Percival Everett - The Body of Martin Aguilera

Lewis woke up to find that it had not been a bad dream. Maggie was still dead beside him, Martin was still dead behind him. Could he just go to the state police now? Maggie had been murdered. Nothing fancy and no way to misinterpret it. Murdered. He put his hand on her body and it was no colder than before, the face no more serene.

He opened his door and started to get out. The back window of the truck shattered. Lewis looked and saw Peabody standing some thirty yards away, his jacket ripped, blood over the right side of his face. He limped forward. Lewis wanted to attack the man, but he wouldn’t, he didn’t. It was hard for him to leave Maggie, but he did. Her dead face screamed for him to run.

He ran along the road that circled the lake. There was no one fishing today. The weather had been hot and Pito Lake was always poorly stocked. He heard another pistol report. Maybe if a bullet hit him in the back of the head, he would not feel anything, just die and find some kind of peace, the light that all the people he thought were crazy had claimed to see when on death’s edge. But there would be no light, he knew that. Not in this America and he tried to run faster, but his legs complained. It was more than the pain, though. He was tired of running. His brain hurt, felt like it was going to sleep again. He felt sick and expected to vomit at any second. He limped. The man chasing him limped. Lewis yelled back at him.

“Who are you?” Lewis asked.

“I’m just doing my job, Lewis.”

“And just what is your fucking job. To poison every-goddamn-body?”

“You’re a loose end.”

“I’m not going to run anymore,” Lewis said.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

Lewis looked at the man. “You’re what got loose, aren’t you?”

Peabody said nothing.

“Are you supposed to be killing people? What got loose? Tell me! You’re going to kill me anyway.” Lewis looked at the man’s eyes. They weren’t cold. They weren’t hard. They were hollow, vacant, stupid, a robot’s eyes. They weren’t cold. Lewis laughed. “What, are you some kind of government agent or something, some shit like that? Well, fuck you!” He held up his hand and pointed at the blemish. “See that? See that? I’ve got it, don’t I? Well, you’ve got it, too, I’ll bet. I don’t care anymore.”

Peabody raised the weapon and aimed.

Lewis stared straight down the barrel of the pistol and it felt good. He wanted to be closer, to help the bullet. He managed a step, then another. “Go ahead and shoot! Shoot, you bastard.” Lewis felt great, he felt like dancing and so he did a little jig. “Shoot!”

The shot was loud, but Lewis felt nothing. Peabody fell forward. Manny was behind him, lowering his pistol. Lewis sank to his knees. Manny kicked the gun away from the fallen man’s hand.

Lewis looked at the dirt. Manny helped him to stand, helped him to walk.

“What the hell were you doing?” Manny asked.

“I was dancing.”

They walked many steps in silence.

“Maggie’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Manny said. “I didn’t know.”

“Why?” Lewis asked. “Why, Manny?”

Manny shook his head. “I just nodded and turned away. I should have seen what was happening. I’m sorry.”

“Were you scared?” Lewis asked.

“Yeah, I suppose that was it.”

Lewis looked at the lake. “Manny, they’re killing us.”

“I know.”

Percival Everett is the author of Suder, Walk Me to the Distance, For Her Dark Skin, Cutting Lisa, The Weather and Women Treat Me Fair, The One That Got Away, Zulus, God’s Country, Big Picture and Watershed . He is currently teaching at the University of California at Riverside