The Two-Bear Mambo

  “I’m so glad.”

  “I finish up here, I’m going to drive over and tell Leonard how things are.”

  “You could call him from here.”

  “Yeah, but it’s an excuse to see him. And I thought you might want to go.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You and his boyfriend don’t get along, do you?”

  “I think it’s me that doesn’t get along.”

  “It was that way with me and Florida. I liked her, but the moment she and Hanson got together, well, things weren’t so good between me and Marve. She had a way of looking at him out of the corner of her eye, making him nervous. I tried real hard not to say shit or fuck or talk about my wife not giving me pussy when I was around her, but I don’t think I could ever do right.”

  “Some women are just born spoilsports.”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Marve might feel … might have felt that way about my wife and just didn’t say nothin’. Hard to say. Relationships are funny stuff. I tell you though, I took a peek up Florida’s dress a few times. Couldn’t help myself. She was something else.”

  “I think maybe it was your cultured manners got on her nerves, Charlie. She just hadn’t been around so much class before.”

  “There you go. You got any cigarettes? Cigars? Pipe? I might even chew, you got some Beech-Nut or somethin’.”

  “Nope. I gave my pipe up. Now I do a cigar couple times a year. This isn’t one of those times, so I don’t have any. Besides, you don’t need it. You’re doing good. You smoke, you won’t get any from the wife.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Do a few shadow figures, keep your mind occupied.”

  “I do shadows pretty good now, but I’ve had to quit for a while. I got strained fingers.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “No, really. Kind of a carpal tunnel thing from twistin’ my hands and fingers around.”

  I finished off my coffee, asked what I had to ask. “Since we were speaking of Florida in the past tense …”

  “I guess I shouldn’t talk that way about her. About looking up her dress and all, not getting along with her. I know how you feel about her, Hap. And she was Hanson’s lady and all. I shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “She was here right now, I’d try to look up her dress too. She wore dresses designed for that, and I think she knew it. She’d never admit it, but she knew it.”

  Charlie nodded. “We don’t know anything we didn’t know before. Ranger went in there, checked around some, and knows what we know. She was there, then wasn’t. Evidence is thin.”

  “What about the juke joints? No one had anything to say there?”

  “Sure, they did. We think of some things, Hap. You see, we do this for a living.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’ve kept up with this case, even though it isn’t mine. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Sure.”

  “Florida went in there, tried to see this Soothe as some kind of martyr, and what he was was an asshole. No one disagrees on that. His own folks didn’t have nothing to do with him. Everybody was glad he got dead and wasn’t nothing more to worry about. Those recordings, the songs written down. That was just his line of shit. No one believes there were any recordings, written songs. None of that stuff. So no one much cared what happened to the guy. Except Florida. And I figure her trying to find out about what happened to Soothe, she maybe put her nose where it didn’t belong, and got it pinched. But good. Same stuff you and Leonard think. Nothing new.”

  “Well, someone cared about Soothe. Or was worried about him. His body was stolen.”

  “Ranger, Highway boys, think it was voodoo shit.”

  “Voodoo is primarily charm stuff, mixed with a little Christianity. East Texas cops love to think devil worshippers or movie-style voodoo business is going on in the backwoods. It makes them feel their job is a little more important, less boring if they’re dealing with El Diablo.”

  “Yeah, I see that. I could use a little voodoo now and then. This old-fashioned crime, drugs, spouse abuse, good ole boy murders are wearing me out. As for Soothe, all I know is the body’s gone and there’s no evidence where it might be. Florida, she was sure this Cantuck had Soothe murdered. A racist thing. I don’t think that stands up so good. I think Cantuck done that, he wouldn’t have been trying to keep you from getting killed. This Officer Reynolds, I don’t know nothin’ about him.”

  “He’s some piece of work is what he is, but I can’t prove he did anything. He might not be any worse than Cantuck, who seems to be all right on some days. I sort of like it better like the old movies, where you could tell who the villain was because they wore black and twirled their mustache. What’s never been explained to me, Charlie, is how Cantuck knew me and Leonard were in trouble.”

  “Instinct.”

  “Saying he had a hot flash sheet-heads were trying to kill us, so he saddled up Trigger and came after us?”

  “Way he tells it, he packed you up, sent you on your way, got to feeling guilty ’cause the two of you weren’t in that good a shape, decided he ought to make you park Leonard’s junker and take you into LaBorde. So, he went to catch up with you. I believe him. I think he’s a fart on the surface, but underneath he smells a little better, just sometimes he’s got to settle down long enough for the sweetness to surface.”

  “So right in the middle of a rerun of The Beverly Hillbillies he decided he was an asshole and ought to come out and check on us?”

  “He never got home. Drove to the office, got to thinking about it from there, came after you.”

  “And in the meantime, Big Butt Draighten and his buddies just happened to spot us and come after us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kind of coincidental, isn’t it?”

  “Life’s full of ’em, but I don’t see this as coincidence. Those shitters saw you, followed you out, and Cantuck, not being a bad guy, got to feeling like a turd, came to check on you. Everything comes together. It’s not that wild.”

