Big Tim told Marion he would arrange for her to pick up a nice taste for a few hours work, Though its more like play baby. What do you mean by a nice taste? Big Tim laughed his Santa laugh, Damn, you sure is greedy for scag. Marion smiled and shrugged. They be six of you cutting up a piece. An its good, and he smiled as Marions eyes widened and sparkled. When? His smile broadened, Tomorrow night. He waited for a moment, wondering if she would ask what she had to do but he was sure she wouldnt. Its a little party for some people ah know. AMI take you there. Who will be cutting up the piece with me? Five other bitches. Youll be the entertainment… you know, kind of enjoy each others company, you dig? and he smiled then laughed his Santa laugh as he saw what he meant register on Marions face. And the men? They come later, and Tim laughed so hard Marion started chuckling. What time? You be here by eight. Marion smiled and nodded and Big Tim laughed his Santa Claus laugh.
Harry and Tyrone pulled into a small gas station and got out of the car and stretched. The attendant was in the back talking to the mechanic. They looked at Harry and Tyrone for a moment, then the attendant put down his bottle of Coke and strolled out to them. Harry was leaning against the car holding and soothing his left arm, Fill it up with regular, eh? An wheres the mens room? We/re fresh out of gas. O shit. Thas alright jim, we got enough for a while. Harry nodded at Tyrone, May just as well use the mens room. The attendant stared at Harry, Its out of order. Harry looked at him for a moment and noticed the hostile expression on the guys face. A car pulled up to the other pump and the attendant went over to it, Good morning Fred, filler up? Yup. The attendant started pumping gas into the car and the mechanic came out from the back and leaned against the wall and stared into Harrys face provokingly and spit. Harrys pain and confusion started to turn to rage and Tyrone opened the door, Lets cool it baby. Harry looked at Tyrone for a moment, then got into the car. The mechanic continued to stare at them, and spit, as they drove away. What the fuck was that shit, man? Thas the solid South baby. Jesus krist, its like a bad fuckin movie. I thought the fuckin Civil War was over. Sheeit, not to these muthas. They both looked at the gas gauge. What the fuck we gonta do man? How the fuck ah know jim? We jus be cool an get us some mutha fuckin gas, what the fuck else we gonna do? Harry nodded his head and clutched his arm closer to him and they drove in silence, each holding on tight, not wanting to blow his cool and wishing to krist they were somewhere else. The time seemed to drag as they stared ahead, not noticing the trees and poles rushing by. They kept glancing at the fuel gauge and then ahead at the horizon where the sides of the road pinched together and remained unreachably ahead of them. Harry rubbed his arm and, from time to time, Tyrone reached up and rubbed and scratched his head, then leaned his left arm against the door and rested his chin in his hand. Theres one. Yeah. They became increasingly aware of the sweat running down their backs and sides as they pulled into the station. They stayed in the car and Harry leaned out slightly and told the guy to fill it up. Regular. The guy leaned against the pump, ignoring them, as the gas was pumped into the car. When it was full Harry paid him and they drove off, the silence unbroken for many long minutes until Tyrone turned on the radio. The tension started to ease from their bodies along with the sweat. Damn, I could sure use a tase. Yeah, you aint shittin. Theres gotta be a diner pretty soon.
They stopped at a small roadside place and went into the mens room one at a time, the other one sitting at the counter watching carefully. After getting off they relaxed and thought theyd get something to eat, as well as coffee, and Harry called to the waitress who was standing at the other end of the counter talking to a customer, but she ignored him. He called again and the cook jammed his head out and told him to shut up. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, then looked at Tyrone, shaking his head. Tyrone shrugged and they got up and left.
Sara finished her series of shock treatments. She sat on the side of her bed and stared out the window, through the gray glass at the gray sky, the gray ground and bare trees. From time to time she would twist off the bed and shuffle, in her paper slippers, to the nurses office and lean against the wall opposite the door and stare. Do you want something? Sara blinked and stared. Do you want something Mrs. Goldfarb? Saras face twisted slightly and she almost smiled, then she blinked a few times before resuming her staring. The nurse shrugged and went back to her work. Sara slid down the wall and crouched on the floor, still trying to get, and keep, a smile on her face. Her cheek muscles twitched, the corners of her mouth trembled. Eventually she stretched her mouth in a tight, torturous looking wideeyed grin. She fumbled to her feet and shuffled across to the door of the nurses office and stood grinning until the nurse looked at her. Thats very good, now go back to your bed, and she once more turned her back on Sara and continued working. Sara turned and shuffled back to her bed and sat on the side and stared through the gray windows.
Sara was put in a wheelchair and taken from the ward, down an elevator, through a long, gray tunnel to a waiting room where other patients docilely sat, their attendants in a corner smoking, joking, keeping an eye on their patient. Sara looked at those in front of her and blinked a few times, squinted, then stared. From time to time someone would open a door and call a name and one of the attendants would wheel the patient through the door, and they seemed to disappear, yet there always seemed to be just as many people in front of Sara. Time continued to be time and Saras name was called. Her attendant wheeled her through the door and Sara tried to smile. In front of her a man sat behind a desk. There were others in the room. The man behind the desk was called your honor. Someone stood up and opened a folder and read some things to the judge. He looked at Sara. She tried to smile and her face started to stretch in her wideeyed grin as little bits of spittle dribbled down her chin. He signed his name to a piece of paper and handed it back to the man. She was committed to a State Mental Hospital.
Sara was awakened early and hustled out of bed and taken to the basement of the hospital where she was put on a bench to wait. And wait. She asked if she could have something to eat and was told it was too early. When she asked again they said it was too late. Eventually she was checked through one line, then she waited. She sat on the bench and stared. She went to the next line. And waited. She was given her clothes. She looked at them a long time. They told her to dress. She stared. They put some clothes on her. She struggled into the rest. They led her to another bench. She waited. They put her on a bus and she sat and stared ahead as the others were placed in their seats. They drove through the streets with a lifetime of familiar sights and sounds and Sara stared in front of her.