Sailor & Lula (14 page)

Marietta came back and sat down.

“When you gonna let me read your writin', Johnnie?”

Johnnie closed his notebook and put it back in his coat.

“One day soon, maybe. When I got somethin' I think'll interest you.”

“Prob'ly more things interest me than you think.”

“I ain't never sold you short, Marietta, you know that.”

Marietta smiled. “I know, Johnnie,” she said. “I most certainly do.”

Sailor was changing the oil in the Bonneville when Bobby Peru pulled up in the maroon Eldo.

“Need a hand?”

“Thanks, Bobby, about done.”

Sailor slid the pan of dirty oil out from underneath the Bonneville.

“Where's the best place to dump this?”

“Around back. Come on, I'll show ya.”

Sailor picked up the pan and followed Bobby down the side of the Iguana Hotel.

“Empty it right in them weeds. Ain't nobody comes back here anyway. You about ready for a beer?”

“Sure, Bobby, that'd be fine.”

“Let's go by Rosarita's. You been there yet?”

“No, haven't heard of it.”

“Thought maybe Sparky and Buddy'd taken ya. Come on, I'll drive.” They got into the Cadillac and Bobby guided it slowly along Travis Street, Big Tuna's main drag.

“This your car?” Sailor asked.

Bobby laughed. “Hell no, belongs to Tony Durango. I been datin' his sister, Perdita, lately. Tony's up in Fort Worth with his wife's family for a couple weeks, so he's lettin' me use it. Where's that pretty little lady of yours today?”

“Restin' in our room. She ain't been feelin' well.”

“Sorry to hear it. Women are always havin' some kinda physical problem. Been my experience with 'em.”

Bobby turned off Travis onto Ruidoso Road and gunned the Eldo up to seventy. He rodded it for five minutes until they came to a closed-down filling station, where Bobby slowed down and circled around behind the building. A half dozen pickup trucks and three or four cars were parked in a row and Bobby wedged the Cad in between a tan Ford Ranger and a white Ranchero.

“Used to be this was a Mobil,” said Bobby as they got out of the car.
“Man converted it into a private club and named it after his wife. She left him and he shot himself. The wife owns it now.”

They entered a long, dark room where a dozen men, most of them wearing cowboy hats, sat on stools at a bar drinking beer out of frosted mugs.

“No hard liquor here,” Bobby told Sailor. “Just beer.”

They claimed two stools and Bobby said, “Coupla Stars, Jimmy.”

The bartender, who was no taller than five feet five or six and weighed at least two hundred and forty pounds, brought over two bottles and two mugs.

“How ya be, Bobby?” he said. “Who's your
amigo
?”

“Sailor, meet Jimmy, otherwise known as Mr. Four-by-Four. He's always lookin' out for the patrons' welfare. Won't let ya drink no more'n forty, fifty beers, 'less you ain't drivin'.”

“Howdy, Sailor,” said Jimmy. “Enjoy yourself.”

He walked back toward the other end of the bar.

“Thought you said this was a private club,” Sailor said to Bobby. “How come I'm allowed in without bein' a member?”

“You black?”

“No.”

“You an Indian?”

“No.”

“Then you're a member.”

“I've Got a Tiger by the Tail” by Buck Owens was playing on the jukebox, and Bobby kept time rapping his knuckles on the bar.

“Three or four millionaires in here right now,” he said.

Sailor looked around at the other customers. All of them were modestly dressed.

“They look like a bunch of good ol' boys to me,” said Sailor. “I guess it's oil money, huh?”

“Oil, gas, cattle, farmin'. Ain't nobody shows off around here. Iguana County's one of the richest in Texas.”

“Wouldn'ta guessed it, that's sure.”

“Ready for another?”

“Why not?”

When they were on their fifth round, Bobby went over to the jukebox and dropped in some quarters.

“Q-seven,” he said, climbing back onto his stool, “three times. Pee Wee King's ‘Waltz of Regret,' my favorite tune.”

Pee Wee's steel guitar rippled through the cigarette haze and buzzed around Sailor's head. His reflection wobbled in the long mirror behind the bar.

“I been studyin' a situation over in Iraaq,” said Bobby. “Take two men to handle it.”

“What's that?”

“Feed store keeps up to five K in their safe. Need me a good boy for backup. Even split. You interested?”

Sailor knew he was slightly drunk. He rotated his head on his shoulders and flexed his back muscles. He stared at Bobby and worked hard to focus his eyes.

