Wormfood (14 page)

I wished she hadn’t mentioned Pearl. The air sparked and crackled with charged electricity and the almost playful nature in Junior’s voice sharpened into something far more serious. “So. The cunt’s got a smart mouth. Let’s see how fucking smart your mouth is with my dick in it.” I couldn’t see the exact expression on his face—they were too far away—but I could tell that Junior meant it. He turned, heading back to the driver’s side of the truck.

I still don’t know why I did it. Maybe I wanted to impress Misty. Maybe I wanted to simply scare them off. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t really know. All I know is that calmly, almost like a casual reflex, I pulled the Anschütz to my shoulder and blew the tip of the left horn of the bull skull off into nothingness.

Junior and Bert froze.

I jerked the bolt back, slammed a new round into the chamber. “Get the hell out of here,” I shouted, hoping my voice sounded braver than I felt.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You didn’t … You didn’t just shoot at me, did you? Did you?” Junior hollered.

I yelled back, “I wasn’t shooting
at
you. I hit what I was aiming at. When I’m shooting
at
you, motherfucker … uh … you won’t know nothing; you’ll be fucking dead.”

Junior’s open mouth snapped shut. “Well, well … You just fucked up seriously, Archie,” he said. “We’re gonna be seeing you later.” I could almost feel the hatred rush across the quarry and wash over me like the putrid water from the pit.

Misty laughed. “Get the fuck out’ve here, you pussies.” She laughed again, a cruel, heartless sound.

Oh, please don’t laugh at them
, I thought.
Things are bad enough
.

Junior just nodded. “Be seeing you. Be seeing
both
of you.” He jerked his head at the truck, and Bert climbed in. Junior nodded at us again, then walked around the front real slow, taking his time. He fingered the broken tip of the bull horn briefly, then climbed into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine, and whipped the truck around in a spray of mud and gravel.

“Oh, my God. That was fucking great!” Misty giggled, and hugged me tight before I had a chance to react. “You were perfect,” she whispered, and gave me a quick kiss. Right on the lips. It was the first time I had ever kissed a girl, and I gotta say, it felt so good I wished the Sawyer brothers would come back so I could shoot at their truck some more.

Then she kissed me again, longer this time.

It finally started to rain and somehow we ended up on the blanket next to the rifle, giggling, whispering, and panting. I don’t remember much, just distinct flashes and sudden sensory impressions. It was the contrasts, I think. The way she tasted sweet and salty at the same time. The hard, unyielding surface of the rocky ground and soft flesh. The way the rain made her skin seem slippery, yet almost sticky.

Her breasts were the smoothest things I had ever touched, smoother than glass, than silk, than oil.

Misty pulled out a condom from somewhere. I remember clothes being pulled off, the rough dampness of the blanket, and the strength of Misty’s arms and legs pulling me close, closer than I’d ever been to another human being.

I lasted about three seconds.

As it turned out, Misty kept a box of condoms in the glove box.

The second time, I lasted maybe a minute.

But the third time, boy, that was something. And Misty seemed to agree.

Afterward, I stared up into the clouds and felt like the greatest champion in the universe. But yet, at the same time, I felt like the scum that floats at the edge of dead, brackish water. It didn’t make much sense. Despite the nagging, ashamed feeling that I had just jumped naked into a giant mud puddle in front of my grandmother, I felt great. No, better than great. I felt like I could walk into Fat Ernst’s bar, piss all over the floor, and laugh in his face.

Misty planted her bare feet flat on the wet blanket, arched her back, and wriggled into her blue panties. As her left knee brushed my cheek I saw that a long, ragged scar curled out from the inside of her knee and down her calf. I caught her knee and held it still as she reached for her blouse. The scar looked like a white, curving zipper of melted flesh on tan skin. I slid my middle finger down the length of it, letting my other fingers whisper along her bare leg while I concentrated on the subtle bumps and ridges, feeling the strange logic of the contours.

Misty shrugged and buttoned her blouse. “Got bucked off a horse,” she said without any trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness. “Landed on a barbed wire fence and my leg got caught in it.”

The bottom dropped out of my stomach, like falling out of the very top of a tall tree. The thought of her getting hurt hit me like a solid kick in the gut, just below my stomach. I swallowed, found my voice. “If anybody ever hurts you ever again, I’ll kill them,” I said.

