Текст книги "Foodchain"

Автор книги: Jeff Jacobson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

* * * * *

“Holy fucking shit!” Chuck screamed. “That’s fucking awesome!” Pine blurted at the same time. Sturm ginned back at them.

Frank wondered how many people had seen this photo. He resolved to shave off his long hair the first chance he got. In the bottom left corner was a web address, black against the mottled pavement. It was too small to read, so Frank pointed at it.

Sturm nodded. “Wondered who’d find it first.”

Theo rolled the cursor over to the number and clicked on it. This opened up several other windows. He went through them, tapping out passwords. The last window had a ten-digit number, nothing else. It was a phone number. “Somebody call that number,” Sturm said.

Pine was the only one with a cell phone. He dialed. The phone on Sturm’s desk rang. He picked it up and said, “Hell of a picture, ain’t it?”

“It sure as hell is,” Pine said.

“Shit, you’d think that was taken right here in America. Must be one of them faked photos you see on the net you see from time to time. Can’t be true. But hell,” Sturm loaded his bottom lip with tobacco. “Wouldn’t that be something. To stalk and kill an animal that exotic, that magnificent, on the streets and backyards of Small Town, USA.”

“It sure as hell would.”

“Chance to be thirteen years old again. Yessir. Can you imagine something like that, hunting and fucking just like you could when you were that age? But for real this time. Goddamn. This ain’t no pussy canned hunt. No sir. This ain’t for goddamn pansies who can’t handle stalking and killing an animal. And it sure as shit ain’t for those cocksuckers that don’t have a problem shooting an animal tied to a stake. They try that around here, I’m liable to tie them to a fucking stake and start shooting. No sir. This is the real goddamn deal, hunting a genuine jungle predator. Hell I believe I’d pay just about anything for a shot at something like that. I tell you a figure I wouldn’t blink at, I wouldn’t think anything of paying ten grand for something like this. If the opportunity presented itself. Not for something that much fun.”

Pine swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t blink at all at a figure like that.”

Sturm said, “Then I would suggest arranging for a trip say, around late August, somewhere around August 21st.” Sturm hung up.

He leaned forward. “This photo has been sent to a very exclusive group of gentlemen. Men who do not blink at spending ten thousand dollars or more to hunt anything they want.” Sturm rapped the desk. “That ten grand? That’s just to get here. The gentlemen are then free to gamble among themselves.” Sturm opened his large palms. “And naturally, in a situation such as this, it’s only reasonable that the house deserves thirty percent of every transaction.”

Everybody tried to quickly calculate the amount. Frank said, “We got six lionesses left. That cheetah.” The amount got bigger.

“The monkeys,” Chuck suggested.

“The dogs,” Jack said.

“The rhino,” Theo said.

Sturm nodded. “We got ourselves a chance to make some real money. But it ain’t gonna just fall out of the sky. We have some work to do. First up. Walkie-talkies. I ain’t got time to driving over half creation to find you.” Theo handed the walktie-talkies out. Everyone got one, except for Frank. Sturm explained, “You stay at the vet’s, so I know where to find you if I need you. The rest of you, you keep these charged and close. I expect you to answer quick if I call. Jack, you and Chuck head down to Redding. We’re gonna need three, four big tents. I mean big. Big as you can get. And as much goddamn liquor as you can carry. You come talk to me soon as you get back.

“Pine, you go get as much ammo as possible. You need to leave immediately, so you can head back and unload at least a couple of times before our guests arrive. Hit Redding, then head over to Reno. Stop at every gun store, bait shop, and especially goddamn Wal-Mart you pass. Go down I-5 and clean that valley out. We need every .12 gauge and rifle shell they got.”

“You bet.”

