PART TWELVE
(Published in 1999)
I wake up the next morning, face down in the pillow; a feeling in my chest like my daddy has just left me again. My head pounds like a mule kicks. My throat is dry as the desert but my gut is okay. I got a rock solid gut. When I look out the bedroom window, I see that the Caddy is gone. Suddenly, I’ve got killer heartburn.
The first thing I think of is my weapon, so I lurch into the living room and grab for the sack. I lift it up and the weight is there. I reach inside the bag; my fingertips feel the smooth plastic pistol and I relax.
He was just a car thief, I think to myself. Going to sell that sled up on the rez and I’ll never see him again. Then I hear tires crunching up slowly on the gravel outside, and get a rush of paranoia thinking Roy dropped a dime on me and it’s the cops rolling in. I whip out the piece and jack one into the ready position. I run over to the wall and sneak a peek out the window above the big old-fashioned sink. There is Roy getting out of the Cad with a couple white Styrofoam cups and a white bakery bag. I stick the gun back in the sack and set it on the counter next to the sink.
“Coffee,” he says a couple seconds later, grinning through the door. “I really needed some coffee. I got these cinnamon and caramel rolls, too. They’re some of the best in the world. Baked up fresh everyday at the Tofte Cafe.”
“They open all ready?”
“Already? It’s nine-thirty, Mr. Dead-to-the-World.”
“No shit, I thought it was just first light.”
First thing I do after those rolls and all that coffee, is take one hell of a good dump. Then I jump in the tiny little tin shower stall and wash away the drug sweat. Afterwards, I’m walking out of the can with a towel wrapped around me, and there’s Roy with my fucking gun in his fucking hand, and he’s pointing it right at me.
The bastard was just waiting for the right moment, I’m thinking.
“Nice piece,” Roy says, turning and swinging the Glock toward the lake, which we can both see through the front window. “I used to shoot a forty-five, in the service. Couldn’t hit the side of a barn with that hog. I bet I could do better with this little number.”
“What the fuck are you doing with my fucking property in your hand, Roy? You ought to know better that to pull shit like that. In the joint, a man could get a shank in the spine for something like that.”
“Well, this ain’t the joint, Mr. Heavy Dude. You see, up here in the North Woods, if you see a man’s bag sitting in a puddle of water by the sink, you take it out of the water for him. And if the bottom of the bag is all wet and a gun falls through onto the counter, you pick it up and dry it off and give it back to the guy.” He sets it down on the table and smiles, looking up at me like a contented crow.
“Son of a bitch…. You are a surprising man, Roy. You just keep me guessing, don’t you? You doing this shit on purpose? Trying to flip me out? First the drugs and then the driving—and after that the fucking stories about shape shifters for the Christ sake. What the fuck is that all about? Then you take off—and then you come sneaking back. What the fuck is the deal here? I’m getting too goddamn old for this shit. I just came up here to get what’s coming to me, not to get run through the goddamn wringer.”
When I pick up the gun, I feet better again.
“I’m going to roll a joint,” Roy says, indifferent to my rant. “And speaking about what you got coming, how about me? Where’s the thousand beans for the skin-boy chauffeur. I haven’t seen the color of your money yet.”
“Yeah, Roy, you’re right. I owe you. I guess I flipped out, didn’t I? I’m getting too goddamn old for this fucking shit.” I go into the bedroom and fish my wallet out of my pants. My clothes are in a pile on the bed: jeans, polo shirt, sweater and the wool socks I bought in Superior. I feel like an asshole for going off like that, so I take eleven crisp Ben Franklins from my wallet with the intention of giving them all to Roy. I figured an extra C-note was a good way to apologize.
He wouldn’t take the extra Benjamin, he says, unless I deduct it from the two grand he has coming at the end of the road. I’m thinking that I never met a man this honest. Except myself of course.
(To be continued)
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