By the time I reached him, he was trying to use his butt to push away from the car, but that hit had been a good one. His jaw was hanging down on one side.
He tried to say something but couldn’t, just held up his hands in an I quit position.
“Reba or Officer Carroll are hurt, I’ll kill you, Coldpoint.”
He smiled, closed his eyes, and leaned against the car. I could see cops coming toward us; within moments they’d have Coldpoint and, if I stood around, me as well.
I turned and looked toward the mill. The crowd had gathered again and were flowing toward me. They had charged to the rear of the property only to discover there was a sharp drop-off with the highway thirty feet below. They had the drop-off on one end, the law on the other, a hill on one side, and a pond full of toxic water and sawdust on the other.
The crowd started running back in my direction. I could see Leonard at the rear of it all, on slightly higher ground, which made him easily visible for a moment. I saw Sheerfault too, running with all his might. Bobo was to the side, mixed into the crowd of runners. Leonard was trying to get to Sheerfault, but the crowd’s motion was not working in his favor. I tried rushing to cut Sheerfault off, but he had too much of a lead.
Sheerfault reached the edge of the mill, dashed toward his car. Bobo yelled out to him, “Sheer,” and held his hand up, as if he were trying to get the teacher’s attention.
Sheerfault ignored him, jumped in his car, hit the wrong gear, backed into the jail bus, whipped it into the correct gear, and whirled the car around with ease. A stuntman couldn’t have done it any better. He raced his car down the drive, the lights off, almost hitting me, causing officers to leap aside. But then he hit the brakes as he realized the exit was blocked by cop cars. He jerked it into reverse, hit the gas, went backward up the drive, came to a wide spot, wheeled the car around with another incredible brake stomp and spin, came racing onward. He turned on his lights like he was really going to need them, but there was nowhere he could go that way either, no farther than the end of the drive, anyway. The mill was in front of him, the side of the hill on his right, and the dark sawdust pond to his left. Maybe he thought if he drove fast enough, the car would levitate.
A couple of men from the crowd had gotten into his path as they scrambled for their cars. He didn’t slow for them, hit them and knocked them winding. He wheeled left and tried to brake, maybe planning to jump out and make a run for it. There was a way he might go on foot down there, around the pond and down the hill below it and on out to the highway. But the car didn’t stop. It began to skid at the edge of the pond in the wet earth. The headlights punched at the water. Sheerfault got the door open, had one leg out. His foot hit the ground and I heard a faint snapping sound as the crowd ran past me and right into the waiting arms of a lot of law.
I wasn’t watching the crowd closely, however. I had my eyes on that car and Sheerfault. He couldn’t get out and his foot was dragging and the car was sliding. It went over the lip of the dark pond and down into it. I heard Sheerfault scream, then I saw Bobo running that way, yelling, “Sheer, Sheer.”
Bobo dove into the pond after the car, only the taillights visible now, like two red primordial reptile eyes.
I ran down there. I hated both those guys, but not so much I wanted to see them drown in that mess. By the time I got to the bank of the pond, the car was gone, gobbled up by the goo.
Bobo was trying to swim in that muck. He was strong. He dove down twice and came up twice, spitting that horrid yuck out of his mouth, but the sawdust water was heavy. It grabbed at him and held him and washed over him. He yelled out for Sheerfault once more, dove down again, and didn’t come back up.
There was nothing I could do.
I turned and looked toward the driveway, saw Highway Patrol officers with guns drawn. They were loading the whole gang of them into the jail bus. I saw the two guys who had been the original entertainment looking out of the windows of the bus.
It was all happening fast and smooth by then. I saw a tall black man in a white shirt, white hat, and cowboy boots standing in the middle of it all, lighting a cigar. Texas Ranger, no doubt.
Leonard had slipped down by me by then.
“I didn’t get to shoot nobody,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked out at the water.
“I seen Bobo go in,” he said.
“He won’t be coming up. Shitty way to end up, even for those two. Turned into Rusty Puppies.”
“Deserved way to go,” he said, and casually flipped the pistol he was holding into the muck.
“Had it been me, would you have tried to pull my ass out of that mess?” I said.
“Of course not. I’d hire a backhoe to get your body later.”
We turned with our hands raised and walked toward the Texas Ranger.
54
When we were standing by the Ranger, we saw Marvin walking past the bus. “I got these two,” he said. “They were our inside men.”
The Ranger said, “You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“Yep,” Marvin said. “But without me and these two knuckleheads, you’d still be at home watching Gunsmoke reruns.”
The Ranger grinned. “I like Gunsmoke.”
“What’s not to like,” Marvin said.
The Ranger went down the hill.
“Reba and Curt?” Leonard said.
“Two men tried to kill them,” Marvin said. “Officer Carroll killed both of them. One shot apiece.”
