One Thing Leads to Another (pt 6).

Mom is holding a feather behind the Indian’s head and making whoop-whoop noises by cupping her hand over her mouth; Jude cracks up, slapping his leg, and the Shark says to get him some firewater. The Indian calls them assholes but a couple of shots later he’s smiling with the rest of them, pretending to scalp Jude with a toy tomahawk they got from who knows where. Maybe he’s not even a real Indian, Wolf thinks.

The Shark is paying for everybody’s drinks; some no-account relative of his just kicked the bucket and now he’s got a few bucks to throw around: he’s a big man, not Dixie-big but big, and on both arms has tattoos of great white sharks with USMC on their sides in military stencil letters. All the kids in Rain City know the Shark; when Wolf was in the fifth grade the Shark gave him a ride on his back at the town’s pool (he was always playing with kids, he was so good with them everybody said) and when nobody was looking he stuck his hand down Wolf’s suit. It’s happened to all the kids; everybody knows, but the Shark is a war hero. He claps Wolf hard on the back, and toasts him. The State is roaring and warm and Wolf is drunk, and he’s so happy that he could die. Nobody needs steps or a higher power here; everybody is going down with the ship.

The table in the corner his brother and guard dogs were at is empty now; Wolf curses and gets up, losing his balance. The Indian holds him up; he is obese but surprisingly strong. Watch out, kemosabe, he says, and the others crack up again, howling like it’s the best joke in the world, and the Indian grins his black teeth at them. Mom is orbiting, shoving beers into empty hands; the Indian heaves himself off of his stool, and Wolf sees that he is he hides his shape almost magically in a duster that touches the floor; the Shark takes three steps back from the bar and joins the fence of men that line the wall in the shadows, their chins touching their chest and bottles held in both fists.

Jude gestures for Wolf to follow him back down the hall, and Wolf says no he has to find True and get going, but he is walking, the people parting for him. Jude opens his door and closes it behind them.

He gets his gear from under the mattress, asking Wolf if he wants to shoot. No, Wolf says, swaying on his feet.

Jude’s hands are resting on the gunmetal box closed with a padlock. You’re just gonna stop, huh. Just like that.

Wolf shrugs; he is trying very hard not to piss himself.

Jude drops down on his mattress. It’s late, he says. Maybe you should go tomorrow.

Wolf is swaying on his feet. I’m not touching you, he says as nice as he can, but still the ugly man’s face crumples.

You don’t know anything. Jude’s voice is barely audible over the rising notes out in the bar proper, where it sounds like fighting. I was going to take care of him like I promised but they got him first. I thought when you went away I was going to get to have him.

Jude looks up, his eyes wet. You don’t know. He wipes his nose, tugging on the ends of his hair. You don’t know. You don’t know. If I could be you, or him, fuck, I would do anything, I’d go everywhere and do everything.

Wolf’s eyes are welded to the box in Jude’s lap; he can hear the words rising, he knows what is about to happen. This was the only reason he came here, he thinks with terror, the only real reason at all, because nobody would blame him if he slipped while he was doing the right thing, right? Nobody would. Nobody.

He goes to the door, embarrassed. Jude is crying heavy, tears dripping from his chin. You’re so pretty, he says. I can’t help it.

Wolf’s in the hall now; the door is slammed behind him. At the other end someone is bent over, puking and calling for Jennifer, wherever she is. Wolf orients himself on the hum of the bar and walks with his hands outstretched and his eyes closed, very drunk and intending to be even more so before going for True. Lions aren’t so great when there are all these other maneaters around, he thinks.

*