Hillbilly lay with his back propped against the headboard, smoking a rolled cigarette. He had one hand on the sleeping whore’s ass, was thinking about waking her again. She was supposed to cost, but so far she hadn’t. He had smooth-tongued her, not only in the ass, but in the ear, told her how she deserved better than the life she had, how she was pretty, and she was, except for the scar where someone had hooked a knife in her nose and cut her. But the rest of her made the scar look small. When she got naked, the scar seemed like nothing at all.
He had a lantern lit on the little table by the window, and it gave just enough light. He liked a little light when he was having sex, not just to see the woman, but so she could see him. He knew women liked to see him, way he looked. He glanced across the room, saw the guitar he had bought. It was propped in the corner. It sure beat the harmonica and the Jew’s harp. They were all right to carry a tune, but not much for making real music. A guitar, that was the instrument.
Hillbilly felt a pang of regret, remembered the colored man who had owned the harmonica, the Jew’s harp, the hobos with him. It wasn’t a thing he was proud of, cutting their throats while they slept, but he needed stuff. The harmonica and the Jew’s harp, what little money they had, a few odds and ends he wanted. Way he saw it, he did what he had to do. It was easier to cut them all while they slept.
He’d tried to rob one, made a tussle of it, he’d have had a fight, and though he was handy in a fight, he didn’t want to fight three. He learned long ago the easy way was the best way.
The hobos had been good to him, shared their food and music, but he did what he did because that was the way of the world.
Sunset had been good to him too. And one night, out on the overhang, she had been real good to him. He had hoped to carry that on longer, get the real juice out of the deal, but he couldn’t resist the daughter. He knew that would come down on him eventually, poking her.
Maybe it was time to move on, forget hanging around Holiday. Go to the next town, work some honky-tonks. Made enough money, he could live a better life. Not just more goods, but a better life. Less lying and cheating, and killing. Maybe he could do that. For a little bit, he thought he could do it with Sunset. But there was the daughter, sweet and ripe and ready to go. Seemed every time he found what he wanted, there was always something nice on the other side of the fence, and he had to reach for it.
He put his cigarette in the saucer beside the bed, rubbed the whore’s butt. She woke up and turned over. She grinned at him in the lantern light. “You’re a mighty, mighty man, Hillbilly.”
“I’m glad you seen that.”
“I don’t think you mean to pay me, do you?”
“Ain’t got no money to pay with. Spent it all renting this place for the week, buying a guitar. Wasn’t that song I sang payment enough? Hell, Jimmy Rodgers couldn’t have done no better.”
The whore laughed. “A song don’t pay nothing I got to pay, but it was nice. And I don’t know Jimmy Rodgers could do better or not. I ain’t had Jimmy Rodgers.”
“I can sing a song for another round.”
“Baby, you don’t need to. Come here.”
Clyde said, pointing the flashlight on the number painted at the top of the stairs, “This here is the place. This is the address he give me.”
Lee nodded.
It wasn’t high up there, a short run of stairs on the outside of the building, and you were there. They could see light through the window. Below the window was an alley, some garbage cans.
“He’s tougher than you think,” Clyde said. “He whupped my ass like I was standing still and about half retarded. I’d done about as good against him if I’d went in there with a blindfold on, my dick fastened to a chain and anvil.”
“What you do,” Lee said, “is you stay where you are, and I’ll go up.”
“Didn’t say I was afraid, just saying he’s mean as a boar hog with turpentine on his balls. He ain’t no big man, and he beat me like I was a cripple. You got to know, this guy is the devil, he wants to be.”
“I know you’re not afraid, just want you to stay here.”
“I got a slap jack, you want it.”
“No, you keep it.”
“Take the flashlight, then. It’s a heavy one.”
“No. You keep that too. I can see all right.”
“Heavy ain’t got nothing to do with seeing. I was talking about scrambling his brains with it.”
“I know, but you keep it.”
“We ought to go up together. Together, we got a chance. You don’t understand, this fella, he knows how to fight. He’s got some moves.”
“I got one or two myself.”
“I think he’s got three or four. Maybe five.”
Lee grinned at Clyde. “I’ll be careful. What I want you to do, is stand down here, that slap jack ready. See that window, you stand under it. But not directly under it. You’ll get a signal of sorts. It comes, you lay down on Hillbilly’s head.”
“With me down here, him up there? I better go up.”
“No. You stay.”
“Watch your teeth.”
Lee went up the stairs. They were solid and didn’t creak much. When he got to the door at the top, he stood back on the landing, took a deep breath, kicked the door with all his might. The lock sprang and the door swung open and slapped back against the wall.
Lantern light lay across the bed, and when Lee stepped into the room, Hillbilly, or the man he hoped was Hillbilly, sat up in bed, the sheet falling away from him. He had come out from between a woman’s wish-boned legs, his manhood poking up like a tent peg.
