Joe Lansdale - Leather Maiden

He was breathing better now. He stood up slowly, put his hands on the trunk and said in a voice that was raspy and tired, “I haven’t got a gun. It’s in the car.”

I put the .38 to the back of his head and patted him down anyway. He didn’t have a gun, like he said, not even a pocketknife. All he had was a pocket comb and a cell phone. I put the cell phone in my pocket and threw the comb away. I had him stand back, and I used my left hand to unlock the trunk.

“No man,” he said. “I hate tight spaces.”

“Bullshit. Get in the trunk or I’ll leave you here beside the road and let the vultures pick the lead out of the back of your head.”

He looked at me. Maybe trying to size me up, see if he could take me. He finally turned and got in the trunk and I closed it.

I went around and looked at the front of my car. The bumper was bent, but nothing else. Even the lights still worked.

I drove us back to my place.

When I got the guy in the house and made him sit down on the couch, I gave Booger a little rundown on what had happened.

“And so,” Booger said, “you thought you might bring me a present, and it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to give him to you,” I said.

“Oh, please, please,” Booger said. “I ain’t had nothing to play with since my pet alligator died from strangulation.”

This caused the guy on the couch to turn his head and look at Booger in an odd way.

Now that I had the guy inside, and I could look at him good, I saw he had a bad eye; it was the way Ernie had described it. He also had a bunch of bruise spots I had given him. They made him look a little like a speckled pup.

“Glug,” I said, “good to meet you, you sonofabitch.”

“I don’t know you,” he said.

“Yeah, but I know you, and I know you’re following me so you can report to Stitch.”

“You’re gonna know your girlfriend’s skin right off,” Glug said. “Something happens to me, I don’t report back, then that bitch is as good as dead. Dig?”

“Her name is Belinda,” I said, “and any more disrespect concerning her, and you will be looking for your head. Dig?”

He nodded.

I got his cell phone out of my pocket. I tossed it to him, said, “Make that call, and tell him you’re watching, and nothing is happening. You don’t make the call right, I pop you right here.”

He called and the call was short and sweet. He told Stitch, or whoever was on the other end, things were good and that I was at home. He said he was sitting down the street from my place, watching. When he finished the call I took the phone. I said, “That was all right. Now, there’s some information we need to know.”

“Stitch finds out I talked,” Glug said, “you don’t know what he’ll do.”

“That’s right,” I said. “We don’t. But I know what we’ll do if you don’t.”

“You know what,” Booger said, “to do this right, you know, so we can have like some room to work, and a little privacy, we need someplace protected, some place where you can’t hear a fellow scream.”

40

I cut the electrical cords off some lamps and we used those to bind Glug’s arms behind his back. We tied his legs together too, leaving enough room so he could move at a kind of shuffle. I put a pair of my dirty underwear in his mouth, something with some slick stains on it, and tied it in good with a rag I tore off an old sheet. Then we got a phone book that Booger wanted, and he got his duffel bag, and I got a lawn chair, and we put all of it, including Glug, in my car.

We did it quickly and carefully. I was pretty sure no one saw us.

Booger sat in the back with Glug. Booger had Mr. Lucky pointing toward Glug’s lap, the barrel of the shooter against Glug’s balls. Glug didn’t struggle at all.

I drove us to the place where Ronnie’s landlord had stored her goods, and I rolled down the window and touched the code, and it was still the same. The gate unlocked itself and folded in. I drove us past the gate and over to the storage shed where Ronnie’s stuff had been.

Booger got out and went at the lock and opened it quick. I drove the car inside and Booger closed the doors. I cut the engine and left the headlights on, pulled the gagged and bound Glug out of the car. Booger sat the lawn chair in front of the car, center of the headlights. He grabbed Glug and pulled him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He said, “You sit there, and be pretty.”

He went back to the car and got the phone book. I grabbed his wrist, said, “I don’t know, Booger. Maybe we ought not.”

“Depends on if you want that girl of yours skinned or not.”

“How do we know if he’s telling the truth?”

“Torture works, in spite of what people tell you. But the only way it works is the guy’s got to know we don’t care if he dies, and you know me, I don’t care. He’ll tell me the goddamn truth, you can count on that. But whatever you want, buddy. Have it your way.”

I let go of his wrist.

Booger walked over to where Glug sat and hit him hard in the side of the head with the flat of the phone book, hit him so hard he fell out of the chair and sprawled out on the ground. He was trying to yell, but that underwear gag was holding.

Booger sat him up in the chair, gave him a pat on the head, then hauled off with the book and hit him again over the same ear, not quite knocking him out of the chair this time.

“I just want you to know,” Booger said, “that I can do this all night, but you can’t. I’m going to take out that gag, and when I do, you yell, it’ll be all over for you except for us throwing your dead ass out somewhere beside the road. Got me?”

Glug nodded.

Booger punched straight down and hit Glug in the balls. Glug bent over, almost fell out of the chair, but Booger helped him up by kneeing him hard in the face. When he sat Glug back up in the chair, Glug was bleeding from his nose and it had taken on a new shape. His lips didn’t look so good either. Blood had colored the underwear in his mouth.

I went around and stood behind the car and looked at the closed doorway of the building and tried to pretend I wasn’t part of this. I heard Booger hit him a couple more times with either the phone book or his fists, and I got myself together and walked around front, and found a position between the headlights.

Booger untied the rag that held the gag, said, “How’s the teeth?”

Glug nodded.

“Good,” Booger said. “Can you talk?”

“Yeah,” Glug said. His voice was small and seemed to be climbing up from his throat on broken legs.

“That’s good, you can talk. You couldn’t, wouldn’t be any good to me or my man here. What we want is some information. In case your man Stitch calls. We want to be ready to do whatever we need to do. You’re kind of like our little inside mole.”

“He won’t call,” Glug said.

“No?” said Booger.

“No.”

“And why is that?” Booger said. “That don’t seem like good manners, saying you’re gonna call, then not calling.”

“Because he’s playing his games.”

“You’re playing games too,” Booger said. “And I got to tell you, me and Cason here, we ain’t good sports. We don’t play to lose, and we sure don’t like to play when we don’t know we’re playing. But if we’re in, hey, we’re playing for keeps. Know what I’m saying?”

“They’re nuts. I play for the money. But they’re nuts.”

“Tell us about the money,” I said. “And tell us about who they are.”

“You don’t understand. It’s the money to me, and they like money fine, but they like this game they play. I’m just a man for hire. For them, it’s a whole different thing.”