Devil Red Page 20

“How do you feel?” he asked.

  “My hand won’t quit shaking. I got a few minor wounds, but that’s what surprises me the most. In all the gunfire and knifing, I didn’t get a serious wound. Worst thing I got was back pain from falling out of a tree. Thing I’m wondering is how we tell Mrs. Christopher that the job is done without telling her how it was done, and without getting our dicks in a crack.”

  “That’s my job,” Marvin said. “I’ll find a way to satisfy her without telling her everything. There’s some things she doesn’t need to know. Do you think you’ll see Vanilla again?”

  “I don’t want to. She makes me nervous.”

  At that moment, Brett came out of the waiting room and came over to me and grabbed me before I could stand and hugged me. I kissed her near her ear. She was crying. She fell into my lap.

  “My God, I thought that was you I heard talking,” she said.

  She kissed me several times. I wiped away her tears. I hugged her tight. I looked at Marvin, said, “You should go home, friend.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I should. Call me if there’s any news.”

  He stood and clapped his hand on my shoulder. I reached up and touched it. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  We went back in the waiting room, and I told her all I had told Marvin.

  “I don’t know how I feel about Vanilla Ride,” Brett said. “You’re my man.”

  “You know it,” I said.

  “Really now,” Brett said. “How pretty is she?”

  “She’s all right.”

  “Hap.”

  “Okay. She’s real pretty.”

  “Hap.”

  “All right, goddamn it,” I said. “She’s stunningly beautiful.”

  “Okay,” she said, “that’s enough.”

  73

  The next morning we got word that Leonard was out of the woods, and though not ready to see visitors, much better. We decided to go home and have breakfast and get some sleep.

  About noon we woke up and made love, and when we were finished, we were ravenous. We ate a quick lunch and went to the hospital. We found Rogers, Leonard’s surgeon. He took us into the waiting room, where we were the only ones present. He said, “I can’t figure Mr. Pine. He not only should have died in that parking lot, he shouldn’t be awake and feeling as well as he is. He’s not going to jump up and run a marathon or anything, but he’s doing miraculously well.”

  “Can we see him?” Brett asked.

  “Shortly,” Rogers said.

  About an hour later we were allowed into ICU to see him. I had hoped to have his deerstalker to wear, just to pick at him, but I didn’t. I guess the cops had it.

  We sat in chairs on opposite sides of the bed. We each held one of his hands. He looked rough, but he had his color back, and that wicked look in his eyes.

  “So, you’re gonna shit in my hat,” he said, looking at me.

  “You actually heard that?” Brett said.

  “Yeah,” Leonard said. “I wanted to answer, but couldn’t. I was a little under the weather.”

  “I’ll say,” I said.

  “You know,” Leonard said, “bullets hurt.”

  “Yeah. Well, you know our motto.”

  “If the dick’s intact, we’re all right.”

  “That’s the one”

  “You’re sitting funny, Hap.”

  “I fell out of a tree.”

  “Ha,” Leonard said, and then licked his dry lips. “Did anyone call John?”

  I felt a little ashamed. “No,” I said.

  “Good. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want any goddamn sympathy from him. He comes back, I want him to come back because of the right reasons. Not because I got myself shot.”

  “Your surgeon said it was small caliber, and your muscle tone had a lot to do with your survival,” I said. “You know what really surprises me, though?”

  “What?”

  “That you have any muscle tone.”

  “Ha, ha,” he said. Then: “Brett, could you see if they would let me have a bit of soda pop? I’m craving a little something wet and sweet.”

  “I can ask,” she said.

  “Tell them I’ll try not to let it squirt out the holes in my chest.” Brett got up and went away.

  Leonard squeezed my hand really tight. He said, “Do you know who shot me?”

  I told him who as quickly as I could. I told him what had happened to them.

  “Man,” Leonard said, “Vanilla is so cold and mean—”

  “—her mean has to wear a hat and tie,” we said together.

  Leonard laughed, and then winced. “Oh,” he said. “I think I shit myself a little.”

  “What nurses are for,” I said. “Ask Brett to tell you how much she loves that part.”

  He grinned at me, then gradually turned serious. “How do you feel, man?”

  “It got done, and Vanilla got whatever it was she needed out of it. I figure eventually we’ll read about it in the papers. Someone will find them in time. They won’t show to work, and then they’ll go out there and find all those bodies. I don’t know what the law will think.”

  “As long as they don’t think about you, it’ll be okay,” Leonard said.

  “I think Vanilla and I did it pretty clean. I’m even going to get rid of the shoes and clothes I had on last night. I’m leaving nothing to chance, no footprints, no clothes fibers. And since I didn’t write my name in blood or draw a drawing of a devil head, I think I’ll be all right.”

  “Of course you will,” Leonard said.

  “I’m going to get rid of the guns tomorrow. Except my automatic. I didn’t use it. It’s still clean.”

  “Hate to see them go,” he said.

  “Best bet, though. I know a good place to ditch them.” Leonard nodded.

  “Vanilla, what she did,” he said, “she didn’t do it for me. It was for you.”

  “And herself.”

  “What I can’t figure is how you got someone like Brett, and then someone looks like Vanilla, to be attracted to you. As a queer, I got to say, I don’t find you attractive at all.”

  “Feeling’s mutual,” I said. “Minus the queer part.”

  “But, you know what?”

  “What,” I said.

  “I love you, brother,” he said, without looking right at me. “And you’re the reason I came back from the dead. That, and the fact it’s cold over there. And dark.”

  “Still,” I said, squeezing his hand, “I’m not giving you that damn hat back.”

  A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joe R. Lansdale has written more than a dozen novels in the suspense, horror, and Western genres. He has also edited several anthologies. He has received the British Fantasy Award, the American Mystery Award, seven Bram Stoker Awards, and the 2001 Edgar Award for best novel from the Mystery Writers of America. In 2007 he won the Grand Master Award at the World Horror Convention. He lives in Nacogdoches, Texas, with his family.