Lee said, “You Hillbilly?”
“What of it? Who the hell are you? What the hell you think you’re doing.”
“Why I’m the angel of the Lord.”
“You’re fucked up, is what you’re gonna be.”
“I got a daughter named Sunset. A granddaughter named Karen. I think you know them.”
For a moment Hillbilly was quiet, then he said, “Yeah. I know them. Real well.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, I’m here to beat your sorry ass.”
“There’s plenty tried,” Hillbilly said, rolling out of bed, his tent peg turning into a limp little hose.
“I think you’re a little too proud, son. I’m going to take some pride out of you. By the handfuls.”
“Old man, I’m warning you. You don’t know what you’re stepping into. You look way past it.”
Lee went for him. The whore screamed.
Hillbilly moved. He really moved. It was so fast he hardly seemed to move. One moment he was in front of Lee, the next he was gone.
Hillbilly knew he was fast, damn fast, knew too he had the old man, and when he slid to the side, twisted to come around and hit the old man in the back of the head, he was already grinning.
But the old man wasn’t there. The old man leaned, and Hillbilly’s fist went past and the old man snapped out a right and hit Hillbilly and took the grin away. It was a good shot. A damn good shot. Hillbilly hadn’t felt one like that in a long time. But he took it. Took it good. He was still standing.
He ducked, went for the old man’s knees, but the old man did a kind of backward hop, the grab missed, and the next thing Hillbilly knew, the old man had a forearm under his neck, had latched on like a dog tick in a hound’s ear, and now the old man was falling onto his back, bringing his leg up between Hillbilly’s bare legs, kicking him in the plums, carrying him over.
Hillbilly hit the floor on his back, so hard the lamp on the table jumped. He twisted around and came up, tried to come back on the old man, but the old man rolled to his feet and was facing him. Then Hillbilly felt the delayed pain in his balls, like someone had put them in a vise and tightened the crank. He bent forward, sick.
The old man came at him then, and it was fast. Real fast. As fast as Hillbilly thought he was. Faster. And the old man brought with him friends from hell. A left and a right. Followed it with a left hook that shook the inside of Hillbilly’s mouth and something came loose in there, then the old man had him by the waist, was lifting him up, rushing him backwards to the window, slamming him through it.
The whore bellowed throughout the whole thing, but she screamed loudest when Hillbilly went through the window, glass flying, blood drops spraying.
“You killed him,” the blonde yelled.
“Well, I was trying,” Lee said.
Clyde heard the racket, thought, I better go up, and was about to, when out the busted window came Hillbilly, hair, dick and balls flapping in the wind. It was a damn good drop, and Hillbilly hit hard. Still, the sonofabitch was trying to get up.
Clyde thought: Well, I guess that’s the goddamn signal.
Clyde went over there, and Hillbilly, spotted with glass cuts, his mouth dripping blood, on his hands and knees, looked up.
“You,” Hillbilly said.
“Howdy,” Clyde said, and swung the slap jack as hard as he could. The first blow caught Hillbilly on the side of the face, and he dropped, tried to rise again. The second blow caught him on the back of the head, and Clyde laughed as he delivered it. This time Hillbilly went down, stayed there.
Clyde turned, saw Lee coming down the stairs. He looked fine, his hair a little ruffled, his suit coat twisted. He was carrying a guitar. There was a woman at the top of the stairs wearing a sheet, cussing and yelling. Some lights in the downstairs apartment went on.
Lee walked over to where Hillbilly lay face down, studied him a moment, put the base of the guitar on the ground, rested one hand on the neck, leaned on it like it was a crutch. With his other hand he unfastened his pants, got out his Johnson, let piss fly. He wetted up Hillbilly’s head and the side of his face real good.
He said, “Here’s a message from the big dog.”
Hillbilly stirred, raised his head slightly.
“Sonofabitch,” Hillbilly said.
“Here’s a good-night tune,” Lee said, took the guitar by the neck and swung it. It was a beautiful swing. It whistled in the night, and when it struck Hillbilly, it made a sound like a rifle shot, then there was a ping and a sad throb of strings.
Hillbilly was down again, not out, just lying there, fragments of guitar all around, strings wobbling in the air like insect antennae. He got to his knees, cocked his ass in the air, as if ready to take it from the rear, froze there, not able to move, blacked out.
Lee put a foot on him and pushed and Hillbilly rolled over on his side and didn’t move. Lee fastened his pants, took Clyde by the elbow, said, “Let’s go. I need a drink. I don’t drink nothing alcohol, but a big bracer of cold milk will do me.”
Goose and Karen were out behind the oak, sitting on the ground with a pan of water and some knives, a kerosene lamp on the ground. Goose was skinning and gutting the four squirrels he had shot. Karen put them in the pan of water and used her hands to rub any loose hair off of them.
