Hap and Leonard

  In the house Kevin was waiting. He said, “No snatch or juice for you, huh? Course, that isn’t what you were coming for, were you? I didn’t like your looks from the start.”

  “You ain’t got no mirrors at your house?”

  Moon Crater whacked me across the back of the legs with the axe handle hard enough I went to my knees.

  “I got a suspicion you got some other reason to see me. I got a suspicion you might be looking for Tillie, or Robert. I got to tell you, I think you know Robert’s dead.”

  “You got me,” I said. “I know he’s dead. What about Tillie?”

  “She’s all right, but she won’t be long,” Kevin said. “Mr. Smith likes to get all the juice out of a product before he lets it go. He gets her hot-wired enough on something or another, he can sell her out until there’s nothing to sell, you know. She then gets a hot shot, looks like an accident. They find her in a ditch somewhere with toadstools growing out of her ass.”

  “Robert didn’t look like an accident.”

  “He proved more of a problem. Things got out of hand. You see, he was dipping, him and the cunt. We don’t like dippers, unless maybe it’s with chips and dip.”

  Kevin and Moon Crater liked that. Both of them laughed. I figured they didn’t get out much.

  “Get him in the chair,” Kevin said.

  They were ready for me. The chair was arranged in the middle of the floor. I did have a nice view through a window when Kevin moved out from in front of it, which he did from time to time. I could tell he lied about sampling his product. He had some of it in him right then, and it was giving him a nervous twitch. They put me in the chair and Moon Crater tied my legs and arms to it with rope while Kevin held Moon Crater’s gun on me. When I was good and tied, Kevin said, “Now you got to tell me what you’re up to.”

  “You can take a running leap up a donkey’s ass,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s not nice,” Kevin said. “Jubil, hold this gun.”

  Jubil, aka Moon Crater, took the pistol. Kevin picked up my axe handle. I knew I was going to regret having bought that. He swung it hard against my shins. The pain jumped from my leg to my spine to the base of my brain. For a moment I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach and black out.

  “That’s got to hurt,” Kevin said.

  “You think?” I said. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t good, but it was something, even if it sounded as if it were coming from a very small man under a pillow in the corner.

  Kevin went over and put the axe handle by the front door. He reached in his pocket and took out a long pocketknife. He flipped it open.

  “This house was left to me by old Grandma. It’s not much, but I come here now and then for things. And I got a sentimental spot for it, even if it is starting to go bad. That being the case, what I want to say is, I don’t want to bloody it up, I don’t have to. So, for your sake, and mine, you should talk.”

  “I talk, you’re just going to let me go?” I said.

  “Sure,” Kevin said.

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “Okay, you’re right. I’m gonna kill you. But I can make it quick, a cut throat. Nasty to think about, but it gets over quick. Bleeds out good. Robert, I ended up having to shoot him a couple of times. Not so good. He was in pain right up until that last bullet. You, I can make you last a long time with this here knife.”

  “So my choice is I talk and you cut my throat, or I don’t talk and you cut on me awhile till I do?”

  “That’s it,” he said.

  Right then, by the window, I saw Leonard’s head go by. I stalled. I said, “So what would you like to know? I might have some answers, long as it doesn’t involve math problems.”

  “Okay. First, who the fuck are you?”

  I said, “I’m a census collector.”

  “That’s going to get you cut,” Kevin said. “I’m going to have to take an ear.”

  “Before you do,” I said. “I really need to tell you something.”

  “What would that be?” Kevin said.

  “Hell is coming,” I said.

  At that moment the door burst open, propelled forward by Leonard’s foot. Leonard spied the axe handle, and he had it in his free hand before you could say, “My, is that an axe handle?”

  Leonard said, striding forward, “Queer, roughhouse nigger, coming through.”

  He stepped forward quick and caught Moon Crater in the teeth with a left-handed swing of the handle. It knocked Moon Crater to the floor, sending the gun spinning away from him.