She laughed, looked me in the eye, and trailed her fingers down my temple, my cheek. “You’re sweet. I never heard that one before.”

“I mean it,” I said. Then I closed my eyes and kissed her scar.

Misty didn’t drop me off at the restaurant until ten thirty, but I didn’t care that I was late. I felt too goddamn good. We’d kept our distance the whole ride back, kind of sizing each other up for real this time. Neither of us had tried touching the other one. We listened to country music instead. I was getting a little worried when she pulled into the parking lot, worried that I’d somehow done something wrong. After she stopped her truck out by the sign, she leaned over and gave me another long kiss.

I felt better.

I stopped at the top step and gave a little wave as she pulled out of the muddy parking lot. I saw her wave back through the rear window as the Dodge bounced up onto the highway and tore off, back toward the foothills. I realized too late that Grandpa’s 30.06 was still in the gun rack, but that was okay. It just meant that I’d get to see her again. I turned to the front door and realized I still had to face Fat Ernst.

I eased the door open as quietly as I could, feeling a flash of panic at being late. But it passed. I peered around the door and found the bar was empty except for Heck. He swiveled around on the bar stool, staring atme through red, sunken eyes, and greeted me with a tremendous belch that crumbled into wet coughing.

“Morning yourself there, Heck,” I said cheerfully, shutting the door behind me. “You need a napkin or anything?”

He shook his head and gave me the thumbs-up sign. I gave him the thumbs-up right back and moved through the tables. I counted three empty glasses on the bar, each coated in some sort of red, grainy liquid. Bloody Marys. Heck was getting started early. One of the glasses had a little purple umbrella sticking out of it. That was different. Fat Ernst must have been in a good mood as well. “Where’s the boss?” I asked, heading for the kitchen.

Heck jerked his head toward the restrooms.
Perfect
, I thought.
All I have to do is collect up these dirty glasses and retreat into the kitchen before Fat Ernst gets out of the bathroom
. That way, I could claim I’d been here for at least fifteen, twenty minutes. “Be right back,” I told Heck and ducked through the swinging doors. Once inside the kitchen, I stood next to the refrigerator and stretched, reaching up to the ceiling, standing on my tiptoes. Grandpa’s boots felt a little stiff, but comfortable. My body felt loose, relaxed, damn near strong. I grabbed the gray plastic bin under the sink and headed back out to the bar.

Heck hadn’t moved. He sat, leaning back against the bar, staring out the front windows. I followed his gaze and watched a shadow appear at the front windows. Darkness gathered at the top of the window and grew as a soft blanket of white noise enveloped the building. Rain spattered against the back wall and marched north across the roof. The wall of black clouds rolled out across the highway, slid over the foothills, and melted into utter blackness above the eastern mountains. Raindrops started landing in the flooded parking lot, creating thousands, millions of muddy explosions.

Heck swiveled back around, shaking his head. “Goddamn rain. There goes any business for the day.” He sighed, then said, “What the hell. Might as well just have a couple more.”

I was reaching for Heck’s empty glasses when a deep, booming crack of thunder shook the air. That’s when I saw Heck’s plate. It was sitting directly in front of him and the glasses surrounded it like bloodied cops guarding a horrible crime scene. There was a lot of yellow wiped around the plate, and I remembered that Heck liked his eggs over easy, just barely cooked. Mixed into the bright, primary-color yellow were a few bits of crust and what looked like the chewed ends of a couple of hamburger patties.

Where had that food come from?

Fat Ernst appeared in the restroom doorway, patting his huge belt buckle affectionately. I jerked my hand away from Heck’s plate as if I’d been stung. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I started grabbing glasses and stacked them in the plastic bin. Fat Ernst stomped through the dining area, hitching up his jeans as he barreled along like a freighter in heavy seas. “Mornin’. How’d it go last night?”

The question caught me off guard. What the hell did he mean? I shrugged. “Uh, okay, I guess.” It came out more as a question than an answer, but Fat Ernst didn’t seem to notice. At least he didn’t seem pissed that I was late.

“Good, good.” He stopped next to me and Heck and fished around in the front pocket of his jeans for a second, then reached out and grabbed my left hand. I tried not to flinch, but if I did, he didn’t notice. Or at least, he pretended not to notice. He just slapped something dry and crinkled into my left palm. Then he waddled around the end of the bar and came toward us on the other side.