“And you, Frank.” Sturm rolled his fingers across the top of the desk in a staccato burst. “Without them animals, this whole enterprise is nothing but a bunch of hicks with their thumb up their ass, trying to peddle a few silhouette targets. The Roman army had a special rank for getting their on exotic animals for the Colosseum games. Called ’em venator immunis. That’s you. So you’re gonna be my right hand man in this. Them cats, they’re an investment. A serious investment. We put their health first. ’Til the hunt, of course. But we will deliver what we promise. A chance to hunt one of the world’s biggest and lethal predators through the streets of a small town. I want them cats healthy as if God himself blessed them with his grace. And you’re gonna do that for me. For us.” Sturm stood up. “Gentlemen. We have thirteen days to whip this town into shape. There’s a whole shitload of work to do, so I suggest we all get to it.”

As they were leaving, the phone on Sturm’s desk began to ring.

* * * * *

Frank got back with enough time to feed the animals and take another shower. Standing in the cramped bathroom, he eyeballed his reflection critically, said to hell with it, went out and found the clippers and shaved his head. He wondered if he should wear his suit. In the end he decided against it, and went with jeans and a clean gray cowboy shirt. He wasn’t sure where they would head for dinner, fairly certain that Whitewood didn’t have any kind of restaurant or diner or café or anything like that, just a sliver of a cinderblock bar over by the railroad. That meant they’d have to drive to another town, and he wanted to look like just another field hand.

The dead tree was empty. Frank still parked where he’d watched the cop car park, protected by the satellite dish. The gas station across the street was closed and dark. The sun was setting and a persistent wind came down from the north. He felt almost cool as he stepped out of the car.

Smoke rose from the house as he came up the wide trail of baked bare earth that marked the path to the front door. Other than the smoke, the place was lifeless. Frank had been doing pretty good, wasn’t too nervous up until then. He’d seen Annie take care of her brothers on at least two occasions, and he knew she could handle them without worries. But up until now, Frank hadn’t thought of the mothers. He wasn’t sure how this little date would go over at all, wasn’t sure how they would react to a man taking their daughter out. He hadn’t seen them since the night of the BBQ and carnival. He wanted to just say hi, get Annie out of the house, and take off.

The front door was in his face, daring him to either knock or get back in the car. He knocked. It opened immediately. Two brothers, twins, both around seven or eight, waited stiffly inside. They wore identical clothing, deeply bleached white shirts ironed into sharp angles, black bow ties that matched the black pants and plastic wing tips, a white bathroom hand towel over their right forearm. Their hair was neat and slicked back. One of them had a Band-Aid on his chin.

“Please come in, sir,” Band-Aid said. Both were deeply respectful, deferential even, and kept their eyes downcast.

“Thank you,” Frank said and walked inside. A giant, flat slab of oak dominated the center of the large room. Five chairs and place settings had been laid out. They looked lonely at the large table. The walls were the color of merlot, bisected by a wooden chair rail. A large wood cabinet with glass fronts sat in the middle of each wall. Various ceramic figurines were carefully arranged inside. Orange shag carpet covered the floor.

More brothers rushed around, each dressed identically. Only the black eyes, split lips, and scabbed knuckles separated them. A few were hastily dragging an old vacuum out of the room. A door waited off to the right; the floor gave way to tile, and it smelled delicious, mostly tomatoes and garlic. Two other doorways led to the rest of the house, in the corners of the far wall.

“Please, sir, have a seat.” Band-Aid dragged out the chair that faced the kitchen across the large table. His twin brother positioned himself on the other side of the chair. “Um, my sis—Miss Annie will be down in a minute. May I offer you a drink?” Frank sat down and before he could scoot it forward, the brothers shoved the chair at the table like they were football lineman driving a heavy training sled, almost pitching Frank out of the chair.

“May I offer you a drink?” Band-Aid repeated, nearly demanded.

Frank wanted alcohol desperately, but thought it might be impolite to ask. So he said, “Maybe a glass of water, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The brothers headed for the kitchen, always together, like they were Siamese twins, joined at the shoulder. Edie, the mother with the crazy eyeball, came out of the kitchen in their wake. She was wearing her usual limp dishrag of a housedress, but this time she had a white apron over it. It looked more like it had come from a hospital than a kitchen, but it was clean. She walked with long, determined strides, crossing the room like that tiger had bounded across the street.