  The light caught the black gleam of Leonard’s close-shaved head, and it danced in his eyes, it danced along the length of the brand-new axe handle. The axe handle cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. When Kevin met the wood there was a sound like someone slapping a belt on a leather couch, and then there were teeth and there was enough blood flying out of Kevin’s mouth I was sure Grandma’s house was ruined. It splattered on the wall and on the window, teeth clattered on the floor.

  Kevin hit the floor on his belly, dropped the knife. He tried to crawl for it, but Leonard stomped his hand and the axe handle came down again. This time it was a sound more like someone chopping the neck off a turkey with a meat cleaver.

  Kevin didn’t move after that lick, but just for good measure, Leonard hit him again. He went over then to Moon Crater, who was trying to get up, and kicked him in the mouth. That dental work Moon Crater already needed was going to cost a lot more now.

  When Kevin came awake, he was strapped to the chair where I had been. Leonard was nearby, leaning on the axe handle, I was squatted down in front of Kevin. Moon Crater was still stretched out on the floor. If he wasn’t dead or in a coma, he probably down deep in some part of his being wished he was.

  “Howdy,” I said.

  “Fuck you,” Kevin said, but it was hard to be sure if that was actually what he said. He was spitting up blood.

  “If you leave here,” I said, “and it’s possible, you might want to pick up your teeth, not confusing them with the gems that were in Jubil’s mouth. You might want to put them in a glass of water and freeze them. I hear they can do wonders with knocked-out teeth now.”

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “My name is Hap, and this is my brother, Leonard. But you two have already met.”

  “Glad to make your fucking acquaintance,” he said.

  I stood up, turned to Leonard. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “I was on my way home when you called. Started driving back two days ago, but I was in blind spot for the phone. Bottom land. I got your message a little late.”

  “Not too late, though.”

  I turned back to Kevin. “Kevin,” I said. “You and me, we got to talk, and I got to get some answers, and if I like them, I’m not even going to cut your throat.”

  They told us Tillie had been taken by the Gospel Opry guy, Buster Smith, and that Kevin and Moon Crater had helped him take her. She was in an old theater. I knew the theater. I was from Marvel Creek, and when I was growing up I went to many movies there. They had a stage at that theater, a movie screen behind it. They had kid shows and they brought out clowns and jugglers and special entertainment. It was awful and I was always glad when they got off the stage and turned off the light, leaving me with the roaches and a movie.

  Leonard didn’t want to leave them with their car and he decided he didn’t want to fuck it up. He wanted to fuck them up. I don’t like that sort of thing, but, hey, what you gonna do? They started it.

  Leonard put them in the trunk of his car and I followed in mine after he dropped me off. We took them into the river bottoms. Leonard let them out of the trunk. They got out, though neither felt well. Leonard had really laid that axe handle on them. He said, “Thing I’m going to do is break both your legs. One a piece.”

  “No need in that, Leonard,” I said.

  “I know. I just want to do it.”

  “Look now,” said Kevin. “Listen to your friend. W
e just work for that dickhead. We’re out of it. We hope you get the girl back.”

  “Oh, we’ll get her back if she’s to be gotten back,” Leonard said. “But here’s the thing. You were going to kill my friend. Had I not showed up, you would have. So, which leg?”

  Kevin and Moon Crater looked at me.

  “He’s sort of got his mind made up,” I said. “And you were going to kill me.”

  “But we’ll die out here if our legs are broke,” Moon Crater said.

  “Don’t be so goddamn dramatic,” Leonard said. “You’ll still be able to crawl, maybe find a stick to support yourself or something. Really, it’s not our problem.”

  “Which leg?” Leonard said. “Or I choose.”

  “Left,” Kevin said. Moon Crater didn’t choose. “But—”

  Before Kevin could protest again, Leonard swung that axe handle. It whistled, caught the man on the side of the knee, which is where it’s the weakest. I heard a sound like someone breaking a rack of pool balls. Kevin screamed and went down holding his knee.

  “One,” Leonard said.

