Wear Your Home Like a Scar, page 14
Charlie smacked Butch’s hand, pointed at the corner of the hotel. “Go. I’ll cover.”
Butch tightened his grip on Sadie’s wrist. Her wrist bones rubbed against one another beneath his fingers. He worked his knees beneath him.
Springing to his feet, Charlie cocked the M1911 and shut his left eye. Exhaled, fired, the rear window exploded. Exhaled, fired, the driver’s door dented a hand’s length from the driver, who ducked below the frame. Sadie shrieked when Butch yanked her up and threw her over his shoulder. In a crouched run, he hurried to the corner. The breeze picked up and he thought he smelled burning sugarcane.
Eye still squinted, Charlie let his breathing become still, a continual loop of inhale and exhale. A trashcan in the corner lay on its side, the newspaper at the lip fluttering in the breeze like palm fronds. A bird’s tweet warned about the approaching snake. A dog’s bark was the death throes of a peasant. Come on, you yellow bastard. Just show me your hair.
“Charlie.” Butch’s whisper was harsh, as loud as he could make it without shouting. When Charlie didn’t respond he threw a rock a few feet in front of him.
Charlie popped off two shots, shattering the front passenger window and denting the driver’s door again. He turned his head, saw his brother sitting on the Harley with the demon-girl in front of him. He checked the Buick again, saw no one, then made his way to the Indian.
Kicking the engine over, Butch turned, said, “Who the hell was that?”
“A witness,” Charlie said.
They tucked their bikes two hundred feet back in a cornfield on the outskirts of town. Sadie said she was hungry. Butch glared at Charlie before he could say anything else.
“Satisfied, brother?” Charlie threw the lit match to the ground, maybe daring the corn to catch fire.
“That wasn’t anything to do with her.”
“Sure about that?”
“Sure it wasn’t for one of the handful you shot back at the restaurant? Or the couple from Topeka? Or that fella in Saint Louis?” Butch stepped toward him, getting inside his space. “Hell, how do we know it’s not the brother of your CO, trying to right the wrong that grenade couldn’t manage to do?”
The cornfield exploded into a rainbow of bright dots. The punch hit his jaw so hard he smelled it before he felt it. Dirt scratching on the back of his neck, Butch tried to open his eyes only to find Charlie’s fist filling that space once, twice, another in his mouth, his cheek.
If it hadn’t been for Sadie’s shrieking breaking the blood trance, Charlie might’ve killed Butch right there in the field.
Charlie panted, propped up over his brother’s body. Butch tried to spit but only managed to push the blood over the edge of his mouth, let it drip down his cheek. Their chests rose and fell in unison.
Swinging a leg over, Charlie dismounted his brother’s chest, pulled his feet beneath him. He looked down at Butch, who blinked his eyes like he was trying to bat away the sunlight. “We can’t go back to that hotel.”
Butch’s cough was wet. “Everything we got is back there.”
Charlie flicked his hands, sending a splattering of red over the dirt and corn stalks. “Guess we need some new stuff.”
Sadie sneezed and the brothers startled, turned to her like they’d forgotten she was there.
“You go rustle us up some things,” Charlie said, “seeing as how you’re the one who got us here. I’ll watch the child.”
This time Butch managed to spit, a red glob landing on Charlie’s boot. “The hell you will.”
“Okay. Fine.” Charlie rubbed his hands in the dirt, giving himself a bath, 1st Infantry Division-style. He stood, then looked down at Butch finally hoisting himself on his elbows, and smiled at him. “Don’t go nowhere.”
Then he slammed his boot against his brother’s ribs.
Charlie slunk through the aisles of Mason’s Hardware, collecting its wares. Incandescent lights strobed above him, turning his skin the colors of a jungle stream: green lichen, then white sun reflection, then the pale blue of a body left in the water. Anyone from the sheriff’s department who looked at his collection of items might’ve raised their eyebrow, perhaps told him to come have a talk. A canvas bag, smaller than the earlier one, plus some rope, bleach, bandanas, window cleaner, rubbing alcohol, and a few other assorted items.
