Drowning Tucson (47 page)

And then the brief flicker of light off the pipe swinging down toward her face.

This she noticed just in time to turn her head and take the pipe to the back of her skull, where it carved a gash and left a ringing so loud in her head that everything else took on a muffled sound. Like she was underwater. The muted sound of fists to the back of her neck. The hushed pop of the pipe cracking her ribs. The almost inaudible scraping of ground beneath her, cement tearing her flesh, the dirt mixing with her wounds, the side of her head repeatedly striking the cement as she was pulled by her feet into the wash, where her attackers circled her and unleashed a storm of kicks and pummeled her with fists, the one whose cock she’d almost bitten off stood above her with the pipe now, taking turns striking her with it and then pausing long enough to let someone else get a running start and kick her in the face as hard as he could, which went on forever, the kicking, then the muffled thump of the pipe, then the boot to the face, and so on, as the moon turned red behind the blood filling her eyes and she closed them and let them stay that way, ignoring the fists and the pipe, reminding herself that this wasn’t the way she was supposed to die. This is what she thought as they raised her body up and tied her by the wrists to the guardrail protruding over the top of the wash, designed to keep cars from plummeting into the arroyo—this one having apparently worked, because despite being bent over the wash, it remained rooted firmly in the ground—perfect for stringing Rainbow up and stripping off the remains of her tattered clothing, leaving her battered and destroyed flesh exposed to the cold night air. A stone hit her in the face. Then another. Then in the crotch. One glanced off her kneecap, forming a strange kind of rhythm, like brutal raindrops, as the Kings picked up stones and hurled them at her, using their strongest pitches. The stoning continued and still Rainbow thought this isn’t how I’m going to die. This isn’t what I’ve been dreaming. Even after the stones and the cursing had stopped. Even after the last voice had died off and the men had had enough.

And so she hung, silent, swinging gently, like an ornament in a tree, bloody and shiny in the light of the moon where they left her for dead. The last image she saw through her swollen eyelids was the red lights downtown mocking her, forever blinking, witnessing the whole event but not helping her.

Rainbow awoke to see a tiled ceiling and herself reflected off the screen of the TV bolted to a stand in the room’s upper corner, the TV looking down on her like the judgmental eye of God, a gray, shiny, non-blinking eye, and when she saw how vulnerable she was there, lying in her gown with tubes coming out of her arms and nose, she felt more alone than ever. No Brightstar. No family. Just her and the TV and the Demerol button. She vaguely remembered being told to tap it whenever her pain was higher than six on a scale of one to ten. She tapped it a few times. Then went back under.

They released her three weeks later, wheeling her out to the sidewalk, where no one waited to pick her up. She wore baggy jeans and a T-shirt that was way too big for her, clothing donated by the Salvation Army for situations just like hers. As she stood to leave she nearly collapsed, her muscles throbbing and her head foggy with the last dose of Demerol they’d given her a couple hours before her release. She gripped the handles of the wheelchair, waving off help from the nurse, pausing long enough to get her bearings, then standing and staggering out of the parking lot, heading toward the giant glass building downtown reflecting in the sunlight like a pillar of fire.

The doctor told her not to drink while taking the pills they prescribed her, but that was exactly what she intended to do. So when she got to the bar at the Congress, she slumped on a stool and told him to double em up, ignoring the jokes and then the questions about where she’d been and why her face was all bruised up. Just double up those Cape Cods, and don’t ask me any fuckin questions. She slammed the first one, and the second sat waiting for her. After she slammed that one and the liquor began to mix with her medication, she no longer felt the dull, lingering pain. So she drank more. It felt so much better, the cushion of alcohol protecting her from her aching body. It was a miracle she’d lived, that much she knew, but she wondered why. Why let me live if I have to go back to the same thing? Really, thirty years from now, I’m going to be doing the same thing?

She drank more. She wondered about her mother and thought about how it felt to almost die and wake up alone in a hospital room. The cops had come to ask if she wanted to press charges. But when one of them recognized her, they left, figured if she had something to say, she’d tell them on the Mile. She could let Loudermilk know and he’d figure out what to do. They shook their heads when they left because she looked so fucked up there was no way she’d be able to work as a hooker anymore. Nobody would want to touch that. But at least she’d lived through the rape, poor bitch.

By the time she finished her fifth drink, the bar was cloudy and the conversation right next to her indecipherable and she liked it just like that. Rainbow settled into her little fog of numbness and let the vodka soak in. She lingered there on her stool, slumped over, teetering slightly, remembering the tunnel and the horror of it all, sad because now she could never go back. Now she only had hotels as homes. Now she was stuck bouncing between the Mile and the Congress. She no longer had a special secret place. They had made their point, those fuckin thugs, and so it wasn’t hers anymore.

They made their point, she finally said to the bartender when he came to ask her if she wanted another. Those motherfuckers made their point, OKAY? He nodded and poured her another, then reached out and put his hand on hers, an act of kindness that Rainbow mistook for malice, like this guy wanted to fuck her right there when she had just been raped, couldn’t he tell that she’d just been raped? She pulled her hand back and glared at him, then at the people in the bar enjoying their afternoon drinks and she said YES, okay, YES I just got fuckin raped in a wash by a bunch of gangsters.