“Four squirrel, four shots,” Goose said.
“You were using a shotgun.”
“They weren’t sitting on the end of it.”
“Did you know them and rats is kin?” Karen said.
“Naw, they ain’t.”
“They are. They’re like in the same family or something.”
“They don’t look like rats-well, maybe they do a bit. Suppose they could be kinfolks. I got kinfolks might be rats, the way they look, so I guess any family can have rats in it.”
“Maybe we ought not think on that too much.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. I ain’t much on thinking I’m eating a rat’s cousin.”
“All four of them are nice and fat,” Karen said.
“I love squirrel. Ain’t had one in ages.”
“Well, you shot them, so you get the first pick of the meat.”
“How do you like them fixed?”
“Fried. Squirrel and dumplings. I like them all kind of ways.”
“Me too… you sure are pretty.”
Karen smiled at him.
“You sure are blunt.”
“Just think you ought to tell a girl something like that.”
“You’re pretty young, aren’t you, Goose?”
“You’re young too.”
“I ain’t as young as you.”
“Well, I ain’t so young I don’t know a pretty girl when I see one. A girl like you, you was my girl, I’d take care of you. Anything you needed or wanted, I’d get it.”
“How about a million dollars?”
“It might take some time, but I’d get it. I’d rob somebody I had to.”
“That’s not what a girl wants to hear. Least it ain’t what I want to hear.”
“What do you want to hear? I’ll say it.”
“That ain’t the way either, Goose. Like that, it don’t have no meaning.”
“I can’t say nothing right, can I?”
“Not much.”
“I still think you’re pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“That was my baby in you, I wouldn’t run off. I’d make sure it had a home.”
Karen teared up. Goose said, “I didn’t mean to mention that. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“That’s how it is, ain’t it? Got myself knocked up, didn’t I? Listened to Hillbilly. Told me I was pretty, just like you did. Told me lots of things. I ought to known he was just talking. Just wanted under my dress. I’m just a chippie.”
“Naw, you ain’t. You just got tricked, that’s all. Anyone can get tricked.”
Ben came up, sat down, tried to look polite. Goose gave him the squirrel innards to eat.
“You finished, Goose?”
“Got them all done.”
“Why don’t we take them to the tent and I’ll fry them. You can help me.”
“I’m for that.”
When Lee and Clyde drove up, got out of the pickup, Sunset came out of the tent wiping her face with a napkin, wiping away the grease left from the squirrel she had been eating. She watched as Lee and Clyde came toward the tent. They looked happy.
“You two fellas look like you just ate the canary,” she said.
“Naw,” Clyde said, “but we busted his ass. He tried to fly like a canary, but the ground got in the way.”
“Yeah,” Lee said. “He was lucky the ground stopped his fall.”
Clyde let out a hoot.
Sunset studied them for a long moment, thought maybe they were drunk after all.
Lee said, “I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, Sunset. Maybe it wasn’t the thing to do. Childish, perhaps, but we went to see Hillbilly.”
“Had a come-to-Jesus meeting with him,” Clyde said. “Well, Lee here, he was the preacher, I was just in the amen corner.”
“You both jumped on him?”
“Not exactly,” Clyde said. “Not that I’d have cared if we had, and had some help. I wouldn’t have felt bad the army helped us.”
“Tell me.”
“We went over where Hillbilly told me he was,” Clyde said, “and he was with some whore, and your daddy went up there and beat Hillbilly’s ass like he was nailed to the floor, threw him out a window. I hit him with the slap jack then. Twice.”
Sunset brought her hand to her mouth. “Did it… hurt him?”
“Hell, yeah,” Clyde said. “He didn’t bounce worth a damn. You hit a guy with a slap jack, it’s gonna hurt. But that slap jack, it wasn’t nothing to what he got upstairs, way he came out that window, butt naked.”
“Is he… dead?”
“Naw,” Clyde said. “Wasn’t that big a fall. But he ain’t pretty no more. I don’t know it’s permanent, but he looks like he went through some kind of grater and got put back together by a drunk.”
“I’m sorry, Sunset,” Lee said. “I know you had feelings for him.”
“Should have seen it when Lee hit that sonofabitch with his new guitar,” Clyde said. “That was an ace moment, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Sunset slowly smiled. “Wish I had been there to see it.”
“Especially that part when he come naked out that window,” Clyde said, “flapping his arms. Fallen from five feet higher, they’d be digging his ass out of the ground with some kind of machinery.”
Sunset laughed, got between them, put her arms around them, “You boys ought to be arrested, but hell, that ain’t my jurisdiction, now is it?”
“No, it ain’t,” Clyde said.
“There you are,” Sunset said. “I’m gonna have to let it go. Come on inside. We got fried squirrel to eat.”