Edie held out her hand and shook Frank’s hand harder than Sturm, grinning so fiercely it looked like the crazy eye was squinting in rage. “So happy to see you again. I’m glad you have decided to take care of the animals in this town. We are all very pleased to have Petunia back with us.”

“Thank you, that’s—that’s all right. Glad I could help her.”

“Well.” She wiped her hands on the apron. “Dinner will be served shortly. I must apologize for the tardiness of my daughter and wife. They wanted to look their best.” She smiled fondly at the far door. It was closed. “I’m afraid I must get back into the kitchen.” The thin, wicked grin was back. “My supervision is needed.” She left the room as fast as she had entered and suddenly Frank was alone.

Frank could see that the place was banged up, but clean. The deep carpet was fluffy, and still faintly damp from last night’s shampoo. The walls had been scrubbed and the table felt oily from the wood polish. Band-Aid came out of the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water. “If you need anything else, my name is Ezekiel.” He stepped back and stood at the wall.

Another brother, this one maybe ten or eleven, with more scabs, Band-Aids, and scrapes than any of the brothers that Frank had seen, came out and lit the candles, four tall, twisted metal candle holders in the middle of the table. When he came around the table, Frank could see that this brother even had stitches, holding most of his left nostril onto the rest of his nose. This was Gunther, but everyone just called him Gun. He didn’t look at Frank, but Frank felt trouble coming off the kid like a dandelion in an earthquake.

Annie bounced into the room, and Frank didn’t even see the kid leave. All Frank saw was Annie’s smile. He didn’t even notice that she was wearing some kind of short dress until later, after dinner. Just that smile.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Like your haircut,” as he tried to push the chair back from the table in the heavy carpet. Before he could rise, she was past him and on her way down to the other end of the table. Two brothers materialized out of the kitchen, pulled her chair back for their sister, and shoved her toward the table.

“Thank you for having dinner with me,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”

“Got some water, thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

“Well,” she said, “you change your mind, you be sure to let Zeke there know. He’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure he will. He seems very capable.”

Annie laughed. “Yes he’s that—capable. Last week Mom caught him with three rattlesnakes in his backpack. One, hell, it wouldn’t surprise me around here. But three?”

Frank looked back at Zeke. “How’d you catch ’em?”

Zeke’s eyes watched Annie. She nodded, said, “Go ahead and answer. It’s okay this time.”

“They like the paved roads out in the foothills, around dusk,” he shot a look at his sister, making it clear he wished he was out there now. “They’ll come out on the pavement, soak up the heat. Gets cold sometimes at night. They like the heat.”

“How’d you get them in the backpack?”

Zeke looked at Frank like he was one of the biggest dumbshits he’d ever seen. “Grabbed them. They didn’t crawl in by themselves.”

The other Glouck mother, Alice, came out of the same doorway as Annie, in a long, black prom dress from the early eighties. It would have been tight on most women, but Alice was built like the Eiffel tower, wide feet, thick ankles, narrow hips, smaller shoulders, and a tiny head. She moved in short, shuffling steps, chafed by the dress around her calves. Black lace gloves ended her skeletal arms, like two wooden matches, broken in half. Tonight, her hair was pinned up, and when she got close, Frank was startled to see that she was wearing a hint of makeup. “How lovely to see you again, Frank.” She shook his hand, clasping it in both hands and petting it. “Our little Annie is pleased to see you—you do know that, don’t you?”

Annie said awful quick, “Why don’t we all have a seats. Maybe a drink?”

There was a knock at the front door.

“That must be our other guest,” Alice said, but didn’t let go of Frank’s hand. One of the brothers ran to the door and yanked it open.

