William Vollmann - The Royal Family

Heavyset said: What is this, a convention of niggers and retards?

Loreena grimaced, and the Queen remained silent. But Heavyset could not let the matter drop. Deeply offended by the presence of these aliens, fearing them as much as he hated them (he would have literally suffered nightmares had the Chinese whore Yellow Bird ever shrilled into his face: You like to go kissy-kissy with me?), he bristled into a posture which was for him as natural as that of an antibody encountering in the dim red bloodstreams it frequented some unknown cell which threatened that ruby light of home and seemed to darken it into the inkiness of baleful sorrow. God never intended antibodies to resign themselves. For, after all, one stealthily reconnoitering bacillus must pose the question: What if there are more of me?

And so Heavyset said with utter sincerity: You make me sick. Get out of my bar.

Oh, leave her alone, said the Queen. Actually I’m here to have a word with you.

You tellin’ me how to run my place? I don’t give a goddamn whether you buy drinks in here or not. This is my place, and if I want to eighty-six you I’ll eighty-six you.

Sapphire turned her milky-pale face away, touched her palm to her mouth, then slowly lowered to the floor whatever invisible thing she’d taken out of herself.

C’mere, Sapphire, darling.

Get that retard out of here! said Heavyset, lifting his heavy hand from Domino’s thigh in order to sketch out a gesture of general imprecation, but then for the first time in his life he saw the Queen’s eyes glitter with anger and he was afraid. The Queen ran to the front door, opened it, and whistled piercingly. Instantly the tall man was there glaring through his bloodshot eyes. The Queen pointed to Heavyset, and the tall man, smiling with gratified hatred, approached rapidly and easily. Shoving Domino aside, Heavyset rose to his feet.

You givin’ her static? the tall man said.

This is my bar, nigger, said Heavyset. I control this bar. Better get out before they carry you out.

Get behind the bar, Justin, said Domino. That’s where he keeps his gun.

Why, you little cunt! roared Heavyset, and swung round to backhand her, but just then the tall man brought the end of a steel pipe hard down on Heavyset’s wrist so that his purple face turned white and he cried out. In the corner, Sapphire stood on tiptoe, gazing all the way into his face.

Where’s the gun? the tall man said.

Right there, said Domino. Under the cooler.

Better fade, Loreena, said the tall man, not ill-humoredly. Just chill. Just ghost out. Don’t call the cops, though.

Call the cops, bitch! screamed Heavyset.

Loreena ran out the back door without looking back. Justin strode behind the bar and found Heavyset’s pistol. Heavyset sat down again, rubbing his wrist.

Hey, break some bread, man, said Justin. Gimme some snaps.

There ought to be more than a hundred bucks in the register, said Domino with a happy chuckle. I’ve been watching that register all afternoon and just…

C’mere, Sapphire, the Queen whispered. It’s okay, darling. Domino, would you kindly take Sapphire to the ladies’ room?

Key’s behind the bar, Justin, the blonde said, and the tall man tossed it to her. Then he opened the register and began stuffing all the money into his pants.

Now shake Heavyset down, the Queen said in a low grinding voice. We don’t want Heavyset to forget what he done. We don’t want him to forget that he insulted a poor little girl that can’t defend herself. An’ Chocolate. An’ me. An’ God knows how many others.

Gimme your wallet, asshole, said the tall man, waving the pistol up and down the length of Heavyset’s body.

That’s right, said the Queen. That’s right. Heavyset, don’t be a fool.

With a curse, the man flung his wallet down on the floor.

Put it in the poor box, now, said the Queen. C’mere. That’s right. That’s right. Good dog. Turn out your pockets, doggie. Domino! Hurry up in there! Gun up, everybody! We all have to start runnin’ now…

After that the royal family was happy again for a while. Maj could still act. They all felt as if they were alive again.

Justin, do I look good? asked Domino in her silver stretch leotards, wiggling her behind.

You look fuckable, sure. Now go bring in some money.

Oooh, she said, sarcastic-sulky, and began to walk away.

Hey, Domino! called the tall man.

Hey, what?

I love you, baby!

I love it because it’s Thursday afternoon and I’m sitting around screwing with this personal injury stuff, Smooth crowed. And indeed he did look happy. Tyler remembered the way Chocolate really came alive only in Tenderloin bars when the music was loudly perfect and color events occurred every second on the giant television screen, or the way that John’s face became joyous when he clicked down more lead from inside his stainless steel mechanical pencil. — Almost as good as a good rape case, Smooth continued. When I do personal injury, I… You’re not listening.

Sorry, said Tyler glumly.

You know, I turned you on to somebody who does something fun. I turned you on to the Queen. And you owe me.

Yeah, yeah.

So open up those envious ears of yours. Or does everybody badger you all the time? Your brother does, I’ll bet. You’re so passive-aggressive that he must be active-aggressive.

Go to hell.

I’m the only person in the whole wide world who always speaks the truth. You know how to be sure it’s the truth? Because it’s ugly, man!

So what’s your truth, then, you preening sonofabitch? What makes you so goddamned ugly? Oh, the hell with it; you always piss me off…

My truth is doom, brother. Yours, too. We’ve both got the state hanging over our heads, and don’t think I don’t know about your sleazy corner-cuttings. Me, I’m waiting for that Gestapo knock on my door because I enjoy consensual sex with minors. And you, now, well, you have your brother ticking and smoldering away, you have financial worries (don’t think I can’t see that in the lines of your forehead), and you have Consumer Affairs watching over you…

Oh, that’s baloney, Tyler said. I don’t know a single P.I. who ever lost his license.

But you can get your license yanked for failure to report, now, can’t you, Henry? If you interviewed me about the Queen and you changed my information for that Mr. Brady—

I didn’t know you when I was working for Brady, and this matter of the Queen isn’t even—

And then Brady gets sued or sues somebody and then you and I both get deposed on the witness stand, boom! Not only are you sued, you’re probably in front of a review board for providing bad information…

Oh, for God’s sake.

Okay, okay. I give in. It’ll never happen. The only thing that’ll happen is that John will find another steamy letter from Irene and beat your ass… You think you’re better than I am?

As a matter of fact, I do. At least I don’t torture other people for the fun of it.

No, you wreck lives because it’s expedient. Don’t you?

Dan, he said, I’m worried about our Queen.

Thank you very much. So am I. And I know something you don’t, even though I’ve told it to you hundreds of times: She’s doomed, too. We’re all doomed. It’s the prophecy, stupid. Do you suppose those Brady’s Boys are going to fade away before they’ve hurt somebody? Everybody loves them. America’s on their side. Everybody hates us.