Squid Pulp Blues (6 page)

Robert said, “Fucking bitch.” He turned quickly and fired twice at the woman. The first bullet missed and the second hit her in the gut. She screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

Getting into his car, Robert thought about going back in to get Marie but decided that the bitch must have gotten herself in trouble with the wrong people and it wasn’t his responsibility to help her out with that. Their business together was over as far as he was concerned and if she survived, he’d send her some flowers but that’s all.

What he needed to do, Robert decided, was go after that guy Dix. He recognized the guy from the pictures his girl Deborah had in her purse.
He sees me in there with Marie on the ground,
gonna
get the wrong idea about things, tell the wrong people.
Robert thought he saw another guy, a taller one who also looked familiar. He’d find out soon enough.

Robert also wondered whether Dix and the other guy had something to do with Marie’s predicament. What if that crazy woman in the bathroom was Dix’s new sweetheart? The fucker just stood there and watched Robert get mauled. That alone required retribution.

He was grateful at that moment that he had a fast car. Robert couldn’t imagine trying to chase someone in one of those new pieces of shit that pass for automobiles nowadays. Down the road, Robert could see their headlights or at least he thought it was them. They left the parking lot in a shitty foreign car. He’d drive up close and make sure it was them.

Then: Bang, Bang.

*
                     
*
                     
*

Clark
was still reading his comic book when he heard the gunshots.

“What now?” he said. Since getting the job three years ago, he was used to all the shit that went on here. The fights. The drug deals. The occasional longhead coming around and banging on doors at three in the morning. Still,
Clark
was never told by his Uncle Smitty, what to do in the event of a gunfight. Calling the cops could bring some unnecessary heat down on the motel. Both Clark and his uncle had a stake in some of the illegal dealings that went on and they both had no desire to get locked up.

This put
Clark
in a little bind.

He looked out the office window but couldn’t see a damn thing because it was caked in dirt and dirty handprints.
Clark
had to get closer to the door in order to see what was going on but by doing so he knew he’d be putting himself in harm’s way. He put his face to the glass door and looked out.

Lying in the parking lot was a naked woman, trembling and screaming. She was holding her stomach and
Clark
can see that it was a gut-shot, painful as hell. He couldn’t see a shooter but saw a car leaving the parking lot so he was safe.
But what now?
Call the cops? No, there had to be another solution.

A thought occurred to
Clark
. The thought wasn’t an original one. It was something that he had read in the comic book. The motel wasn’t a tourist destination and so the other guests wouldn’t be doing shit about the gunshots. They knew enough to keep to themselves. So
Clark
decided to take the comic as inspiration.

I just
gotta
find a car, break into the trunk, drop the body, and let the poor fucker drive away with the body. Simple as shit.

First he’d drag the body in the back, wait until the middle of the night to break into the trunk. But the woman was still alive.
I don’t give a shit, the bitch is crazy, probably a
meth
-head who attacked her junky boyfriend or something and got what was coming to her. She’s sure as shit not a girl scout. I’ll be doing the world a favor by getting rid of her.

Clark
opened the door and stepped outside. He looked around but saw no one looking out their windows.
They were probably all drunk or high.
Clark
jogged over to the woman who was only sobbing now, her stomach bleeding profusely.

“It’s okay. I’m
gonna
help you,” he said, grabbing her under the armpits. The woman squealed in pain but
Clark
held her tight and dragged her towards the office. At first she resisted him but then surrendered to the movement. A trail of blood led from the middle of the parking lot to the office.
Clark
made a mental note to cover that up later.

Once he got her in, he brought her into the back room. There was only a table, two chairs, and a cardboard box full of comic books.
Clark
put the woman in a chair and said, “I’ll be right back.”

The woman said nothing in response but instead started to sob.

Clark
left the room and shut the door behind him. He looked around the office, looking for something that he could use to finish off the woman. Using his hands would be too personal for him. Not only that but he’s heard of guys who’ve strangled their girlfriends to death in a fit of anger only to find out that they weren’t really dead.
That’s all I need, the bitch coming back from the dead to tell the cops that I did her. Fuck that shit.
 

Clark
wished his uncle let him keep a gun at the motel. You’d think with all the
dirtbags
that stayed at the motel, the guy would’ve let him keep some sort of weapon but no. He was cursing his uncle until he saw it.

The ashtray.

The five-pound squid ashtray.

Perfect.

Clark
tossed it up in the air a few inches, appreciating its weight and imagining the sort of damage it was going to do to the woman’s head. He can imagine telling his buddies about it later on.
You ever see what a squid ashtray can do to a woman’s head? That you should see
.
You should see what a squid ashtray can do to a woman’s head.
He held it in his right hand and walked over to the backroom door.

As he turned the doorknob he said, “Don’t worry, I called for help.”

When the door opened, all
Clark
saw was a blur of teeth, throat, and tongue. He felt hot breath and spit as his jaw and throat were ripped open. The woman still used one hand to hold her bleeding gut but managed to kill
Clark
in less than fifteen seconds.

Clark
’s last thoughts were weak visions of being a captain of a ferry that was sinking while simultaneously being a pilot of an airplane that was crashing. He cursed his uncle for not keeping a gun onboard and then surrendered to death.

Seconds later, the woman collapsed and grabbed the ashtray, holding it close to her like a teddy bear. She wished she was drowning in the
Raritan
River
where the last thing she gazed upon would be the squid. Looking at the ash tray lovingly, she died.

Chapter Eleven

Henry said, “I wish we’d taken my car, I got guns in there.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t,” Dix said, trying to keep the car under the speed limit. What they didn’t need now was one of the jerk-off Thompson cops pulling them over.
I probably shouldn’t tell Henry what I got in the trunk.