He wore jeans and a dark green cowboy shirt with the shoulders embroidered with scrolling, thick black thread. He’d gone to the trouble of wearing a shark tooth bolo tie.

“Please come in,” Zeke said.

“Thank you,” Sturm said and came inside. He moved a little stiff, but otherwise just fine.

“How lovely to see you again, Mr. Sturm.” Alice finally let go of Frank’s hand and worked her way over to Sturm. It took a while in that dress. “Flowers, how lovely.” Her words came out in halting, stiff sounds, like they tasted unfamiliar. She took the flowers and said, “Let me get a vase. Please, please, have a seat.”

Yet another brother appeared. “May I get you a drink, sir?”

“Sour mash whiskey. Two ice cubes. In a glass this wide,” Sturm made a ring with his thumbs and forefingers. “And this high.”

“Yes, sir.” The brother tore off to the kitchen.

Sturm nodded at Frank. “Frank.”

Frank nodded back, not surprised at anything anymore.

Sturm nodded at Annie. “Miss.”

“How are you, Mr. Sturm?”

The same two brothers yanked his chair back and threw him at the table. “I’m doing well.”

Alice came back with the flowers in a ceramic vase. She put them on the table between the candles. “How lovely.” She sat down in the last empty chair. Her sons helped her up to the table. Zeke rushed up to Sturm with his whiskey, then stood rigidly at attention behind Sturm.

Silence grew across the table. Alice looked more and more uncomfortable. Frank figured the Gloucks didn’t entertain folks too often. Four brothers burst into the room, each carrying a bowl of minestrone. The soups were delivered at exactly the same time, quick and smooth; the brothers didn’t spill a drop. They faded into the walls and Frank was impressed with the near professional conduct of the brothers. They worked hard.

“Please. Enjoy,” Alice said.

Frank and Sturm murmured thanks. The soup was spicy, more vegetable than water, and delicious. Neither hesitated for a second spoonful. But as soon as everyone finished their soup, silence bloomed again.

Alice couldn’t take it anymore. “Music! Would anyone like to hear music while we eat?”

“I guess that would depend on what kind of music,” Sturm said.

Alice wasn’t ready for that. “Well, ahhh, we have…classical?”

“We have classical music, Mr. Sturm,” Annie said.

Sturm wasn’t impressed. “Fine.”

“We also have plenty of gangster rap,” Annie said. “Would you prefer that instead?” Frank thought he heard a whisper of a laugh from the kitchen.

Sturm didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“I have some serious black metal—Scandinavian death metal, you know?” Clearly Annie’s favorite.

“I don’t—I don’t think that would be appropriate for the dinner table,” Alice said.

The second course was brought out, giant ceramic tubs of some kind of pasta in a creamy white sauce, with broccoli. Like the minestrone, it tasted fantastic. Edie came out and asked, “You folks need anything?” and got a sharp look from Alice. “If you’re looking for music, we’ve got some really cool disco albums around here.” She started to softly sing under her breath.

“Please Edie, no ABBA. Not tonight.” Alice helped Edie into the kitchen.

Annie’s tone got more playful with Sturm, nicer somehow. “Let’s see. I think we may have some country music around here. Old stuff.”

“I always liked them singing cowboys, the early ones. Roy Rogers, Sons of the Pioneers. Gene Autry. Not like that shit you here on the radio nowadays. Just ’cause they wear a damn cowboy hat. Those people wouldn’t know authentic country music if it came up and bit ’em on the ass.”

Frank himself had a weakness for the Mexican tunes he had heard around the barns from twenty dollar boomboxes choked with dust. The only Spanish he spoke was related to racehorses, so he figured the music had to be love songs. The lead singer sounded wounded somehow, but sang with a rolling melody like water over rocks in a desert creek. The band was almost always made up of trumpets, tubas, maybe a strange little guitar or two, and an accordion holding the whole thing together.

Frank kept this to himself.

