Part 19 (2/2)
Andrew had found a tree limb and was beating the religious zealot across the head and shoulders. Several of the horseshoe throwers stood in a rough semicircle, watching without judgment. Beating had no effect, so Andrew jabbed the ragged limb b.u.t.t in the guy's chest and twisted. The guy showed amazing self-discipline, not something I would have expected to run into in a train station.
Lloyd leaned his back against Moby d.i.c.k and watched Andrew's antics while he ate. His fingers were black grease to the knuckles. ”Sharon hasn't been here,” he said.
”You're lucky on that one.”
His head went down and up in what pa.s.sed for a nod. ”I suppose. Only, I wish I'd find one person who'd seen her, even a year or two ago would be enough. How could a girl that beautiful disappear without anyone remembering her?”
I'd seen the photo, and Sharon was nice, but not beautiful, which just goes to show you the old eyes-of-the-beholder thing is true. And Lloyd had the eyes. His eyes under Owsley's hair on Steve McQueen's body would be G.o.d his own self.
”It's a big country, Lloyd, a.s.suming she stayed in the country.”
”I'll find her in Florida. I know.”
Andrew picked up a horseshoe and started for his target, but one of the hippies intervened-first sign of involvement from anyone on the place.
The chili bowl was empty. ”Spark plug wires are arcing,” Lloyd said. ”We ought to replace them.”
”Will they hold to Carolina?” Lloyd didn't answer, which I read as yes. ”I've spent my quota on car parts. It's gasoline and maybe oil from here on.”
He handed me the bowl, careful that our fingers didn't touch. ”How about hay?”
Andrew was trying to light a match and failing. ”Cars don't run on hay, Lloyd. Even I'm not that dense.”
”The patrolman was right, we have to disguise the beer.”
”We could draw a funny nose on each bottle.”
Lloyd didn't smile. ”I figure twelve bales of hay will seal the Coors from view. Freedom says a place down the road will sell it to me. He buys manure there for his marijuana plants.” Lloyd knew the power of his eyes. You could tell because he held them back until he wanted something.
He used them now. ”I'll be needing some money.”
Freedom must have heard his name. I smelled him behind me before he spoke. Smelled like burned rubber.
”Hey, man, I can use that stuff.”
I jerked away from his voice. Anyone else would have sensed my repulsion and gone away. ”Just what I've been looking for,” he said.
”What's just what you've been looking for?”
He leaned under Moby d.i.c.k's hood, over the battery. ”This'll teach those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.”
Freedom produced a pocketknife and a clear, plastic globe, the kind toys come in for a quarter at the grocery store. Shannon used to see a toy halfway up the dispenser machine and beg for quarters, hoping that particular toy would drop out the slot. Once, it even did. Sam Callahan took this as a sign that Shannon was born to win. He ignored the five hundred times the machine spit out the wrong toy.
Freedom carefully sc.r.a.ped the white corrosion off the battery poles, positive first, then negative. Dad told me if I touched that stuff it would eat off my fingers, then I would go blind. I don't know if Dad exaggerated, but I noticed Freedom avoided direct contact with the moldy powder.
Lloyd realized the deal. ”You're going to sell that to someone as drugs.”
Freedom tapped the globe with his finger. ”f.u.c.k, no, I'm not selling this to no one. Honest men need not fear my medicine.”
”You'll carry it on you and let them steal it,” I said.
Freedom grinned, exposing gaps between his teeth. ”You're pretty smart for a wino.”
Lloyd's voice was soft and sad. ”When they shoot it up they'll die.”
”Ain't that a shame,” Freedom said.
I'm hard to shock by weirdness, but, Jeeze Louise, there has to be limits. ”Stealing isn't worth killing anyone over,” I said.
”Is when they steal from me.”
”No, it's not.”
Freedom turned on me, crouched like a rabid dog-or how I imagined a rabid dog would crouch. ”n.o.body rips off Freedom. Got that? n.o.body. Any a.s.shole f.u.c.ks with me dies and d.a.m.n well deserves to.”
”You just went off the disgusting scale.”
”Oh, yeah? Which one of us is the alcoholic?”
Freedom had never-ending depths in which to sink. I was beginning to think this sixth-level jive meant sectors of h.e.l.l. After I got Lloyd's money from the creel under the front seat, he asked me which one of them I was boffing.
”Boffing?”
”I bet on the cripple. You're the kind of butch b.i.t.c.h who wants control. I bet you sit on his face, give him a smell, then run around the room making him crawl for it.”
”I'm not sick enough to imagine the s.h.i.+t you take for granted.”
”Or you're doing it for both of them-f.u.c.k the skinny one and make the fat one watch.”
”You're right, Freedom. I f.u.c.k the skinny one and make the fat one watch.”
23.
I told Lloyd to buy the cheapest straw they had. ”Don't get hay,” I said. ”This is for hiding, not feeding.”
”What's the difference?” he asked.
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