Lee Johnson - Nitro Mountain

“Eads,” he says, but Eads doesn’t move. Jones holds a finger under his nose like a mustache to check his breathing. “Wake up, you fuckrag.”

When he’s turning away, the blanket gets thrown open and it’s Terri, lying right behind Eads, snuggled up cute as a critter. “Hey, bubby,” she says.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Jones says.

Terri starts laughing. “Hey, we’re finished,” she says, gets up, fetches the bottle of Montezuma from the couch and crawls back under the blanket. “We’s just trying to stay cool is all,” she says. “Shoot, looks like it’s only enough for one.” She holds it up to the blue TV light and then takes a kiss from it. “Mmn-mmn, good morning, daddy.” She slides the rest of the way under the covers.

“You seen Natalie?” Jones says.

“We tried getting her in on this. But she won’t leave her room.”

“I had nothing to do with it, Jones,” Eads says.

“Bull,” Terri says. “It was your idea.”

“Natalie,” Eads says. “Goddamn Natalie. Where she at? Where that bitch go? And why’s it so fucking hot in here?”

“Y’all left the door open, geniuses.”

“Nuh-uh,” Terri says. “Door’s broke. It just don’t close. Opening ain’t its problem.”

“What in the hell’s wrong with y’all?”

The question seems to focus Eads. “The shit they got coming off that mountain, baby, it’s like, it’s…” He starts pushing his eyeballs around with his pointer fingers. “There’s more than a human can handle. But one guy runs it all around, from here down to Kingsport. We became friends. Motherfucker’s a hero. I’ll give you his number, if you want. We’re friends. He calls me. And since me and you’s friends, I’ll give you his number. You can call him up. Now where’s Natalie?”

“You crazy!” Terri slaps her hand over Eads’s mouth.

“Must’ve been a fun night,” Jones says. “I’ll try her room.”

At the end of the hallway he finds the door locked and hears the noise of a window unit rattling inside. He bangs on the door and tries the knob. “Natalie? It’s me, your evil ex-husband. I’m here for my guitar case.”

He stands there with his ear to the door, nothing, then goes to the kitchen to find a drink and think about whether he shouldn’t just break into her room. He feels like kicking something down.

He checks in the cupboard, but that’s where he used to keep it. Under her rules of operation it’s below the sink, where a bottle of bourbon is next to a can of Drano. While he’s pouring whiskey into a can of flat Coke he found, an icy hand touches the back of his neck. Natalie. Her eyes raccooned in mascara. Lipstick smeared. Hair tangled into a nest atop her little head.

“Look,” Jones says, holding up both hands, “all I want—”

“Your case is fine. Have a good time being gone?”

She’s still toasted, Jones can smell it.

Under the blanket, Eads whispers to Terri, “That’s Natalie. Get her under here.”

“Don’t pay them no mind,” Natalie says to Jones. “They just been to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.”

“If I’m interrupting something I can come back later.”

She tightens her hair. “Come back in the kitchen.”

“Just give me my case,” he says.

“We miss you,” she says, holding her breasts and moving them up and down. Jones follows her. She opens the fridge and takes out a tin can emptied of tomatoes and now full of red wine. The top’s still hanging on where the can opener didn’t catch. “Come back to my room,” she says.

“Look, I thought we settled this. I just need—”

“I know what you fucking need. So come back and get it.”

Jones pushes past her to the bedroom. His case better be in there.

She stays right on his heels down the hall. Her closet door’s off its hinges and leaning against the window. No light ever gets in here. Jones sees the guitar case in the closet.

Natalie slams the door shut behind them. “Here I am,” she says.

He checks all five latches to make sure the case doesn’t fly open, then takes it up by the leather handle. It molds to his hand. But Natalie’s standing right behind him with the can of wine to her mouth. When she stops for a breath, Jones pushes her aside and opens the door.

“Just like trash,” she says. “That’s how you’re throwing me away. Like trash.”

He makes it down the hallway with her screaming on his heels, picks up the Coke can from the coffee table where he left it and throws it back. He turns and sees her standing in the dark. He feels the whiskey coming on. “Natalie,” he says. “Don’t make it worse.”

She leans against the wall, unbuttons the top of her pants and yanks down her zipper. “I’m just trying to make it better.”

Knowing he’s got a song to write helps him look at her and say, “No.”

“What’s her name?” Natalie says.

“This is stupid.”

“Not as stupid as what I’m going to do if you don’t tell me.” She points at the blanket.

“Have fun, then,” Jones says.

She jumps at him, and before he can move she tosses the rest of her wine in his face.

Eads starts laughing. “Come on over, y’all. Plenty of room.”

Jones wipes the wine from his eyes.

“Tell me what her name is,” she says.

He shouldn’t say it. Everybody’s listening. Don’t do it.

Arnett rears back to hit her with the pistol. She blocks her face, but nothing happens.

“God, fuck it,” he says. “You know I only do this because I love you. Everything I do, it’s because I love you.”

“If you did, we wouldn’t be here like this. You got me trapped in a motel room, and all you do is pretend you’re gonna hit me? Do it or don’t. Just quit pretending.”

“There ain’t no going back.” He paces in front of her. “What’s done is done.”

“It ain’t done,” she says. “Please.”

“Say some more words and I’ll put a bullet through your tongue. Say fucking words! You hear me now?”

“What am I supposed to do?” she says. “All you ever did was torture me.”

“Bull fucking horse shit.”

The gun’s still on her but he seems to be listening now. “Put it down,” she says.

“You asked for every single thing I ever did to you.”

“Look at us,” she says. “You with a gun. How’s this making things better?”

“Last night,” he says. “Let’s start there and go backwards.”

“I was right here.”

“With who?”

“None of your business,” she says. “Besides, nobody.”

“Oh, it’s definitely my business.” Arnett steps at her with the pillow and she pushes herself up, her knees hurting from sitting folded and all her nerves going, like she’s about to shit herself. She grabs for the pillow, expecting a bullet, but he pulls it away. She lunges at him and a flashing explosion stops them both. The smell of burnt hair fills the room, a high-pitched ringing in her ears. Pieces from the wall behind her crumble onto the floor.

“I told you hush,” he says.

The shot glanced her shoulder, knocked her back a few feet. She puts her hand over the pain moving and growing like a burning web. “You shot me?” she says.

“No I didn’t.”

She keeps her hand over the pumping blood. “God,” she says. “My God.”

“Always disagreeing with me. I give you a place to live, and all you give me is what?”

“I gotta sit down.”

“Do that.”

She folds into the chair over in the corner and it feels like her feet aren’t there. This, she understands, is shock.