points to the drum nearest the back of the boat.

The first fat man signals to the two big guys in the trunks. They hop across to Sid’s boat and walk to the drum. They turn the drum upright and pry the lid off and then one of them reaches down into the barrel and comes up with a dripping green plastic garbage bag. He opens the bag and pulls out a clear plastic bag of white powder. The big guy hands it over to the first fat man.

“Come on, let’s go,” says the second fat man, looking around.

“In a second,” the first fat man says, looking at Sid, who’s standing by, watching with his hands in his pockets.

“The money,” Sid says.

“In a second,” the first man repeats.

Sid pulls a gun out of his pocket. “The money.”

“Sid, slow down,” says the first fat man, “you’ll get your money.”

“The money,” Sid repeats, extending his free hand, palm up, pointing the gun at the second fat man. “Or I’ll blow your brother’s greasy head off.”

“What is this, Sid?” asks the first fat man.

“This is the Little Bighorn. This is where the Indian cuts the white boy’s tail.”

The second fat man tosses a briefcase across the gap between the two boats and it lands by my feet.

“Good,” Sid says. “Okay. Now, you two, Fric and Frac, I want you overboard. Craig, check the case.”

The two guys in trunks don’t move. I open the case and tilt it, showing Sid the money inside.

Sid fires the gun over the big guys’ heads. “Move!”

The two men jump into the water.

“Sid, you won’t get away with this,” says the second fat man.

“In the water, chubby,” Sid says and pulls the hammer of the pistol back.

The second fat man jumps into the ocean.

I look and see another boat coming our way. Sid sees it also. “Shit,” Sid says. “Okay, fatso, in the drink.”

“So help me God, I’m going to get you, Sid.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sid straightens his arm and aims the gun at the fat man’s face. “Tell it to the Coast Guard.” The first fat man joins the others in the water. The four of them are bobbing up and down between the boats and Sid is leaning over, looking at them. “I got you, you son of a bitch.” He looks at the approaching boat. “Start the boat, Craig.”

I climb up the ladder and start the engine.

“Let’s get out of here!” Sid yells to me.

I steer the boat away and then I look back and Sid is still leaning over, yelling at the men in the water. I start to think about what Sid was saying earlier about killing me and I climb down the ladder and I tiptoe up behind Sid and I push him into the water. I’m at the wheel again, driving away.

“Craig!” Sid yells and then there’s a gunshot and I look back and see Sid waving his gun in the air, keeping the thugs away. “Craig!”

There’s a blast of a voice through a bullhorn from the Coast Guard boat, but I can’t make it out. I’m just looking at the compass and heading south. When the other boats are out of sight, I head east.

As I’m nearing the mouth of the Columbia River, I look down from the wheel at the deck and I see that clear plastic bag of white powder. I climb down and I drop it overboard and watch it sink slowly out of sight.