“Is Curt all right?” Leonard said.
“Actually, he said he sprained a finger reaching for his pistol fast as he did.”
“You know this for sure how?” I asked.
“We have a thing called radios, and we talk on them,” Marvin said. “We’re thinking about getting phones we can carry in our pockets so we talk on those too. Oh, wait. I got one.”
He pulled his cell out of his coat pocket and held it up.
“Of course,” I said. “I knew that. And they can make moving pictures with sound now too, can’t they?”
55
The Ranger used LaBorde as his command center. We told our story to him with Marvin present. We were in the very nice interrogation room. Now that some time had passed, I was really hurting from mine and Leonard’s bout. We had found out Coldpoint was in custody but not talking. Wise move, since his two main coconspirators were dead. But then there was the judge and the other bozos who had been at the mill. One of them would talk, that was for sure.
“You two look terrible,” the Ranger said. “Like you got hit by a truck and dragged a few miles.”
“You think it looks bad, ought to be on this end looking out,” I said.
“Yeah,” Leonard said. “I think I shit one of my lungs out in the jailhouse toilet.”
“You’re friends, but you beat on each other like that?” the Ranger said.
“Had to make it look real and kill some time while y’all were fucking around at the doughnut shop.”
“I saw you throw a pistol in the pond,” the Ranger said to Leonard.
“Did you now?” Leonard said.
“Yep,” said the Ranger.
Leonard nodded. “Picked it up inside the sawmill where someone dropped it. I panicked and tossed it in the pond.”
“Why would you panic?”
“They call it panic for a reason,” Leonard said. “It isn’t supposed to make sense.”
“Was the gun registered to you?” the Ranger asked.
“Nope. I got it in the sawmill.”
It was in fact a cold piece, part of Leonard’s stash, and he had brought it with him, but he didn’t want to admit that. If he did, some shit might follow.
“We could drag the pond for it,” the Ranger said.
“You could,” Leonard said. “And you’d find it, but it isn’t registered to me.”
“And you didn’t bring it with you.”
“An unregistered gun? Not hardly. That would be unlawful. I j
ust wouldn’t do that.”
The Ranger looked at me.
“That would be wrong,” I said. “Leonard, like myself, is an upstanding citizen.”
The Ranger didn’t seem to be a man that enjoyed bullshit, but unfortunately for him that night, we were full of it. We had been helpful at the sawmill, but he had an accurate suspicion maybe we had been too helpful, out of line for citizens.
Marvin said to the Ranger, “Could you and me talk outside a moment?”
The Ranger nodded and they went out. They were out there for a long time. Leonard and I sat politely, waiting.
“I think a different coat of paint would be nice in here,” Leonard said.
“Looks all right,” I said.
“Don’t you think it’s too dark? I mean, you come in, you’re already being interrogated, which is a drag. So something more festive could make life a little better, at least for a few moments.”
“Maybe a mobile hanging over the table.”
“What I’m talking about. Something shiny.”
Finally they came back. The Ranger looked at us.
“You’re upstanding fucking citizens that were just there to record bad things on your phone, and the bad things got out of hand, and you got in the middle of them. They made you fight, the cops that you had alerted earlier showed up later than you expected, and there you were. Though for some reason, why you were there still doesn’t set right with me.”
“We want to be newspaper stringers,” Leonard said. “We thought that would be a good place to start.”
“Don’t push it,” the Ranger said. “You can go. I advise you to go. But don’t go far away, we might need to talk again, and thanks for the video.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ranger,” Leonard said.
As I went by Marvin, I whispered, “Thanks.”
“Eat shit,” he said, and didn’t whisper.
56
My car was in the parking lot where Brett and Chance had dropped it. She and Brett had gone home from there, optimistic that we wouldn’t be spending our lives in jail.
We had also been optimistic, but not as much. Now, we felt pretty good. We climbed in the car, me behind the wheel. I had the spare key in my pocket, and since it was a Prius, I didn’t even have to take the key out of my pocket. That always made me feel like a big dog. Magic.
“You know,” Leonard said, “I wouldn’t want to fight you again, you being a brother and all, but I think had we not been stalling for time, and if a few other factors had not been in play, I could have licked you.”
“Nope.”
“Could too.”
“Nope, nope, nope.”
“Yep, yep, yep.”
“Nope,” I said, “and don’t say anything else, or you walk home.”
“My ribs hurt.”
“You can say that. I don’t feel so good either.”
I eased the car out of the lot.
“Can I stay at your place, Hap?”
“The couch.”
“Sure, since Chance has my room.”
“It was your room.”
“Couch is fine. Buffy can keep me company.”
“She sleeps with Chance.”
“Oh.”
I drove along the streets slowly, as if my car felt as bad as I did. As the moments moved by I felt worse and worse from that beating I had taken from Leonard. Good thing he loved me or I’d have been dead.
