Part 21 (2/2)

I got my keys and went back outside. My '86 Chevy Caprice Cla.s.sic had once been blue but now it was just dirt-colored. It still ran though. The engine coughed to life and I drove to the front of the stable yard. I opened the big metal gates wide enough to get the car in, nosing it ahead slowly so as not to alarm Culprit. She stared at the car but she didn't spook.

I dragged Dwight's body out of the stall, pulling it by the feet. The head bounced along the dirt making a funny sound that made me sick.

I had to shuffle the s.h.i.+t in my trunk around. There were some empty feedbags, a small cooler, a horseshoe, and a pair of Stella's panties. I made room, then hoisted the body in. Dwight Ross was much heavier in death than he'd ever been in life. I had to bunch him into a fetal position to get him to fit. I put the empty feedbags over his body, then closed the trunk. My heart was beating too fast.

I went and put Culprit back into her stall. I stood for a few minutes leaning my head against her muscular neck, getting strength. My mare just stood there, seeming to understand.

I made sure all the horses had enough water before getting in the car, driving it out, and locking the stable gates behind me.

The minute I pulled out onto Linden Boulevard, I found that I needed a cigarette. I hadn't had one in four years. I drove a few blocks through thickening morning traffic. The sun was up high now, a glowing yellow ball in a faultless blue sky. The brightness made me need that cigarette even more.

I pulled off the road when I came to a little grocery store. Nosed the Chevy near the front door of the place and ran in. Asked for a pack of Newports. I was dying for a smoke but I didn't want a brand I actually liked. I paid the thin old man at the counter and took the wrapping off the pack.

”No smoking in here,” the old man said. I nodded, pulled one cigarette from the pack, and stepped outside to light it. I figured I would smoke it there so as not to stink up the car. But my car wasn't there. I looked left and right and ahead, to the thick traffic of Linden Boulevard. My car was gone.

I went back into the store.

”Yeah?” the old man said, c.o.c.king his chin at me.

”You seen my car?”

”What?” He sounded angry.

”My car, it was right there,” I said, motioning to the store's tiny parking lot.

The old man just looked at me like I was a fool.

I went back out. Looked around some more. I felt my body getting heavier. I couldn't stand up anymore. I sunk down to the lip of the sidewalk and held my head between my hands. Eventually, I lit the cigarette. It scorched my lungs and felt nice. A car pulled into the tiny lot and went right where my Caprice had been. Two teenaged girls got out. They both had oil in their black hair and the sun made it s.h.i.+ne.

I smoked.

I'd had a lot of problems in my thirty-nine years of life, but never this many. I lit a second cigarette. I coughed a little but kept smoking anyway. The girls emerged from the store, both clutching bottles of Yoo-hoo. Seemed to me Yoo-hoo would be unpleasant at 7:30 in the morning.

Eventually, the thin old man came out of his store and told me to leave. I guess for the price of a pack of smokes, I was ent.i.tled to twenty-some minutes on his sidewalk, but no more. I got up and walked.

The air was getting warmer and the sun looked too big looming above Linden Boulevard. I imagined the giant orb swelling so much it got too heavy for the sky and came plum-meting down, plunging the world into darkness.

As I walked the few blocks back to The Hole, I kept glancing over at the cars that pa.s.sed by on the busy avenue. None of them were mine.

When I got to Dumont Avenue, I stood there for a minute, at the periphery of The Hole, looking at the newly constructed houses that had recently sprung up all along the edge of the little canyon. Square cement boxes that already looked depressed, even though they were brand new and hadn't killed anybody's dreams yet.

I walked on down the dip where paved road gave way to dirt. The barns were humming with activity now. Feed was being dispensed, stalls were being mucked. These were comforting, normal sounds, but I didn't feel comforted.

I went into Culprit's stall and started currying her. Taking extra care with every aspect of the grooming procedure, knowing maybe this was the last time.

Two weeks pa.s.sed. There was fear in me but I didn't cultivate it. All I kept thinking was how I hadn't meant to kill the guy. I'd never killed anything in my life. Not even a G.o.dd.a.m.ned bug.

Now that I had no car, I had to take the bus to work. It was a long ride but I used the time to read some horsemans.h.i.+p books I'd picked up. I studied these books, and every afternoon, when I got off my s.h.i.+ft at the pool, I'd take the bus back to East New York, take my mare out, and work with her in the tiny paddock behind the barn. I wasn't even riding her much, mostly just worked her on a lunge line, getting her used to my voice commands. There were pure moments when it was just me and my horse and we saw into each other. Then worry would creep in and sully the joy.

One afternoon, I was in the paddock with Culprit, working on some things. I called out ”Canter,” saying it slow and drawn out. I said it a few times, and then she threw her head around a little, protesting awhile before finally transitioning into the canter. Something red caught my eye and I looked over my shoulder and saw Stella sitting on a barrel outside the paddock. She was wearing a red sweats.h.i.+rt and she'd cut bangs in her hair. I told Culprit to halt. My mare looked surprised and then obliged and came to a standstill.

”What's up?” Stella said like it was nothing at all.

”Hi Stella,” I said in the same way, even though I'd never expected to see her again.

She watched as I finished up with Culprit then put the mare back in her stall. As I took care of barn ch.o.r.es, Stella sat on a trunk and didn't say much. I didn't ask.

When I'd finished feeding and watering the horses, Stella followed me back to the house.

”Where's your car?” she asked as we walked up the two crooked steps to my porch.

”Stolen,” I said.

”You reported it?”

”What for?” I shrugged, not wanting to share the details with her.

”They turn up,” she said. ”I had one stolen before. Cops found it two months later. You gotta report it.”

”Nah,” I said, not knowing why she cared about the d.a.m.ned car. She kept on about it too. Asking how I was getting to work and whatnot. She'd never asked so many questions before, about anything. Maybe she was turning over a new leaf.

I was hungry but I'd run out of food, so instead of eating, Stella and I went to bed.

I had some questions for her, but they'd keep.

I put my hands on her hips. She was wearing cutoffs even though it was chilly out. She looked up at me but there was nothing to read in her eyes. She wore a small smile but even that wasn't saying much. I moved my left hand from her hip and up under her t-s.h.i.+rt, tracing her nipple with my fingertip. I lifted the s.h.i.+rt up and bit a line from between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s down to her shorts. She wiggled a little, responding, coiling, ready. I peeled her shorts down over her a.s.s. She wasn't wearing panties. She turned around then, showing me her pale and pretty a.s.s. I bent her over the bed and entered her. There was some violence in it.

Stella and I had gone at it twice already and had both pa.s.sed out on the floor, exhausted. I'm not sure how long I'd been sleeping when she woke me by putting her mouth on me.

Then we were making love again. After a few minutes, I pulled back from her and cupped her dark head in my hands.

”Where've you been, Stella?” I asked softly.

”I was mad,” she said.

”At what?”

”At you, Triple.”

”You wanna tell me why so I don't do it again?”

”Not really,” she said with a small shrug. Her shoulders were narrow. They looked cute shrugging.

Okay. I picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. Propped her a.s.s up against the sink and f.u.c.ked her there. I'd never f.u.c.ked anyone against a sink before. It got Stella pretty worked up. Her black eyes showed fire. Something close to pa.s.sion. And, at the same time, she was nicer than usual. Almost tender.

In the morning, she didn't leave. Was still lying in my bed as I got dressed. I felt a little conflicted about it. Half of me wanted her to stay as long as she pleased, but the other half didn't want to go through the changes when she left me for good.

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