But me? I tell him I want to be sure first, and he’s kinda lookin’ at me like I’m a big pussy, but I got this dude’s number, see? I know what motivates him. There ain’t nothin’ this cat wouldn’t do for a few greenbacks. Meth, junk, coke… he’d sell ‘em to a preschooler if the cash was there, man.
So I tell him how if I knew for certain, I’d make her sorry she ever spread for anyone but me. I’m layin’ it on thick, too. Talkin’ about how I thought about hiring a PI to tail the broad but I was worried a gumshoe might put two and two together if she should disappear shortly after he wrapped up his investigation.
“Shit, homes,” Steel says. “I’ll hook you up, man. I’ll get some dudes on that bitch and if she’s puttin’ out you’ll fuckin’ know. And then you just do what you gots to do and nobody’ll think twice.”
So there it is, man, you can beat two birds in the bush with the one in your hand or some shit like that. Not only did I end up with some pretty primo stash, but I solved my little problem about our dearly infected Ms Hudson…
The next few days were pretty much business as usual, ya know? I went to the REC site, put in my required hours, smoked a lot of weed, and only got pulled into the Eye a time or two.
It was always there in the back of my mind, every time there was a knock on the door, I’d get this nervous little feeling in my stomach, wondering if it was Steel with his report. Phone goes off and I’ve got it answered before it’s even had a chance to finish the ringtone. And I’m tryin’ to keep myself busy, ya know? Trying to find ways to pass the time.
I make a trip to the hardware store, pick me some different sizes of flex couplings and PVC bushings, and then skirt on over to Pronto Auto for a selection of oil filters. Why so many? ‘Cause I didn’t trust myself to get it right the first time, man. Which is kinda funny, really. You give a stoner the right tools and he can build anything, ya know?
So anyways, eventually Steel does show up and he’s got this little smirk on his face. He glances down at all the oil filters on my coffee table and kind of nods the same way someone else might if they were appreciating a piece of art that happened to be layin’ there. “Hate to tell ya this, homes, but your bitch? Certifiable whore, man. Hell, that cunt puts out so much you could probably drive a Mac truck up her pussy and still have room for clearance.”
Only he wasn’t sorry to tell me. I could tell by that little gleam in his eyes.
“Mean as hell, too. Shit, man, I saw her lay into this dude down at that shopping center near East Lamont? He just barely bumped up against her cart with his and this crazy whore’s all over him. Scratching his face to beat all hell, kicking him in the nads over and over. He wasn’t the only one, either. Seemed like if she wasn’t fuckin’ them, she was flying off the handle and beatin’ a fucker down. Yellin’ all this fucked up shit, too. Like all her words were getting mixed up.”
He was obviously relishing this, and I was a captive audience.
“Your kill ass I’ll. She actually said that, can you believe that shit? First I thought it mighta been because she’d done gone postal on those fuckers. But it just got worse and worse. Got to the point where nothin’ coming out of that dick suckin’ mouth made any sense. Crazy fuckin’ bitch, my man. You’re better off without her. Damn psycho.”
And there it was. I’d expected four since I’d already had half of it accounted for anyways. But Steel just comes along and dumps number five and six right into my lap. Uncontrollable rage, muddled thinking. It’s like their rational minds are already shutting down, you know? As if they’re devolving into creatures of pure, primal instinct.
“You want I should take care of this little problem of yours? Special rate, seeing as I know you and all.”
I can’t remember exactly what I told the dude. I felt all breathless and shaky, like I’d popped too much speed or something. It was somethin’ about how this was personal… that kinda shit. That it was something I had to do myself but I’d keep him in mind if anything ever came up in the future. And he kinda laughed, only there wasn’t any real joy in it.
“But there is somethin’ I may need your help with, though.” I tell him.
He just stands there with his thumbs hooked in his waistband with this thin little smile stretched across that face of his.
And me? I’ve already checked off numbers one through six, man. I’m thinkin’ that maybe I don’t wanna wait around for that seventh sign, ya know? Besides, by then it’d be too late.
“I’m gonna need a gun.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
She must have retreated into the safety of sleep at some point during the night; Ocean remembered squeezing her eyes shut as if she could somehow force the memories of what she’d seen out of her mind. When she opened them again, she was facing the brick wall near the section that served as her bedroom. She could hear Gauge and Levi talking softly, their voices nothing more than a rhythmic lull occasionally punctuated by laughter.
Judging from the crackle and pop of burning wood, they were probably in the kitchen, most likely preparing breakfast. That she hadn’t been yanked from her dreamless slumber by rough hands and furious accusations let her know that Gauge had no clue she’d opened the forbidden door. What she’d seen on the other side was still her little secret, a mystery that she’d have to unravel on her own.
Or just forget about, she thought. You can just pretend it never happened. You didn’t sneak into that room, you didn’t see anything. You couldn’t sleep so you took a walk. Down the south tunnel, yes, but you didn’t stop at that door. You didn’t open it. You took your walk and came right back to bed. Would they be able to tell? Would they see the deception written across her face as clearly as the writing on the metallic signs bolted to the walls in the tunnels? Would they know somehow?
Ocean watched the light from the hearth flicker and dance across the wall, trying to keep her breathing as steady as possible. It was best to pretend she was still asleep, that would buy her a little time, at least. Maybe she could actually convince herself that it really hadn’t been anything more than a bizarre nightmare.
Maybe by the time the great chamber filled with the aromas of cooking food, the events of the previous night would already have started to fade. She’d rub her eyes as if they still felt gritty from sleep, eat her breakfast and go about her daily chores, just like she always did. She’d chew some of the food into a pulpy mush which she’d then feed to Baby. She’d clean any messes the infant may have made during the night, and tidy up her sleeping area. It would be just another day underground.
You can’t just pretend that it never happened, part of her mind insisted. You can’t!
A memory of her father flashed through Ocean’s mind. He’d taken an old piece of rope from the trunk of one of the cars and tied a white piece of cloth in the very center. Then he’d used a charred two-by-four like a pencil, scratching dark lines of soot against the pavement. Her father had made two different lines, each one parallel to the other but spaced far enough apart that she could have laid between them.
Next, he’d told her to take one end of the rope and he took the other. Each of them stood behind one of the lines, facing one other, with the rope taut between them. The white cloth was centered almost directly between the lines. Ocean remembered her mother rolling her eyes from the other side of the clearing.
“This is called tug-o-war,” her father had explained with a smile. “It’s a game I used to play when I was your age, honey.”