  Moon Crater made a break for it. I owed Leonard one, so I chased Moon Crater down and grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around and threw a right cross into his face, and his face took it. He fell down. Before he could get up Leonard was there with the axe handle. I think it took about three whacks for Leonard to catch him good I don’t really remember. I looked away. But, I think it was the right leg.

  We drove Leonard’s car to a church lot, which struck us as ironic, and I drove us in mine over to Marvel Creek. I said, “What if those guys get out of the woods and call? Warn Buster.”

  “It’s miles to their car,” Leonard said. “It’s miles to No Enterprise. They got broke legs. Besides, it was you didn’t want me to kill them. Up to me, they’d be in the Sabine River somewhere with fish nibbling on them.”

  “You are cold, man,” I said.

  “Absolutely,” Leonard said.

  We thought we’d stake out the Gospel Opry, but when we drove by, there was action there. A big crowd. Leonard said, “They’re loading them inside. What is it? Nine? Ten o’clock? I didn’t know Jesus stayed up this late.”

  “True. He’s usually early to bed and early to rise.”

  I got my gun and put it under my shirt in the small of my back. We left the axe handle in the backseat with its memories. As we walked up, we saw the crowd was growing.

  I said to an old man on a cane, “What’s up?”

  “The Gospel Opry usually. Talent show tonight, though. Y’all don’t know about it?”

  “No,” I said. “We don’t.”

  “It’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys. There’s people who sing and dance and do comedy. Good clean fun.” He looked at Leonard. “You’ll be able to get in, son. I remember when your color couldn’t.”

  “My, how times have changed,” Leonard said.

  I glanced around and saw a line going through another door, off to the side. I said to the old man, “Who are they?”

  “The talent. They signed up to perform.”

  Leonard said, “Come on, Hap.”

  We got in line at the talent door.

  “More fun than a barrel of monkeys,” I said, “and they let your kind in, Leonard.”

  “Well, suh, I sho’ is beholding to some peckerwoods for that. Sho’ is.”

  Inside there was a little man at a desk. He wore a bad wig. He asked us our name. We gave him our first names. Leonard said we were a singing act.

  The little man couldn’t find us on the roster, of course.

  “We were set,” I said. “We called ahead and everything. They think we’re the bee’s knees over in Overton.”

  “Overton is so small you can throw a rock across it,” the man said.

  “Yep, but we’re still big there,” I said.

  He thought about it a moment, said, “Look here. There’s a couple of guys who play bagpipes that canceled. Laundry lost their kilts or some such something. I’ll give you their spot. You didn’t get registered, but it’ll work out. So you sing?”

  “Like fucking birds,” Leonard said.

  The man looked at him, grinned slowly. Jesus didn’t seem to always be at his house. He waved us inside, and we went.

  “A singing group?” I said.

  “The bee’s knees,” Leonard said.

  Way it worked is we were guided backstage. There were a lot of acts there. One old man had on what looked like a sergeant’s uniform. He was potbellied, bald, and looked as if he should have been on oxygen. He had a ventriloquist dummy with him. It was dressed up like a private, with a field cap and everything. I got to tell you, I seriously hate me some ventriloquist dummies. When I was a kid, late at night, I caught an old movie titled Dead of Night, an anthology film. One of the sections was about a man and a ventriloquist dummy that takes over his life. It scared the living dogshit out of me. I see a block of wood that might be carved into a ventriloquist dummy, I get nervous. And this dummy looked as if the rats and someone with an ice pick had been at him.

  “How long you been doing this?” I said.

  He wheezed a moment before answering. “I used to make real money at it. No one will have me now, except these talent shows, some kids’ parties. I don’t do as well as I once did. They got the goddamn Internet now. Oh, you boys won’t tell on me, will you? They like us to watch our language.”

  “We won’t say a fucking word,” Leonard said.

  The old man laughed. He leaned in close. “Neither of you boys got a drink, do you?”

  We admitted that we didn’t.