Alice came back. “I’m sorry. She always gets nervous around company.”

“She won’t be like this around the guests, will she?” Sturm said. “I mean, maybe its best if Mrs. Glouck stays in the kitchen once we have company.”

Frank knew Annie’s feelings were hurt because she took her eyes off Sturm and for a second, couldn’t look into his face. Frank had been wondering which mother was Annie’s, but still wasn’t sure. He heard Alice say, “Ah, I, well—don’t think that will be a problem. I hope this won’t interfere with our arrangement.”

Annie cut in quick. “I think Mr. Sturm will understand this is a trial run, won’t you Mr. Sturm?” She’d looked back up and now stared across the table at him. Without waiting, she rolled on. “He’ll understand that we have thirteen days to polish our services. We will get it straight. Tonight is a simple get together.”

“No dear,” Alice said just as fast. “I believe the word was ‘audition.’”

“Tell me, Mr. Sturm—”

“Call me Horace,” Sturm damn near shouted.

“Tell me Horace, who exactly is this family’s competition? Given the nature of your enterprise.”

Sturm crossed his arms, leaned on them, knocked on the table. “Just making sure the food and service is at a professional level. Our guests have traveled the world, eaten at the finest restaurants, slept in the finest hotels. I’d hate to disappoint them.”

“I think you’ll find, Mr. Sturm, that your guests will be taken care of. There will be no complaints, I promise you,” Alice said with an edge in her voice, an invitation for Sturm to disagree.

“I gotta be honest here, ladies.” Sturm leaned back and turns his palms up, as if surrendering. “Everything I have seen and tasted tonight has been delightful. If I come across as some mountain man who’s been out in the hills for too long, my apologies. I believe in being up front and honest. I have full confidence in this family’s capabilities.”

“See?” Annie said. “I told you Mr. Sturm—”

“I said, call me Horace,” Sturm said and pulled an envelope out of his pocket. Inside was four pages of legal writing.

“—Horace would understand.”

“How lovely,” Alice said.

Sturm waved the brothers away and got up and flattened the papers on the table next to Alice’s plate. He signed it, then let Alice sign. She signed twice. Sturm took the top two pages, refolded them and tucked them away as he sat back down. Alice gave her copy to a brother and he took off.

And just like that, the ice was broken. Frank could feel everyone at the table relax, as if the house itself had exhaled. Alice and Sturm talked politics and weather. Frank caught Annie glancing at him now and again throughout the dinner, but her expression was indecipherable. He couldn’t figure out what the next dish was, chicken parmesan maybe, but something was different. Sturm had to point out it was tiger meat. Frank didn’t care. It tasted unbelievable.

* * * * *

Edie came out and tried to kiss Alice at one point, but Sturm didn’t say anything. He just looked at his plate. The only other incident came just after desert, delicate little pastries filled with heavy crème. Frank didn’t know how it started, just that there was a pop from the kitchen, and Gun slammed backwards through the door, the front of his shirt on fire. He was pursued by two older brothers, who seemed to be more interested in making sure the flames burned off his face before the fire was extinguished.

Still, Gun fought back, punching and kicking, ignoring the flames searing his flesh. Eventually, he ripped off his burning white shirt and tried to use that as a weapon. Annie jumped to her feet and hurled the pitcher of water at her brothers, but it glanced off Gun’s back and exploded against the wall. Edie burst from the kitchen and slammed Gun onto the floor. She kicked her toe under his shoulder and jerked him up, rolling him against the still damp shag carpet. That put out the fire.

She whirled and slapped both of the attacking brothers at the same time. They backed into the kitchen without a word. Then she got herself a handful of Gun’s hair and lifted him off the floor and threw him at the kitchen door. He landed on the linoleum floor and slid into the stove with a crash.

Edie turned and said, “My deepest, sincere apologies. I knew it was a mistake to give him a job lighting candles. Should’ve never given him a lighter. You have my word, Horace, that this will never happen again.” She vanished into the kitchen and slammed the door.