“We are seriously a couple of badasses,” Leonard said.
“Look up badass in the dictionary, and our fucking picture is right under the word.”
“Got that right,” Leonard said. “But I’m a badass might need to rest for a few days, shit some blood, and get my ribs looked after. Maybe get some bionic parts.”
“I got my own health problems.”
“Man, you getting out of my lying arm bar,” Leonard said. “That was some shit.”
“Wasn’t it?” I said.
“You’re supposed to compliment me on something now,” Leonard said.
“You fall down good,” I said.
57
A few days later when Marvin decided he didn’t hate us so much after all, he told us they’d picked up Tamara at the projects and she squealed like a pig. She wasn’t so tough. She confirmed what we knew and added a few things, mostly that Timpson had helped beat Jamar to death and that his having me meet him at the Joint was merely so Roscoe could put an eyeball on us and the two dumbasses in the back could see us too. I really hated those bastards, hurting Reba like that, trying to kill her. Marvin promised to make sure when they went away word got spread at the prison that they raped and beat a kid. Even the worst of the worst in prison generally hated anyone who did that kind of stuff, and it often led to a shiv party in the shower.
Couldn’t happen to two nicer guys.
They dragged Sheerfault’s car out of the muck. He was still in it. Bobo had beat the glass out of the driver’s-side window with his fist, which is no easy feat on land and would have been even harder under dark, mucky water. Fact was, I would have thought it impossible.
Bobo had an arm cocked inside the window and had died that way, clutching at the door frame, trying to pull Sheerfault out. I kind of admired him for that.
On a Sunday afternoon, Leonard and Officer Carroll, as I preferred to call him, picked up Reba at the projects and brought her to the house where we were having an indoor cookout. It was raining that day and had been raining all week. Reba still had her arm and leg in a cast and was precariously on crutches.
As they came through the door, Leonard said, “Found the four-hundred-year-old vampire. She’s forgoing blood today and having a grilled burger.”
“You ain’t got no French fries?” she said, crutching her way toward the table.
“We do,” Brett said, “they’re frying.”
Brett and Chance introduced themselves to her.
“Before we picked her up, we got her some fried pies at McDonald’s,” Officer Carroll said. “Leonard said she’d want them.”
“Course I do,” Reba said. “You got something against pie?”
“Not a thing,” Officer Carroll said. He was wearing off-duty clothes. I thought he looked odd out of uniform. He had a finger taped up, the one he had sprung, and he looked as happy and alert as always. I wondered how he was dealing with having shot two people. I had a larger number of dead folks on my head, and there were times at night when it was as if all their bodies were stacked on my chest.
“You and Leonard sure do look like hell,” Officer Carroll said.
“Gives me character,” Leonard said.
“No, it makes you move kind of slow,” Officer Carroll said, and they passed a smile between them.
Leonard, moving stiffly, got Reba positioned in a chair, her broken leg and cast stuck out under the table.
“You done blown up the projects,” Reba said, “and you fucked over them bad po-pos, but they gonna be someone else selling that sugar pop sometime soon. Some other cops gonna run things.”
“I’m a cop,” Officer Carroll said.
“I got my eye on you,” she said. “Even if you did keep me from getting killed.”
“Well, we’re hoping for the best,” Officer Carroll said.
“Hope ain’t nothing but shit misspelled,” Reba said.
“My, you have a mouth on you,” Brett said.
“Shit, you ought to have heard my mama. And on them hamburgers. Like mine well done, and don’t put no goddamn sweet pickles on it, but you got a little mustard, I could take that, you spread it thin.”
About the Author
Joe R. Lansdale is the author of nearly four dozen novels, including Paradise Sky, the Edgar Award–winning The Bottoms, Sunset and Sawdust, and Leather Maiden. He has received eleven Bram Stoker Awards, the British Fantasy Award, the Raymond Chandler Award, the Spur Award, the Grinzane Cavour Prize, and others. He lives with his family in Nacogdoches, Texas.
Also by Joe R. Lansdale
The Hap
and Leonard Novels
Savage Season
Much Mojo
Two Bear Mambo
Bad Chili
Rumble Tumble
Captain Outrageous
Vanilla Ride
Devil Red
Honky Tonk Samurai
Rusty Puppy
Other Novels
The Magic Wagon
The Drive In
The Nightrunners
Cold in July
The Boar
Waltz of Shadows
The Bottoms
A Fine Dark Line
Sunset and Sawdust
Lost Echoes
Leather Maiden
All the Earth, Thrown to the Sky
Edge of Dark Water
The Thicket
Paradise Sky
Selected Short Story Collections
By Bizarre Hands
Sanctified and Chicken Fried
Best of Joe R. Lansdale
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Joe R. Lansdale, Rusty Puppy
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