There were not a lot of cars on the road but they managed to get stuck behind a slow-moving Ford Taurus. Dix stayed close behind, fighting the urge to pass. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw headlights coming up fast.

“Shit.”

Henry turned around and saw the car, too. “That him you think?”
           
Dix said, “Either him or a cop.” He sped up and passed the Taurus while Henry held up a hand to the other driver as if to say “Don’t take it personally, we’re in a hurry.” He got a middle-finger in response.

The car behind them got so close that they could hear the roar of its engine. It pulled up behind them, inches between the bumpers. Henry told Dix to speed up but they were coming to a red light in a busy intersection. Dix eased the car to the right and then slammed on the brakes. The car behind them slowed but was too late and hit the corner of their bumper. It slid across the road and into the intersection. A pick-up truck slammed into it and Dix could see now that they had indeed been followed by the Haberdasher.

While Dix was looking, he didn’t see the car in front of them brake also and they slammed into it.

*
                     
*
                     
*

Robert enjoyed the chase, enjoyed keeping his eyes on their taillights and getting up close to their shitty car. He was about to speed up some more and bump them into oncoming traffic when they moved to the right and stepped on the brake. Robert’s Dodge Super Bee hit the corner of their back bumper and spun around into the intersection.

If it wasn’t for the damage to his car and the potential danger, Robert would have enjoyed spinning around like that. In the few seconds in between spinning and getting hit by the pick-up truck, he said, “Whew, that was fucking awesome.”

The pick-up couldn’t have been going more than twenty or thirty miles an hour but it hit the Super Bee on the driver’s side, sending Robert into the passenger side window. He wished he had worn his seatbelt.

From the force of the crash, the glove compartment opened and a pair of high heels fell on the floor next to Robert’s 1966 Colt Anaconda Revolver that he had shot that crazy bitch with. His right arm felt broken so he tried using his left to make a grab for the weapon. He couldn’t reach it. Instinctively he made a move for one of the shoes. A week ago he had picked them up from Peggy and he knew they were well worn. He wanted to put his face to them, inhale the smell that he knew would make him feel at ease.

The driver of the pick-up was coming out now. Robert could see him, a young guy dressed in flannel and jeans.
No style at all. Doesn’t the guy own a mirror?

The guy said, “Hey, you okay?”

The fuck he’s talking about? Am I okay? Do I fucking look okay?

 
“No,
goddamnit
, open the fucking door.”

Flannel and jeans guy came around to the passenger side. “I don’t think you’re supposed to move until the ambulance comes.”

Robert said, “Get me the fuck out now.”

The guy walked away and started talking with another driver who was drinking a coffee while staring at the crashed cars. Robert wanted to get out of the car and beat the shit out of them both. Or better yet use the Anaconda to blow some big holes in their heads. He screamed and tried to reach the gun again. This time, he touched it but still wasn’t able to grab it. He tried again and got his hand around it but not without excruciating pain.

He stretched his left hand towards the door handle and opened it. The door didn’t move at first. Robert pushed against it with his shoulder and pulled the handle again. It opened with a loud creak.

Robert fell to the asphalt, landing on his right arm which he now knew must be broken. He heard the driver of the pick-up who was telling the other guy that it wasn’t his fault and that Robert had come out of nowhere.

He looked around, trying to see if Dix’s car was still there. It was painful but he turned his body around and saw their car about a hundred feet to the right, the front bumper smashed into another car. Dix was standing outside of his car now with another guy.
That guy looks familiar. Where do I know him from? Yeah, I know him. Henry something. Susie’s husband.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Robert said, “Son of a bitch,” and then raised his gun.

*
                     
*
                     
*

Both Henry and Dix cursed as they got out of the car. Henry was about to tell Dix about what he saw in the motel bathroom when they crashed.
He wouldn’t believe me anyway. I just imagined it, that’s it. I’m just going fucking crazy.

They looked over at the Haberdasher’s car which was smashed up pretty good. Then the passenger door opened and Robert
Hapertas
fell out with a gun in his hand.

Dix said, “You believe that shit?”

Then they heard the sirens. They were fucked.

“We
gotta
get the fuck out,” Henry said.

“I leave my car here, they’ll get me eventually. What’s the fucking point?”

A cop car pulled up followed by an ambulance. Two officers got out and walked over to the Haberdasher’s car.

Someone said, “He’s got a gun!”
           
The police officer closest to the Haberdasher went for his weapon but was struck by a bullet to the kneecap which sent him down immediately. A bullet ripped through the second officer’s shoulder while another went through his eye.

On the ground next to his car, Robert aimed again and shot an EMT in the stomach. The driver of the ambulance came out and a bullet hit her in the neck, sending a fountain of blood backwards towards a petrified bystander.

 
Henry and Dix were both on the ground and quickly crawling away from the scene, hoping to make it down the side street and over the hill towards the woods. Henry felt like he was in one of those old war movies, crawling in the jungles of the Pacific islands, dodging the bullets of the Japanese. He listened for another gunshot and then turned around when he heard Dix.

“Henry, let’s get up and run.”

“You crazy?
You see the aim that guy had?”

“No way could he hit us from that far away. Let’s go.”

The Haberdasher was aiming again. He had already hit two cops, two
EMTs
, and the driver of the pick-up. Now he was aiming at Dix’s foot. He could see him crawling along with his friend and thought he’d be able to hit his ankle at least making it hard for him to run away.

He aimed and then smiled because Dix stood up and started running.

Perfect timing.

The Haberdasher fired and Dix went down with a bullet in his back. Henry turned around and then dropped to the ground.