“Be easy, Sailor. There's two employees. I take one in the back to open the safe, you keep the other'n covered. You ain't plannin' on raisin' a fam'ly in Big Tuna, are ya?”

“Lula tell you she's pregnant?”

Bobby grinned, showing those three brown teeth.

“Couple grand or more'd give you two a leg up. Get you to the West Coast, Mexico, most anyplace, with a few dollars in your jeans. I got it figured good, Sailor. Simple's best.”

“I ain't sure, Bobby. I got to consider this careful.”

“I respect you for it, Sailor. Don't do a man no good to go in on a deal with less'n a full tank. You had enough?”

Sailor finished his beer and nodded. “Have now.”

“Come on outside, I got somethin' to show ya.”

Bobby looked around before he opened the trunk of the Eldorado. He peeled back a brown army blanket and said, “That's a double-barreled, sawed-off Ithaca shotgun with a carved pistol grip stock wrapped with adhesive tape. Next to it's a cold Smith and Wesson thirty-two handgun with a six-inch barrel. These'll do 'er.”

Bobby covered the weapons with the blanket and closed the trunk. He and Sailor got into the car. The sky was dark pink. Bobby turned on the radio as they drove, fiddling with the dial until it landed on a classical music station out of San Antonio playing Gottschalk's
Night in the Tropics
.

“I sometimes listen to this serious stuff,” said Bobby. “Kills off the mosquitoes in my brain.”

Sailor bent over the bed and kissed Lula's hair above her left ear.

“Hi, hon,” she said. “You been drinkin', huh?”

“Few beers is all. Feelin' any better?”

Lula rolled onto her back, stretched her arms in the air and yawned.

“Can't tell yet. Where'd you go?”

“Smell's mostly gone. That vinegar really done the job.”

“Buddy and Sparky come by earlier.”

“How they doin'?”

“Okay, I guess. Sparky said Red's promised to have 'em out of here by the weekend.”

“Oughta make 'em happy.”

“So where'd you say you was?”

“Went with Bobby.”

Sailor went into the bathroom and washed his face. Lula came in and sat on the toilet to pee.

“Hope you don't mind, Sail, I couldn't wait. What's Mr. Peru Like the Country up to?”

“Not much.”

“Don't think he ever been up to much good his whole life.”

Sailor laughed. “Maybe not.”

“Sail?”

“Uh huh?”

“Let's leave here.”

“We're goin' to, Lula, real soon.”

“I mean tomorrow.”

“We got about forty bucks, sweetheart. That'd get us to El Paso.”

“Rather be in El Paso than Big Tuna.”

Sailor walked out of the bathroom, took off his clothes and got into bed. Lula flushed the toilet, rinsed her face and hands, then came out and picked up her pack of cigarettes from the dresser.

“You shouldn't be smokin' if you're pregnant,” said Sailor. “Ain't smart.”

Lula stuck a More between her lips and lit it. She took a deep drag, blew out the smoke and stared at Sailor.

“Who says I'm smart?” she said. “You up to somethin' with Bobby Peru, Sailor?”

“What could I be up to, Lula?”

“He's a stone fuckin' criminal, honey, and you ain't.”

Sailor laughed. “I killed Bob Ray Lemon, didn't I?”

“That was a accident. I bet both our asses Bobby Peru done murdered all kinds of people, and meant it, too.”

“That was in Vietnam.”

“He's the kind liked it.”

“Lula, I got to get some sleep.”

“Buddy told me about that thing at Cao Ben?”

“What?”

“Was a massacre. Soldiers there murdered old folks, women and babies, and dumped 'em in a trench. Bobby Peru prob'ly killed the most.”

“Lula, he mighta did, I don't know. But it don't matter now. Lotta guys go outa control in a war and it ain't their fault.”

Lula puffed hard on her cigarette.

“I sure enjoy smokin', Sailor. I hate that it's bad for you.”

Sailor turned on his side, away from Lula, and pulled a pillow over his head.

“That Mexican woman, Perdita Durango, who's been goin' around with Bobby Peru? Did you know she drowned her own baby? Katy at the drugstore told me when I was out gettin' the vinegar.”

“Anything else people told you today you ain't mentioned yet?”

“That man's a black angel, Sailor. You hook up with him, you'll regret it. If you live to.”

“Thanks, darlin', I know you got my best interest in mind, and I 'preciate it sincerely. I love you, but I gotta sleep now.”