  “That’s all right, then. Just wondering.” He shook the doll a little, causing dust to stir up. “Private Johnson is getting worn out. My wife took a knife to him once, and used him to beat me over the head. It did some damage to him and me. I fart, it blacks me out and I wake up wearing a tutu.”

  He barked then at his joke, and then he carried on. “I haven’t had the money to get him fixed. I act like the one eyelid he’s got that droops is just part of the act. It adds character.”

  “Sure it does,” I said. “You’ll knock them dead.”

  I hoped he didn’t knock himself dead. He was red-faced and breathing heavy and looked as if he might blow a major hose at any moment. Maybe his talk about farting and blacking out wasn’t just a joke.

  We all stood there in line, looking out at the stage. There were some dance acts going on out there. The band sounded like cows dying. The dancers moved like they had wooden legs. Next a young, beak-nosed man who played a fiddle so bad it sounded like he was sawing on a log did his act. It was the kind of noise that made your asshole pucker.

  “The sisters will win this thing,” said the old man. “I ain’t seen them yet, but they’ll probably show soon. Those dried-upcunt bitches. They enter every week and win the five hundred dollars. It’s those damn hymns. It gets the Jesus going in folks, and they feel like they got to vote for them. Shit, I’m up.”

  The old man waddled out with that horrible doll, picked up a stool on the way out. His act was so painful I thought I might use a curtain rope to hang myself, but at the same time I admired the old bastard. He wasn’t a quitter. He wheezed and tried to throw his voice, but by the end of his act the dummy looked healthier than he did.

  He came back with his doll and stool. He sat on the stool. “I tried to hit a high note there, when Private sang ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,’ and I damn near shit on myself. I think one of my rib bones moved.”

  “You did fine,” I said.

  “I did fine about fifty years ago and it was a spring morning and I had just knocked off a piece of ass. I did fine then. Least that’s how I like to remember it. Might have been a hot afternoon in the dead of summer and it might have been a stump broke cow.”

  “Just sit there and rest,” I said.

  “You’re all right,” he said to me. “Sure you haven’t a drink?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  There wa
s another dance troupe on stage, and a guy with some bowling pins he was going to juggle was next in line. Leonard and I glanced around, trying to take in the place. It didn’t look like a joint where a prostitute would be kept, or in this case made to go for free until she was used up. It didn’t look like a place where someone sold drugs. It looked like a place full of bad entertainment. That’s what made it a good hideout, of course, but I wasn’t convinced.

  I noticed that the acts that finished were ushered along a certain path, and that there were two guys on either side of a dark stairway. They didn’t look like church deacons, but I decided to call them that in my mind. I left Leonard and walked over to the stairway, looked up it. I said, “What’s up there?”

  One of the men stepped forward, said, “That’s private, sir.”

  I went back to Leonard. I said, “There’s a whole nuther floor up there.”

  “There’s a stairway on the other side of the stage too,” he said. “You can see it from here. It’s got bookends on either side of it too.”

  I looked. Sure enough, two more guys. If the two near us were not church deacons, those two were not in the choir. Upstairs could have just been a storage place for hymn books, but I doubted it.

  “Buster don’t work the brothers,” Leonard said. “All white thugs.”

  “It may not seem that long ago to them that your kind couldn’t come in, and it may be they liked it like that.”

  “That really isn’t true,” Leonard said. “They did come in here, and you know it.”

  “They did janitor work,” I said, “and they used to come up the stairs at the back and sat up there in the balcony.”

  “Nigger money was good as any,” Leonard said. “I know. I sat up there in the balcony once and spat on a white boy’s head.”

  “You did not,” I said.

  “No, but now and again I like to dream.”

  We were whispering a game plan, when all of a sudden the little fellow that had signed us in came over. He said, “The Honey Girls are sick.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “The gospel singers I told you about,” said the old ventriloquist, who had come over. “Their adult diapers probably got bunched up and they couldn’t make it. Or they heard that young girl come on and sing and left. I know they were here. I seen them, the smug assholes.”