He set the pile on the counter. The woman at the register examined the pile, looked up at him.
“I’m a geologist.”
“A what?” She switched the w and h when she asked.
“I find precious stones and clean them.”
She began to ring up the items, handling each with a suspicious sort of care.
“Sure are some strange tools y’all use.”
Charlie ignored her, counting the change in his palm.
“I said, these sure are some strange tools—”
“You ever seen the inside of a human skull?” Charlie shoved his face before hers, not more than an inch between the two. He breathed out of his mouth, letting it wash over her. “Ever heard the sound a brain makes when you sink your fingers in it?”
The woman dropped his items with a clatter.
Charlie slapped a few bills and some change on the counter. “Put it inside that bag for me.” He paused, considering the bleach and window cleaner. “Second thought, give me a paper bag. Two of them.”
He whistled a Hank Williams song while shouldering open the door, a bag held in each arm. When he rounded the corner to his Indian, the sky shattered into a hundred pieces of shrapnel. He felt his jaw click, his tongue squish between his teeth, his ribs shift underneath a boot. Charlie’s head bounced off the packed dirt lot. He pushed static from his eyes, blinking away the morning sun.
A man stood above him, a long purple scar that ran from his temple to down under his jawline. He knelt down, pressing his knee on Charlie’s solar plexus. He relaxed his grip on the barrel of the gun and Charlie could see a splash of blood on the handle.
The man tapped the handle on Charlie’s chin.
“We need to come to an understanding.”
“I’m so hungry I could eat an elephant,” Sadie said.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a shark,” Butch said.
“You can’t eat a shark.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Not here, you can’t. Other places you do.”
“An elephant is bigger than a shark.”
“Would you rather try to catch a shark or an elephant?”
She tapped her finger on her chin. “A bunny.”
Butch breathed a laugh. “Sure, it’d be easier to catch a bunny, but you wouldn’t want to eat one, would you?”
Her face broadcast something that could only be called utter revulsion.
“So you’re going with the shark now?”
“But when are we going to eat pancakes? I’m starving.” She drew out the a for a good ten seconds, running her hand along the stalks for extra emphasis. “And we need to call your doctor about Momma.”
“Right,” Butch said. “We’ll do that soon as we get some breakfast.”
“You keep saying that.”
“We’ll do it, I promise.”
She hesitated a second before looking up at Butch. “Is Momma dead?”
“What?” Butch said, waving his arms around and flapping his mouth for lack of a better option. “No, I—my doctor friend, he—look, sweetheart—”
“Are you lying? Momma always says God knows when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying, sweetheart.” He swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. “And as soon as my brother gets back, we’ll get you some waffles.”
“I hate waffles!”
“Well, it’s a good thing you like pancakes.” Butch pointed to the plume of dust snaking through the stalks toward them. “Because we can go eat now.”
She nodded her head a couple of times, but Butch could tell something had shifted inside her.
Sadie rested one hand on her belly, held pillow-Gabby in the other. She tried to lean back on the Harley’s seat but almost fell off.
“I’m hungry.”
“You should’ve eaten,” Butch said. “You left most of a plate of pancakes inside.”
“I wasn’t hungry then. I want to talk to Momma.”
“Maybe you can meet her,” Charlie said under his breath, handing a bandana and the canvas bag to his brother.
Butch wanted to react to the jibe, but he didn’t have the energy. He focused on the gas station across the street, running through the motions in his head: the door, the register, the gun, the door. In and out in under a minute. No coffee this time, no messing with anyone.
He’d watched Charlie standing outside the restaurant the whole time they ate, smoking cigarettes and preparing the supplies. Now, standing in the parking lot of the shuttered laundromat, neither brother had the will to argue.
