the damn car.”
Then I jumped. Reached behind my ear, touched my head wound. I had so many new pains that that old one had been sidelined. Was afraid that it had opened up, that I had dripped blood from Dockweiler to Hollywood. My hand came back wet, but with sweat. No blood.
We were sitting at the light at La Brea and Washington when Rufus stopped tapping on the steering wheel and asked, “Ever hear the joke about Texas Mating Spiders?”
“Rufus—”
“A preacher watched his daughter playing in the garden. He smiled as he reflected on how sweet and innocent his little girl was.”
“Rufus.”
“Suddenly she just stopped and stared at the ground. He went over to her and noticed she was looking at two spiders mating. ‘Daddy, what are those two spiders doing?’ ”
“Rufus.”
“I’m nervous, dammit. All this bull with that psycho is going on, you vanish, come back looking like hell warmed over, left that message with me ... I called your girlfriend... you have more guns than Charlton Heston... look at my hand... see my fuckin’ nerves are shot, dammit.”
“Okay. Okay. The spiders.”
He took a deep breath, ran his hand over his locks, moved his hair away from his swollen jaw. “‘They’re mating,’ her father replied. ‘What do you call the spider on top, Daddy?’ she asked. ‘That’s a Daddy Longlegs,’ her father answered. ‘So, the other one is Mommy Longlegs?’ the little girl asked. ‘No,’ her father replied. ‘Both of them are Daddy Longlegs.’ The little girl thought for a moment, then took her foot and stomped them flat and said, ‘Well, it might be okay in California or New York but we’re not having any of that shit in Texas.’ ”
Silence.
I asked, “You done?”
“First time I heard it, thought it was funny.”
The police pulled up next to us. A black-and-white. I looked over at them. The driver looked at me. I nodded. He did the same, chuckled, then went back to talking on his cell phone.
Silence.
The light changed. Rufus drove, hands gripping the wheel, knuckles bruised like mine. In the car behind us, Panther had an eye that was swollen from when she’d fallen and bumped her face. We’d become a parade of the walking wounded.
He asked, “Somebody ... you ... those guns... how bad did it get?”
“Less you know the better.”
Seemed like police cars were all over La Brea, moving in all directions.
Rufus asked, “Will you be needing an alibi?”
“That would help a lot better than a joke.”
“I told you I was nervous. I tell it better when I’m not nervous.”
“I‘mma need some clothes. And shelter for a few hours. Shelter with people around.”
“Don’t worry. Mi casa, su casa.”
“What about your boy?”
“Oh, please. Right now Pasquale is in the doghouse. He’ll do anything I ask him to.”
“I’m hurting to death over here.”
Pasquale’s guest house was bigger than my apartment. I’d never spent the night at their crib before. Had never been comfortable over there. Rufus brought me some fresh towels, a pair of oversized sweats, Vicodin, and a bottle of JD. My last suit was stuffed in a garbage bag. Rufus was going to drive a few blocks away and toss it all. I showered all the sand and murder off my skin, as much as I could, then collapsed on the bed and turned on the flat-screen. The volume was low, but I couldn’t hear. Panther had taken the vacuum to the carpet, sucked up the sand that I had tracked in, then she took some cleansers and did the same in the bathroom.
My body was exhausted but I was scared to let sleep find me. Scared of what images might find me in my dreams. I waited for the news. Scared to see that too, but had to know.
Panther sat next to me. I was glad she was here.
We kissed for a while. I kissed her like I was lucky to be alive. I kissed her neck. Her legs opened and she welcomed me. She laid back and I was on top of her, her hand reaching for me, rushing me inside her, and I was moving slow, listening to her moan for Jesus and his father.
She got on top. Worked me something good.
My ex-wife didn’t matter anymore.
Lisa didn’t matter, not in that moment, not in this way.
Sunrise found me in front of the television.
After watching reports of more troops being slaughtered in Iraq, then about Jesse Jackson coming to Inglewood to protest the opening of a Wal-Mart supercenter the size of seventeen football fields,