It had taken Roy about an hour to find out where she was living in Schuyler. He’d never been comfortable there, especially the closer you got to the college. The sorority girls all looked at him like he was a bug, and their boyfriends steered them away as if he was contagious. He brought the deer rifle with him but left it in the trunk of the car, pleased to realize that he was exercising the kind of restraint that would make Bullwhip proud, though he hadn’t taken any of his other advice. The douchebag Janey’d shacked up with had an apartment just off campus on the street where all the frat houses were, and she opened the door before Roy could even knock. She looked hot. Hotter than ever. “Saw you coming, Roy,” she said. “Story of your life, right?” But then he caught a glimpse of the douchebag in the kitchen, hanging up the phone. He had one of those well-trimmed beards that Roy would’ve liked to sandpaper off. And just that quick Janey was on the floor, blinking up at him, her jaw broken. The scumbag still had his hand on the phone. That’s how fast it all happened. The dumbfuck should’ve stayed in the kitchen, but instead he rushed into the front room where Roy stood over Janey, waiting for her to get up so he could punch her again. He actually looked surprised when Roy punched him, too, which made Roy laugh because how could you be surprised when the person who punched you had just punched your girlfriend like two fucking seconds before? Then the cops were there — that’s who the douchebag was calling — and pulling Roy off the guy. The nigger cop, the same one he’d seen driving the red Mustang around town, was one of them, and in no time Roy was secured in the back of the cruiser. There was worse to come. Roy wasn’t used to being manhandled by black people, but having one laugh at him was really the shits. When it was discovered that he’d been released from prison less than twenty-four hours earlier, the nigger cop laughed that this had to be a new redneck record. He and all the other cops at the station had a great time yukking it up. It was this merriment at his expense, together with the flashy red car, that vaulted Sambo onto Roy’s list and kept him there.
Strange, the effect that laughter had on him, how it made the whole world go red. Most men, given the choice, would rather be made fun of than have the shit kicked out of them. Not Roy. He had, he knew, an amazing tolerance for physical pain. He’d gotten beat up more than once in the joint, and while it wasn’t a pleasant experience the bruises healed. Even the broken bones. The guys that came at him in the joint mostly didn’t even know him, and it was all business, nothing personal. They were there and you were there and shit happened, you couldn’t always tell why. Being laughed at was different. Those wounds refused to scab over and never really healed. You never forgot the words themselves or who said them. Roy couldn’t remember the last time BITCH wasn’t on the top line, and he hated the thought of dropping Janey down, even one notch, but damn if Sully hadn’t gotten under his skin this morning, making that shit up from the want ads to get him to do something stupid that would land him back in jail. He’d come pretty close, too. That Sully was living in his trailer was a different kind of joke at Roy’s expense, and this didn’t sit well either. No question. He was definitely going to have to settle up with Sully.
The question was how, and that would require serious thought. Most people were easy. You just had to figure out what they wanted. Robbing them of their heart’s desire wasn’t very hard. With other people it was more a question of what they feared. But again, it was usually pretty simple. If you asked, half the time the dumb fucks would tell you. Desire and fear. That’s what made you vulnerable. With Sully the problem was that he didn’t seem to want much, and supposedly he was some kind of fucking war hero, which meant he wouldn’t be easy to frighten. Once, years before, he’d tried to take Sully down a peg by telling his retarded father-in-law about him and Ruth, how they were going at it right then in a nearby motel, even giving the idiot the room number, but all he did was tell him to mind his own business. This time he’d have to figure a whole different approach. He heard Sully had given up those shenanigans now that Ruth was dried up and worthless, like all women got eventually. Served them right, too. They only ever had just the one thing a man would want and then came the day they didn’t even have that.
Janey was no different, Roy thought, staring at the word BITCH atop his list. There were times, when he was feeling softhearted, that he wondered if it was strictly necessary for him to square up with her at all. Why not just sit back and let nature run its course? But no, that was crazy thinking. She’d earned that top spot, hadn’t she? By testifying against him in court, even though the law said she didn’t have to? He’d thought about that performance every day when he was locked up, about how he wouldn’t even be there except for her. Planning what she had coming to her when he got out was the only thing that made life in the joint bearable.
He wasn’t over her, though. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he wasn’t. In the joint his hatred had been pure, but as soon as he laid eyes on her again he knew there was still something between them. Though she might be homely like her mother, he liked the way she looked in that Applebee’s uniform, Janey all but busting out of hers. If she played her cards right, there was no need for her to be on his list at all. Seeing her again, he thought he could maybe forgive her. If she came up to him and said, “Hey, Roy,” and traced one of her long fingernails along the line of his jaw, like she used to do, he just might. Instead she had to go and slap him with that fucking restraining order before he could even say hello. So, no going soft now.
But he might drop her down a slot. He might just sleep on it to see how it felt. Tomorrow, if he changed his mind, he could just put her right back on the top line. No harm done.
Reassured, Roy took out the pen he’d swiped from the emergency room and drew a line through each name and began a new page that offered a more up-to-date testimony to his feelings.
The top line now read: SULLY.
—
“SO,” SAID A RASPY VOICE, close at hand, and when he looked up from the notebook his mother-in-law was leaning across the front seat of her sedan to stare at him. Had he dozed off? How long had she been there? Like most sneaky people, Roy hated being snuck up on. Especially when the person in question was acting like you had no clothes on.
“Ma,” he said, getting stiffly to his feet, surprised by how much that hurt. The painkillers they’d given him at the hospital were already wearing off. He’d planned to sell the rest of them at Gert’s, but now he was thinking he might set aside a few for his own use. “I didn’t see you pull up.”
Ruth nodded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn you were in deep thought.”
Roy got in slowly, gingerly, wincing as he closed the door. “There you go,” he said, offering her the biggest smile he could muster under the circumstances, hoping to disguise the hostility that her presence always provoked. “Selling me short again.”
“Is that what I’m doing, Roy?”
“It is,” he said. “And that’s for true. One day you’ll finally get it.”
“Work faster,” she said. “I’m getting old.”
“You and your boyfriend both,” he said. He knew she and Sully had quit that, but he couldn’t resist the jab. “He’s always shortchanging me, too. I must be an easy target.”
“I guess you are,” she said, pulling away from the curb. At the traffic light, though, she looked over at him with something akin to concern. “You hurting bad, Roy?”