  “What about Bacon?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know. But them finding out Bacon helped you might not be that hard. People see things, people talk.”

  Charlie went into the kitchen to fill his coffee cup. He stood at the counter and drank it. I went in there and sat at the kitchen table with my empty cup. He got the coffee pot and poured me what was left.

  “Going with me to Leonard’s?” he asked.

  “Not this time,” I said. “I’ll call him later. Maybe I’ll drive over there.”

  “Sure. You know, he’s healing up fast. Moving around pretty good. ’Cept for his leg. You should go by and see him.”

  “I will.”

  Charlie sipped the last of his coffee, put the cup in the sink, said, “Sometimes, under stress, guys close as skin and bone can feel a kind of, I don’t know, postpartum-style depression.”

  “Neither Leonard nor I have recently given birth, Charlie.”

  “Postpartum Scary Event Syndrome.”

  “What?”

  “I just made that up. Say something bad happens to a couple guys and they survive it, and these guys are real close, and danger makes them even closer. Am I goin’ too fast?”

  “I think I can manage, if I concentrate real hard.”

  “This scary business is over, these two guys, they kind of divorce each other, find reasons not to be together, blame each other, outside sources, ’cause when the two them get together, they connect with a bad memory.”

  “You trying to say something about me and Leonard, Charlie?”

  “I’m sayin’ maybe you and Leonard have seen something in each other or yourselves you didn’t know was there. It’s like them movie star marriages.”

  “Now there’s a jump.”

  “Woman marries some guy wants to be an actor, big star. She knows him when he’s down and out, crying at night ’cause he can’t make it in the industry, or maybe he can’t get a hard-on he’s so depr
essed. She knows he cuts big ones in the toilet and fills their little two-room apartment with shit stink, and they can’t even afford the goddamn matches that need to be struck to burn out the smell. Then, this guy, who wipes his butt just like everyone else, he hits the big time. Feels he’s got to get rid of the old wife on account of she knew him when he wasn’t quite so glamorous. Now he’s got the big house and a shit ter in a room about the size of the old apartment, got some blowers, de-stinkers, whatever that stuff is, and he’s able to separate himself from some of the human problems. Stays hard all the time ’cause he’s got nothing but big-tittied young blondes coming in and out of his bed trying to see who best can grease his sausage. Everyone tells him he’s wonderful, a goddamn god. So he don’t want someone around who’s seen him at his worst, his most human, knows what he knows—that he ain’t no god. He’s just a regular guy and no better than anyone else.”

  “I’ve known Leonard for years, and I know his shit stinks. I’ve been with him through thick and thin and neither one of us has hit the big time, so we don’t have to worry about that angle. I’m just worn down, that’s all. I don’t feel like visiting. Fact is, I’m sort of waiting on you to leave.”

  “Sure you haven’t got some kind of tobacco?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Charlie nodded, scratched his temple, looked at some dandruff under his fingernail, wiped it on his pants and leaned against the sink. “Let me see now,” he said. “I had some kind of point. Oh yeah. Thing is, instead of the big time, two of you thought you were invincible.”

  “I never said that I was invincible.”

  “No, but you thought it. Leonard did anyway, and I think you thought he was invincible on some level. Could take anything and come out on top. And when the two of you are together, well, you’re like the biggest dogs in the junkyard. But you ain’t. You’re just two dogs and there’s always someone bigger, smarter, and meaner.”

  “I owe you for this session?”

  “First session’s free. Maybe you’ve seen little shadows, chinks in your and Leonard’s armor, and you don’t like it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. No one is anything better than human. Just some humans are better humans than others, but the best humans are still just human. In the end, we all end up like that squirrel out there.”

  “Save it for the Rotary, man.”

  “Sometimes you got to look shadows in the eye, or see if they’ve got eyes. You don’t, they flutter around you from then on.”

  “You’re hittin’ all over the place, and isn’t any of it on target.”

  “Keep a gun around at night, Hap? I don’t mean in the house, I mean close by. You do that, man? Something you’re constantly aware of, this gun?”

  “Hell no. Why would I?”

  “It’s just I saw one stuffed under the couch cushion. You got to not get in such a hurry, you hide somethin’, Hap. Got to take your time and do it right.”

  “You don’t know everything, Charlie.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, I’m an asshole. I know this though, you throw a shovelful of dirt over that squirrel, when the rain stops and the wind’s blowin’, he won’t stink so much.”

  There was a sudden hard wave of rain. It washed over the house in a torrent, sounded goddamn spooky. Charlie looked at the ceiling, as if he might actually see the rain pounding the roof, said, “God, it keeps coming and no end in sight. Think this rain’ll ever stop?”

  I shook my head. “No, Charlie. I don’t.”

  26

  I didn’t call Leonard after Charlie left. I didn’t call him all that day, and didn’t call him the next either. I sat with my gun and went through my routine. I thought about what Charlie had said and got real mad, then realized he was closer to the truth than I wanted to believe.

  It wasn’t Raul that was between me and Leonard, it was us. We had not only recognized that we were not invincible, we had experienced real fear, and we each knew the other was frightened. It wasn’t the first time. We’ve always been honest about being scared, but this time it was beyond fear in the normal way. It was helplessness. Not being anywhere near in control.