* * * * *

The house was quiet except for the muffled slaps and cries from the kitchen. The rest of the brothers had vanished into the shag carpet. Annie stood. “If you gentlemen will excuse me. I’ll be right back. In the meantime,” she snapped her fingers and two brothers reluctantly appeared. They quickly poured two whiskies and threw the glasses in front of Frank and Sturm.

Annie followed her family into the kitchen. “Stupid goddamn French fry licking—fucking morons—you too—” The door shut, reducing Annie’s voice to hisses and barks.

“Well,” Alice said. “My goodness. The boys, they like to roughhouse. Um, cheers.” She lifted her glass at Sturm and Frank.

Sturm took his whisky, saluted Alice, and threw it back.

Frank decided it would be okay to drink. So he took a solid sip. It left a clean, pure burning path down his throat and rekindled the embers lying dormant in his stomach. His mood improved instantly.

Sturm waved his glass in the general direction of the brothers flanking the front door. They leaped to life and immediately refilled it.

Ignoring Alice, Sturm asked, “How’re my girls?”

“They’ve been worse.”

Sturm snorted into his whiskey. “Hell yes, son. I know that. Are they going to be ready to hunt?”

Frank took another sip and let it sit in his mouth for a moment, feeling the smooth sizzle of the amber liquid. He swallowed and nodded. “They’ll be ready.”

“That’s all I ask.” Sturm finished the rest of the glass and thumped it on the table. “Miss Glouck, this evening has been quite satisfactory. Well done. Give my compliments to the chef. Unfortunately, it is time for me to remove myself. I have a very full day tomorrow, as do we all.” He gave Frank a meaningful look.

“Yeah.” Frank emptied his glass, set it gently on the table.

Alice fought to rise quickly in her tight dress, as if she was afraid Sturm or Frank might stand first. “Well, thank you gentlemen for gracing us with your presence. It was lovely.”

Sturm stood and nodded, “Of course.”

“So…we will be waiting to hear from you,” Alice said.

Sturm patted his pockets to reassure himself that the contract and his wallet were still there. “Soon as we get the tents set up, I’ll let you know.”

Frank stood as well, eyeing the kitchen door, but Annie didn’t appear. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.” He meant it.

Alice gave him a smile, a genuine one this time, unselfconscious, one that pulled her chin back in tight to her throat and exposed her crooked bottom teeth. It made Frank feel even warmer, fueling the whiskey fire. He felt almost safe. Alice stared right at him. “You come back anytime you want. You got a place at this table anytime, understand? You helped Petunia.”

“That’s his job,” Sturm said. “He fixes animals that are broken.” One of the brothers brought his hat. “Thank you again for a lovely meal.” Settling the black Stetson on his white, bald head, he said, “Let’s go.”

Frank nodded, almost bowed, at Alice. “Thanks. Tell Annie I said goodnight,” he said and followed Sturm out the front door. They walked through the deep shadow of the satellite dish eclipsing the streetlight. Sturm paused long enough to light a cigar. “That haircut. That’s a whole lot better. Cleaner.” Sturm said, popping his cheeks to draw air through the cigar. “Bet it feels better in this goddamn heat.”

“How’s the wound?”

“Frank!” It was Annie, silhouetted in the front door. Then, more calm, more composed, as she slowly came down the steps. “Running off without saying goodbye?”

Sturm grinned at Frank under the cigar smoke.

“Hold on, okay?” Annie said. “Just hold on. Don’t go running off. Got someone here who wants to say hello.” She went around the side of the house, and a few moments later, Petunia came bounding out, claws digging into the bare dirt, tail wagging furiously. She slammed into Frank and nearly knocked him down. Her tongue was all over his hands and she bounced like a kangaroo, trying to reach his face. Frank grabbed her wide head and bent over, crinkling his eyes shut and curling his lips inward, allowing the dog’s wet leathery tongue to lick his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

Annie followed Petunia at a leisurely pace. “I think she’s got the hots for you, you know.”