Butch pulled Sadie off the bike and deposited her in the alcove of the laundromat. He pointed to the boards nailed across the windows.
“See what’s in there?”
She kicked at the ground, conspicuously ignoring him.
“Come on, sweetheart. We just need to do this one thing real quick. Then I’ll call my doctor friend, okay?”
“Are you telling me the truth now?”
Butch didn’t know how to respond, so he pursed his lips, nodded his head. That seemed to perk her up a bit.
She knelt down before the window, her thin fingers trying to pry the boards farther apart.
“I want you to count how many washing machines and dryers there are. You know how to add, right?”
She nodded.
“Count them three times, then add up those numbers and tell it to me. I’ll be back before you’re done.” He handed her a stick and pointed at the dirt ground. “If you need to write it down, use this.”
He pulled his bandana up over his mouth then nodded to his brother. They headed across the street.
The glass inside the front door shattered when Butch kicked it open. The man bent over a freezer case startled, jumped back. Butch crossed the floor, letting his heels click with each step.
“Money.” He cocked the Mauser. “Now.”
The man stumbled and Butch pushed him toward the register. Charlie hung back by the door, checking outside every few seconds. Dollar bills fell like dead leaves because the man couldn’t steady his hands. A barrel before his eyes didn’t help his composure, so Butch slammed the handle on the bridge of his nose. The man howled, dropped to the floor. Charlie looked out the door.
Butch slipped behind the counter, grabbing fistfuls of dollars and shoving them into the canvas bag. When the register was empty, he headed to the door. Charlie’s arm stopped him.
“You forgot some.” He pointed at the register.
“It’s empty.” Butch tried to shove past his brother but couldn’t.
“The ones he dropped.” Charlie checked outside again. “Get them.”
“It’s only a few bucks. We need to go.”
Charlie leveled his pistol at his brother. “Get them.”
The bandana fluttered when Butch exhaled. He hurried around the counter, crouched, and picked up the seven dollars lying on the floor. The man cupped his flowing nose, rolling on his back like a bug who couldn’t flip over.
At the door, Butch said, “That good enough for you, Daddy Warbucks?”
Charlie nodded and opened the door, motioning for Butch to lead.
Stepping outside, Butch didn’t see Sadie. He started to run, took two steps then heard a snap and the world went black.
Sadie squirmed against Edgar’s grip, but the man’s arms were farmhand thick. She kicked her heels against his shins and he gave no reaction, just stared at Charlie, standing over his fallen brother.
Charlie knelt before his brother, reached out his fingertips and closed his eyes. He whispered a prayer and made the shape of the cross in the dirt beside him, then stood and faced Edgar.
“What now?” Charlie said.
“He’s the one I wanted. He mocked me and killed my nephew.”
Charlie nodded, kept his face blank. “And me? I was there too.”
Edgar stared through him, an expression that Charlie could feel run along his spine like mallets down a xylophone. He had no desire to know what had passed before those eyes to make them as they were now.
Sadie broke free of Edgar’s grip and rushed to Butch. Her shakes could not wake him. Her tears could not roust him. Gabby lay beside her friend. A shadow loomed over Sadie. She looked up and the sun was eclipsed by his outline.
“We need to come to an understanding,” Charlie said to her. “You’re coming with me.”
“I’ll take her to some kin.” Edgar reached down, took Sadie’s arm in his paw.
“I can watch after her.” Charlie’s fingers twitched, hovering over his pistol as he watched Edgar lead the demon girl away.
“No need.” Edgar didn’t look back when he responded. “But you want to think mighty hard before you pull. You might’ve been in a different place, but we saw the same things.”
Edgar continued to the car, depositing Sadie in the backseat. He closed the door then paused briefly to get the measure of Charlie. “You’re going get yours one day,” Edgar finally said. “But whatever you’re carrying inside is likely punishment enough till then.”
He sank into his nephew’s Buick and turned the engine over. The wheels kicked up dust, covering Charlie and Butch.
