Denis Johnson - Already Dead - A California Gothic

“Excuse me,” the man said.

“It’s so delightful. Do you have any spiders to eat?”

“Can I help you?”

Falls said, “Marauder bonzai fuck, sir. Veins in my teeth. I am not a slave.”

“Let me put it this way. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Thompson said. “What do you want done?” Falls said, “He’s just kidding. We’re here to rob your ass if you don’t mind too bad. You don’t mind, do you, sir?” The guy looked quizzical and amazed and almost happy in his shiny eyes. “Yes, I do mind.”

“Aah,” Falls said, “we’re just doodling around.” Falls reconnoitered, finding nothing but this sorry victim and one lit candle over which he moved the palm of his hand to set the flame wavering as he said, “Wish I had a Marlboro. Got a smoke on you?”

“No smoking.”

“You got incense all over here. Incense causes cancer.”

“You’re trespassing on private property.”

Thompson said, “You’re ruining my moves. You’ve got clangy vibes.

You should be dead.” Thompson raised the Casull before his own eyes and did a double take at the sight of it. “Hey!” he said. He peeked over the gun at the little baby-haired enlightened one.

“You’re deceased, sir,” Falls assured him.

The meditator hitched his blanket close and stared at a point between them, trying to smile or else smiling against his will.

“The Little Monk!” Falls said.

“Monkey-man.” Thompson stepped close enough that his shrivelled organ floated not twelve inches from the monk’s face. “What do I look like?”

“You look like…Japanese demons.”

“We’re gonna require a shitload of valuables,” Falls said. “And something to lug them home in.”

Already Dead / 375

“Nothing here belongs to me. Nothing here belongs to you.”

“Well, that’s why it’s a robbery, sir. Therefore that’s why I’m applying that word to this transaction.”

“So where is it, Monkey-breath?”

“What?”

“Gold, jewels, mystic treasure.”

“That’s gold,” he said, turning his gaze to the shadows in a nook.

Falls peered into the corner and lifted out a statuette like all the others, only smaller, a bare-bellied greasy depraved fat Gypsy Buddha with earrings and a pointed hat or something over its curly hair and its eyes squeezed shut in mirth, quite heavy for its size. “Seems like gold,” he said.

Thompson lowered himself to sit cross-legged before the little monk, the gun at rest on his ankle. “So…where do you come from originally?” The man said nothing.

“Come on. Where are you from?”

“Connecticut.”

“That’s a shitty state,” Thompson said.

“No,” the man said. “One place is as good as another.” Falls set the Buddha down on the floor, the beginnings of a pile.

“Nobody around?”

“Not too many. A few. In fact,” the man said, “things are still under construction.”

“I need that blanket.”

With an outstretching of his right arm the man drew the blanket away and laid it to the side. He wore a gray sweat suit.

“What about that tower out there? Is that real gold?”

“It’s covered with gold leaf, yeah.”

“ Told you, damnit,” Thompson said. “Incidentally, just for that I’ve decided not to kill you.”

“We have sacred texts etched into the panels. You want the gold but the truth in the texts would give you much more. Still,” the man said, and sighed as though it pained him to say it, “you have the truth already.”

“I’ve decided to kill you. Do you have a few last words for the cameras?”

This Buddhist guy was just some skinny little veg-head, astonished that his life needed this death. Jogging shoes next to him on the 376 / Denis Johnson

floor; and they were too clean and too white. For that alone Thompson put the gun to his forehead.

“You know what I’m doing?” Thompson asked him, truly curious as to whether the man understood.

“No.”

“This is one big gun. This weapon will make a wound that medical science cannot repair. I’m putting my hand up like this so I don’t get bone fragments in my face.”

“Don’t,” the man said.

“Don’t put my hand up? Or what?”

“Don’t make a wound,” the man said.

Falls said, “Tommy? — The valuables. Can we get a location first?”

“None of this belongs to me,” the man said, staring at the gun and at the gunman shielding his face with his free hand. “The idea that you can steal it is an illusion. Listen to me. There’s a penalty to be paid if you fail to separate truth from illusion. Illusion is the penalty.” Falls said, “Bullshit.”

“Yes. All right, that’s a better word. The penalty for bullshit is bullshit.”

Tommy lowered his hand. “Here’s what I’ve decided. If we get some good old-fashioned loot, I don’t kill you. That’s my latest decision.”

“None of it’s mine or yours. Nothing we do can change that. Shoot me.”

“Wow,” Tommy said. “You are insane.”

“We all are,” the man agreed. “Some more than others.”

“Well, I score you right up there, way up,” Tommy said. “How’d you get so stone-fuck silly?”

Falls was getting impatient. “Can I see your one big gun please?” Tommy handed it on, and Falls stood over them holding it. “So where’s everybody else?”

“Praying in the sanctuary.”

Tommy asked Falls, “You think they know we’re here?”

“Of course they know,” the meditator said. “They’re praying for you.”

“No! What’s your name?” Tommy said.

The man seemed not to want to do it, but he answered. “Bill.”

“I really want to fix this person up,” Falls said.

“Me and Bill were just talking here,” Tommy said.

Already Dead / 377

“I never shot anybody for nothing before. But this one— man , he’s a stinky little unit. I mean basically a cunt. A human vagina.”

“I think he’s funny and silly, man.”

“Listen to me, he…is…evil.”

The man closed his eyes.

“You are the proto-original motherfucker. Do you think you’re so terrifically enlightened you can handle a bullet in the head?”

“No sir. I’m all confused. I’m scared.”

“Then what’s the use of sitting around for years with your dick in the dirt?”

“I can’t handle the bullet. But I can handle the fear.” Tommy said, “Excuse, gents,” and abruptly went out through the small door.

“What’s he up to?” Falls said.

The little monk failed to respond. He kept his eyes closed.

Falls felt he’d maintained possession of himself, but now he couldn’t help breathing hard and feeling completely terrible about getting into this situation. He cocked back the hammer with his thumb. The click sounded luxuriant, precise, like a tongue against the palate. The pistol was the work of much craft. But still. The target ten inches away, and a weapon you could hit Mars with.

He leaned closer and put the gun barrel under the man’s chin. He thought he’d have to pinch him to get his attention, but the man opened his eyes. He looked willing to speak, but unwilling to say the wrong thing.

“Are you ready, cunt?”

“Not exactly, no…”

Thompson crept back into the room and said something under his breath.

“What?”

Thompson said softly, “There’s vehicle activity outside.”

“Where?”

“In the road. I heard wheels and doors but no voices.”

“Who is it?” Falls asked the monk.

The monk shook his head and raised his hands and went on shaking his head.

“Okay,” Falls said, “Let’s see, uh — shit.” He couldn’t think.