“She’s just a good dog, aren’t you?” Frank said. “Yes. That’s right. A goddamn good dog. Yes.” Petunia seemed to agree, wiggling even harder.

“You in a hurry?” Annie asked.

“No. Suppose not,” Frank said, scratching behind Petunia’s ears.

“Then let’s take Petunia for a swim.”

Frank caught himself looking at Sturm for permission. Sturm just grinned back, puffing furiously on his cigar. Frank stood, and patted Petunia’s skull. “Where?”

“Up at the reservoir. That okay with you, Mr. Sturm?” She’d caught Frank’s look, and this seemed to be more to fuel Frank’s embarrassment than Sturm’s okay.

Sturm waved his cigar, smoke streaming in the orange light from the streetlight. “You kids go have fun.” He walked back over and shook Frank’s hand. “Don’t worry. Go have fun. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Frank saw the hint of a wink, and felt something flat and stiff in his palm, left from the handshake. He casually tilted his hand and saw a twenty-dollar bill, crisply folded in thirds, tucked into his palm. Sturm walked back to his pickup. “Tomorrow.” He awkwardly stepped up into his pickup, like handicapped child clambering into a playground spaceship, and roared off.

* * * * *

Frank started the car and turned the air conditioning on while Annie folded the front seat down whistled for Petunia to get in the back seat. Frank thought of the quiet gentlemen’s reactions to a dog in the back seat and smiled. And not just any dog, either; Petunia smelled like she’d swam across a few of the sewage treatment plant ponds to get home. Hell, if he could, he’d get Petunia to take a dump on the front seat before he got rid of the car.

Annie rode in the front seat and pointed directions while talking nonstop about her brothers. “Stupid goddamn fuckheads. They can’t stop jerking off for fifteen minutes to settle on anything but sex—and if they can’t get that—which of course they fucking aren’t—then it gets to anger right fucking quick.” She killed the AC and rolled down her window.

Frank hit a highway going up into the hills and stepped on the gas.

Annie lit a cigarette like she was shooting a gun into the wind. Petunia curled up in the back seat and went to sleep. “When they get into it, fighting, they’re like goddamn dogs, all that frustration where they don’t know whether to fight or fuck, so you just gotta treat ’em like dogs. Hose ’em off with cold water. Most of the time, that works. Most of the time.” Annie inhaled the cigarette in six savage bites and lit another with the filter of the first one. “Turn here.”

Annie slowed down, relaxing into the seat, taking it easier on the cigarette. “I’m sorry. Tonight was important, and those fucking morons fucking fucked it up,” she said and put a hand on Frank’s thigh. But the touch was brief, and then her hand was on to fiddling with the radio. “Fucking radio around here sucks. It sucks long and hard.” With her particular emphasis on those last words, Frank couldn’t help but wonder if she meant something else. Fed up with the selection, Annie switched the radio off. “Where you from?”

“All over.”

“That much I guessed. Where were you born?”

“East Texas.”

“Where’s your family now?”

“All over.”

“You visit with ’em much?”

Frank followed Annie’s finger and turned into an empty parking lot. There was a half moon, just enough to reflect off the fifty-acre reservoir. He shrugged as he pulled into a spot and stopped. “Didn’t see the point in driving all over to visit a bunch of cemeteries.” He stopped the car, facing the lake, under a billion stars.

“Your mom?” Annie finished her cigarette, threw it out the window, but made no move to get out.

Frank gave a sad smile. “Cancer.”

“Dad?”

“Don’t know.”

“My daddy’s in jail. He’s not a good man. I hope he never gets out.”

“How’d he get there?” Frank was hoping she’d put her hand back on his thigh.

Annie gave her own sad smile. “He broke into seventeen campers and trailers across the southwest, killing the husbands and any children, then raping and killing the wife. You probably heard about it.”