Back to TOC
The Owls
An owl’s hoot echoes through the trees as the blade of Ruth’s shovel pierces the dirt. She grunts and throws it aside, adjusts the cigarette between her teeth, then continues digging.
“Any time you want to jump in here, don’t worry about your nails.” She rests her fist on her hip, shoots Benny a glare she’s sure he can see even in this dark. The kid pinches his lip a couple more times before making his way over.
“I was trying to stay out of the way.”
“You’re getting in my way by staying out of the way.” She inhales hard, nods at the small hole in the ground. “So start digging.”
Benny takes a couple of tenuous steps toward her, glancing over his shoulder at the station wagon, then sinks his shovel into Leakin Park’s dirt floor. The night air is mild for the fall, one of those odd Baltimore conditions when the moon seems to give more heat than the sun. As the hole grows, sweat begins to bead on Ruth’s forehead, but she just shrugs it away with the shoulder of her flannel shirt and takes a drag from the cigarette clenched between her teeth, holds in the smoke, then blows it out her nose.
“Make sure you bend at your knees. I’m not trying to have your momma come read me the riot act because you threw out your back.”
Benny freezes mid-scoop. “You’re telling Ma?”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt is what I’m saying.”
Another owl hoots, the noise reverberating in the empty space between them.
“But Ma won’t know, right?”
“Christ alive, child. Why the hell would you say that?” Ruth stabs her shovel into the pile of dirt and points at the blue tarp in the trunk of the car. “Ain’t nobody going to know about that, and nobody better ever find out.”
“It’s just, I just don’t understand.” Words fall from Benny’s mouth like concrete chunks from a failing building. “He didn’t, he—”
Ruth walks around the hole and cups her hand beneath the boy’s chin. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll figure it out in a couple years when you got a child of your own. Right now, you only need to listen, not understand.”
“He didn’t need to die.”
Ruth chains a cigarette from the one between her teeth. “Yes, child. He did. This has been a long time coming.”
“No, he didn’t.” His voice wavers, is near to shattering. He shakes his head, tosses half a shovel of dirt to the side. She takes the shovel from his grip and props it against a tree. In the moonlight that bleeds between dying tree branches, the boy’s skin looks like the salamanders he and her daughter, Katharine, used to collect when they were little. Feels about the same, too. What she wouldn’t give to go back to those distant, simpler times.
“He done my baby girl wrong and he needed to die.”
Kathy pulled the brush along her index fingernail, leaving a streak of pink behind. She pressed the bristles against the edge of her cuticle then blew on them. Her toes held tufts of cotton balls between them. She’d just dipped the brush back in the bottle and started on her middle finger when a bang made her jump and smear the nail polish. Her skin radiated pink up to the knuckle. Benny waved at her from outside her bedroom window.
She slid back the glass to let him in, extending her middle finger.
“That’s a rude way to greet your favorite friend.”
“You messed up my nail.” She screwed the brush back into the bottle and waved her hands to dry them. “Ruth’ll kill me if I ruin this blanket. Why can’t you knock normal?”
Benny looked both ways before coming in, like a mouse preparing to cross an open room. “She’s not here is she?”
“Asleep.” Kathy flicked her head toward the ceiling. “I think she’s drunk. Maybe ate too many Vicodins.”
“You always say that but I never see it.”
“She’s an addict. She’s good at hiding it.”
He lowered himself onto her bed. “You don’t have to pretty yourself up just for me, you know.”
“I wasn’t.” She picked at the pink streak. “Dwaine’s taking me to the carnival tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, we’re meeting there. You don’t have a couple bucks, do you? I don’t think he’s got paid yet.”
“No,” he said. She knew Benny didn’t need to listen to the question to say no. Anything about Dwaine was a no anyway. He hopped down to the floor, fishing his hand inside his jeans with his back to her. “She going to be out a while?”