  Goddamn Charlie and his Kmart shoes and his shadow fingers and his wife who wouldn’t give him pussy. Goddamn everything about that sonofabitch.

  Four mornings after Charlie came to visit, I went into the kitchen, purposely without my gun, took the phone off the wall, sat down at the table with it and dialed Leonard’s number.

  Raul answered. I asked for Leonard.

  “Hap,” Leonard said when he came on the line. “Good to hear from you, man.”

  “Have you been as fucked up as me?”

  “I don’t know how fucked up you’ve been, but I’ve been fucked up. Come over for lunch.”

  “I been wanting to see you, but … I haven’t been … you know?”

  “Yeah. Come over.”

  I heard Raul say in the background, “We got plans, Lenny. Remember?”

  “Come on over,” Leonard said.

  Eleven that morning, the rain still coming down, the sky atwist with savage storm, I got all the money I had in the cookie jar—about fifty dollars—and left out of there with my revolver stuffed in the glove box of my truck. I drove to town and the hospital, went in without my revolver, found where Hanson was. I rode the elevator up, pushed open the door to his room.

  It smelled bad in there. That creepy hospital smell that’s somewhere between disinfectant, illness, and that funky food they serve. The two days I had been in had been bad enough, but poor Hanson. Jesus.

  Hanson was hooked up like a spaceman, bristling with tubes and wires. His bed was cranked up slightly toward a television that was going, and on the other side of the bed, sitting in a chair, was a young black woman. She was lean and attractive, looked to be in her late twenties. I assumed she was his daughter, JoAnna. She lifted her head, gave a little smile.

  “Hello,” she said. Her voice was soft, but it had a little gravel in it. I didn’t know if that was the nature of her voice, or the nature of her mood. I went on in and introduced myself. She half stood, reached across the bed, shook my hand and gave her name and relation. She was, as I thought, JoAnna.

  Hanson had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily. He didn’t know I was there, or that the TV was going, or that ducks quacked and dogs barked. His head was bandaged thickly and he’d lost a lot of weight and looked easily twenty years older. Had I not known it was Hanson, I wouldn’t have recognized him.

  “How is he?” I asked. It was stupid, but I just didn’t know anything else to say.

  “Not good. We’re taking him home though.”

  “That ought to help.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was here … this way, I’d want to go home.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He leaving soon?”

  “Tomorrow. If the doctor says okay. They can’t do anything for him here. I think they want him out, make room for another patient. I guess they’re right. He’s not going to get better, someone else might.”

  “Well, you never know. Some people, they get in a bad way like this, they come out of it. He’s tough. He could do it.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  I looked at the television. It was a Gunsmoke rerun. An old one, when Dennis Weaver played Chester. I kept looking at it, ’cause I couldn’t look at Hanson, and JoAnna’s face, so sad, so brave, made me ache. Not just for Hanson, but for myself, Leonard, everybody.

  “You live in LaBorde?” I asked.

  “Tyler.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “Teach school.”

  “Yeah, well, you take care.”

  “Sure. Thanks for coming in, Mr. Collins.”

  I looked at the television. “I’ve seen this one.”

  “Yeah. I never watched Westerns. Daddy loved them.”

  “Yeah, well, me too. You take care, now.”

  “I will.”

  “You need anything I can help with, you tell Charlie and h
e’ll get in touch with me. Hap Collins.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Just Hap.”

  “Okay, Hap.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Yeah, call ole Hap, he was sure a helper, a big fixer. I went out of there and along the hall and the smell of the hospital was stronger than ever.

  I drove over to Leonard’s. The crack house had not been replaced. It was just a black spot splattered by rain.

  I knocked on the door and Leonard answered. He was wearing a heavy coat and his face was puffy and marked with bruises and some stitches the vet should have put in but wouldn’t, but the LaBorde doctor had.

  He looked better though. He walked pretty well. He said, “You ole bastard,” and threw open the screen and we hugged. We hugged hard and long, patting each other on the back.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  “Man, I feel like a fruit, hugging a fruit.”

  Leonard laughed. “Come in, buddy.”

  I came in. Raul looked at me, tried to smile, but he wasn’t glad to see me. He was also wearing a coat, which surprised me. The house was warm. Leonard didn’t pay Raul any mind. He said, “I’m cooking out back, come on.”

  “In the rain?”

  “Nope. Come on. Leave your coat on.”

  Leonard limped a little as he went. I followed through the kitchen, onto the back porch, or where it used to be. There was a big screened-in porch now with a concrete floor. The rain was blasting on the roof and some of it was blowing through the screen. It was cold out there. In the middle of the porch was a cooker and it was smoking with hamburgers and hot dogs.

  “This is nice,” I said. “I didn’t know this was here.”

  “I started it before we went to Grovetown, before all this goddamn rain started. You spent the night here, I meant to show it to you. But my mind wasn’t on it and you didn’t go out the back way, so it never got mentioned. What do you think? Needs some touches yet, but I like it. It’ll be nice in the summer. Wire’s thick enough to keep the big bugs out. Skeeters’ll get in though. They can get through anything.”