Lula lit a second More off the first and stubbed out the butt on the dresser top.

“Shit,” she said, softly. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Okay, Spark, here it is,” Buddy said, putting his pen down on the counter. “My all-time top ten, in no particular order. ‘Lucille' by Little Richard, ‘Lonely Nights' by The Hearts, ‘He's So Fine' by The Chiffons,

‘Be My Baby' by The Ronettes, ‘Sea of Love' by Phil Phillips, ‘High Blood Pressure' by Huey ‘Piano' Smith and The Clowns, ‘It's Rainin' ' by Irma Thomas, ‘You're No Good' by Betty Everett, ‘I'd Rather Go Blind' by Etta James, and ‘Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay' by Otis Redding. What do you think?”

“I've always been partial to ‘Sea of Love' myself,” said Sparky. “But where's ‘My Pretty Quadroon' by Jerry Lee Lewis? Just kiddin'. But how about ‘Breathless,' at least? Where's Sam Cooke? Elvis? Chuck Berry? ‘Just One Look' by Doris Troy? ‘Stay' by Maurice Williams? ‘I'm a King Bee' by Slim Harpo? Or ‘Little Darlin' ' by The Gladiolas? ‘If You Lose Me, You'll Lose a Good Thing' by Barbara Lynn? Marvin Gaye? Little Miss Cornshucks? Sugar Pie DeSanto? The Beatles? The Stones?”

“Can't all be in the top ten. Those are the ones I'd take. Not meant to please anyone but myself. Besides, makin' lists helps pass the time.”

Buddy and Sparky were sitting in Bottomley's Drug, drinking 7-Ups. The temperature outside was 115 degrees.

“Well, will you look at this,” said Katy, who was standing behind the counter reading yesterday's
San Antonio Light
. “Knew someday somethin' like it would happen to him.”

“Who you talkin' about?” Buddy asked.

“Joe Don Looney, the football player. Greatest halfback in Texas high school history. Here, take a look.”

She handed the newspaper to Buddy.

“ ‘Joe Don Looney Dies In Crash,' ” Buddy read aloud. “ ‘Joe Don Looney, a former college and pro football player known as a rebel both on and off the gridiron, died Saturday in a motorcycle accident in southwest Texas, officials said. Looney, forty-five, was killed when he failed to make a curve on State Highway 118, according to the Department of
Public Safety. Looney was thrown clear of the motorcycle and hit a wire fence, reports said.' ”

“Just like Lawrence of Arabia,” said Sparky.

“Ain't never heard of no Arabia, Texas,” said Katy.

“ ‘The accident occurred around eight-thirty A.M. about nine miles north of the town of Study Butte in rural Brewster County. He was pronounced dead at the scene. Looney attended Texas Christian briefly before enrolling and starring for Cameron Junior College in Oklahoma.' ”

“Boy's life was never the same after he left Texas,” Katy said.

“ ‘He made the All-Junior College All-Star team and was recruited by then-Oklahoma coach Bud Wilkinson. In 1962, Looney rushed for 852 yards and was named to the All-Big Eight Conference team, but Wilkinson asked him to leave the Sooners because of discipline problems. Looney appealed to Wilkinson and was allowed to stay. But Looney was thrown off the team the next year when he decked an O.U. coach.”

“He was one wild-ass kid, all right,” said Katy.

“ ‘In the 1963 NFL draft, Looney was selected in the first round by the New York Giants. He played for three more pro teams, Baltimore, Detroit and Washington, before retiring.' ”

Buddy folded the paper and put it down on the counter.

“Joe Don was a legend when I was a girl,” said Katy. “Handsome, too. But he went off the deep end somewheres.”

“He went to India,” Buddy said, “and studied with a guru and became a vegetarian. I remember seein' a TV program not too long ago, like
The NFL Today,
that did a short feature on Looney. He'd taken a lot of drugs in the sixties, like most of us, and in the seventies went to India, found a teacher and changed his lifestyle. After a few years, he came back to Texas and built a ten-sided house in the desert. Each wall inside had a picture of his guru on it. He lived alone and spent most of his day prayin'. He prepared his own special food, was celibate and didn't take drugs or medicines of any kind. He told the TV reporter that everything he'd been taught as a kid, to be a tough, football-playin' chicken fried steak eater, was wrong. That's why he'd always had such a hard time, he said, because he'd never really believed it was what he was meant to be doin'.”