I risked a glance down at my palm. A fifty dollar bill was wedged into the crease of skin between my thumb and forefinger. I almost dropped it in surprise. “Yeah, last night was fine,” I said.

“Glad to hear it.” Fat Ernst met my eyes for a moment and I thought I caught a flash of a smirk on his fat face, but it was gone before I had a chance to register anything clearly. He winked at Heck. “How you doin’ there, old man? Looks like you might need another one.”

Heck nodded, as if this were the solution to a complex mathematical problem. “Yeah, you know, I think you might be right.” He glanced over at the jukebox. “Now, if you could just manage to put a couple of songs from the Sons of the Pioneers on that goddamn jukebox of yours, hell, I’d die a happy man. You know, something like ‘Water.’” Heck started singing in a high, warbling tone as I grabbed his plate. “All day I face the barren waste, without the taste of … water …” He placed both hands flat on the bar and drew himself up, as if his head were attached to a fishing line that was being reeled up to the surface. Heck echoed himself in a high, falsetto voice, “… water … water …”

Fat Ernst grinned, eyes bright. “We’ll have to see about that one, Heck.”

I decided to take advantage of Fat Ernst’s good mood and satisfy my curiosity. It just seemed like the right time to ask. Without really thinking, I opened my mouth and the words tumbled out. “Hey, have you guys ever seen Ma Sawyer? I mean, do you know anything about her?”

Heck crunched his dentures together like a startled snapping turtle. Fat Ernst stood back for a moment, then sagged, leaning on the bar, staring at me. He didn’t say anything for a several seconds. “Why?”

“I, uh, saw her last night,” I stammered.

“You saw her last night?” Heck scrunched his eyebrows together. “Huh.” Then, as if he’d forgotten his question, said suddenly, “I saw her once, man. Way back, before the accident.” He stared at the bottles behind the bar. “It was over at Smith’s Butcher Block, that place on Third Street.” He took a sip of his drink before continuing. “Now this, this was damn near thirty years ago. Them boys, they were just little kids.” I had a hard time picturing Bert and Junior Sawyer as little kids. “Pearl had gotten into an argument with the butcher over some damn thing.” Heck looked up at Fat Ernst. “You remember old Guy Smith, right? Well, man, she backed him up against the counter and was chewing into him like you wouldn’t believe.”
Oh, I can believe it
, I thought. “At the time, what took my attention the most was those boys, man. They were grabbing handfuls of ground beef and just flinging them ateach other like goddamn monkeys throwing their shit at each other. I couldn’t believe it. It was just, well …” Heck searched for the word. “… uncivilized.”

Fat Ernst nodded, settling into his stool, while I stood there, plastic bin on my hip, next to Heck. I thought about climbing onto a barstool, but it was kind of an unwritten rule that employees weren’t allowed on the stools. Heck stared at his plate. “But now … hell, man, I remember that woman. She couldn’t have cared less about what her boys were up to. She was too busy staring old Guy down. I guess she was wanting to know why he wasn’t buying any meat from her. Man. Poor old Guy. He kept saying that it wasn’t up to him. But she wasn’t listening.” Heck pounded the bar in sudden recognition. “I remember ’cause it was around Thanksgiving. I was there getting some pork sausage for the stuffing. That’s right.” He stopped, deep in his memories. “Finally, Guy tried to get away, to get around the meat counter. But Pearl, man, she just struck, like a goddamn snake, just grabbed poor Guy by the balls. She looked strong, I tell you that much. She grabbed old Guy’s nuts, I mean hard, man, and hung on, demanding to know why her meat wasn’t being bought. She’d shake him now and again and Guy’d turn about the color of this plate here. The last thing I heard was that rusty voice screaming, ’You listen to me ‘less you want me take a hammer to your balls again.’ I don’t know what finally happened, man, but what I remember—clear as daylight—is that you don’t mess with that woman.”

Fat Ernst nodded. “You got that right. That Pearl, she isn’t a woman you mess with. No, sir.” I nodded too. I knew exactly how Heck and Fat Ernst felt. I’d seen Pearl, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with her. She scared the hell out of me. “Nobody fucks with Pearl. ‘Specially now, after the accident,” Fat Ernst muttered.