It felt good to let it out. Her cushion of alcohol was strong and empowering. Yes, she said, I guess everyone wants a fuckin piece of Rainbow, huh? Getting louder and more confident as the liquor and painkillers mixed. Look at this sweet ass. She slapped it. People turned away, embarrassed. The bartender tried to calm her down. OH NO YOU DON’T. This is MY fuckin hotel. I’m the one who runs this place. I’m the girl who sucks the manager’s dick every night and fucks your husbands, yes, you there, ma’am, I have probably fucked YOUR husband, he looks
familiar—the couple got up to leave and the bartender came around the bar to calm her down—this is MY city, she yelled, raising her arms and almost falling off the stool, and I’m the sweetest piece of ass for miles. ME. RAINBOW. And she stood and lifted her T-shirt and showed her tits to the bar, yelling GO AHEAD AND STARE. YOU KNOW YOU WANT THESE, while the patrons whispered behind their hands, and Rainbow walked up to one of the booths as everybody watched and she grabbed a man’s hand and stuck it on her tit and said go ahead and squeeze. Now you see what all the hype’s about, huh? The bartender went back behind the bar and phoned the manager to tell him about Rainbow while she kept yelling at the bar, this is the BEST FUCKIN PUSSY IN THE SOUTHWEST, BITCHES, and she pulled her pants down and showed her bruised legs and then pulled down her panties and turned around so everyone could see. Get a good look, she said. This is it. This is what you came for, isn’t it? The customers began to leave the bar, shaking their heads and averting their eyes from Rainbow, who now lay down on the floor, her legs splayed, yelling WHO WANTS IT FIRST? spreading herself open for anyone, everyone who wanted a piece of her sweet ass. She started crying. She couldn’t see anyone but she knew there were more people in the bar, someone who would take her up on her offer and climb on top of her right there on the floor. Who wants it first? she mumbled. First come, first served she said through tears, and a couple more people walked out. They walked out of the bar and abandoned their drinks and their bar tabs and the bartender shouted RAINBOW, YOU’RE COSTING ME A FUCKIN FORTUNE, and the manager appeared and balked at the sight of Rainbow lying on the floor of his bar, is this little cunt fuckin crazy? he muttered to the bartender, and the two men reached down, apologizing loudly to the few male patrons who remained, unable to look away from the show Rainbow was giving them, too bad she’s all fucked up and bruised otherwise we might’ve actually taken her up on her offer, and they silently groaned when the bartender and manager finally redressed Rainbow and dragged her out of the bar, her head lolling from one side to the other, and then carried her to the alley behind the hotel and left her there.

Rainbow blacked out. She knew that much had happened when she awoke in the alley behind the Congress, drunk and thirsty for more Cape
Cods. Her body was sore, but the drugs and alcohol still coursed through her. When she walked into the hotel to go up to her room, the manager stopped her and told her you’ve been evicted. We’ll keep whatever shit you left in your room to pay for the bar tab and your room bill. And by the way, you’re banned for life. So get the fuck out of here, you psycho, or I’ll have you arrested. Rainbow tried to reason with him, but her logic was garbled. I suck your dick every night, man. Business comes because of me. I suck you and we have a deal. Hotel guests within earshot turned to look and the manager grabbed Rainbow by the arm, pulling her toward the door while he smiled for his guests and hissed to her between his teeth I’ll fuckin kill you if you get me in trouble. I mean it. I’ll take you out to the desert myself and put a bullet in your cuntass skull if you try to pull some shit like this ever again. Now here’s twenty bucks. Get a meal and find someplace else to sleep from now on. Don’t ever come back or you’ll regret it. You think you’re fucked up now? You have no idea.

It was laughable to her that this guy had the nerve to threaten
her,
Rainbow, the most protected and hottest piece of ass in all of Tucson. I’m the hottest ass in this town, she sneered. He laughed in her face. You may have been, Rainbow. But your Congress days are over. Good luck, hottest ass in town, and he shoved her out onto the sidewalk and ordered a security guard to keep that bitch out of here no matter what you have to do. Break her goddam legs if she won’t leave. Take her to the fountain and drown her if you feel like it. I don’t give a flying fuck what you do. But keep that bitch out of my hotel.

Rainbow stood and tried to gain her balance. Leaning against the front of the hotel, she couldn’t focus on the people passing to see if any of them were looking for some action tonight. The looks she got were looks of pity or disgust, but she couldn’t see clearly enough to notice. People went out of their way to avoid her when they walked past the front of the hotel where she wobbled, leaning against the wall, muttering how tonight only was the special, ten dollars, I just need a few bucks, I need to get a place to sleep, and people shook their heads and shared knowing glances with one another—this city is just going straight to hell, oh yes, I agree, nothin but whores and bums—and quickened their strides until Rainbow was out of their sight.

Using the wall for support, Rainbow made her way down the sidewalk, heading toward the Greyhound station, since someone just getting to Tucson on the bus might want a date for the night. Straightening her clothes with one arm and leaning on buildings with the other, she finally arrived at the bus station and stood by the entrance mumbling hottest ass in town, ten dollars, and the travelers pushed past Rainbow, who reached out for them, her head still foggy and confused, trying to come in contact with someone so he could feel how soft her skin was and want to take her home with him or to a hotel room or anywhere, just a couple bucks and I’ll do anything, but they only walked past and left Rainbow standing all alone, bruised, wincing, the pain returning now that some of her alcohol was wearing off, so she took one of her pills and trudged to the liquor store and bought a plastic jug of vodka and a pack of generic smokes, which left her just under two dollars, and she opened the bottle before she even left the store and washed down another painkiller with a long pull that burned her mouth and throat and sinuses and chest but finally settled in nicely and the pain subsided and then Rainbow left the store, holding the jug in her arms like a proud parent holds a newborn baby, protectively, but with enough pride to attract the admiration of other people, she thought, yet the only looks she actually attracted were either curious, pitying, or disgusted, and so she walked the alleys and slowly made her way toward Miracle Mile, convinced she would be able to drum up a little business there.