“Anyway, like I’ve told you before, sometimes I . . . see stuff. Shapes. Ghosts, spirits, whatever. All the women in my family do. Most of the time it’s like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, but I came down here right before dark when I was a little older, maybe twelve or thirteen, about the time of day it is right now, and there was a huge, real animal all messed up in the water, thrashing around, tangled in garbage. It had a head like a coyote or a wolf, and a long body like a weasel, with . . . like, greeny-white fur all over. And weird purple-black feathers. And scaly front legs with claws like a—like a big bird or something. Jesus, the more I describe it, the crazier it sounds. I’ve never told this to anybody. You think I’m nuts yet?”
No, Joe didn’t think she was nuts. He had seen some weird shit himself in his time, he said. It was a lie, he never had, but something about the story seemed unsettlingly familiar, like a bedtime story someone had told him once. He knew what she was going to say before she even said it, could see the entire thing play out in his head.
“Shit, maybe you’re nuts, too, then. It gets better, though. I see this weird animal, and it’s hurt, and it’s also huge, with giant teeth and claws. I’m pretty sure it’s a dragon. Do I run the heck away? Do I go home?”
No, Joe thought, but didn’t say. No, you were always braver than that.
“No! I feel bad for the thing, because I’m crazy! I can see its front legs are wrapped in fishing line, so I creep up and I start snipping away with my pocket knife every time it stops thrashing around. And I swear to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, hand on the Bible, it sees me and it chills the heck out until I finish, like it knows I’m trying to help. I get all the line untangled and the only thing that’s left is this plastic six-pack wrapper holding its snout shut, right?”
Oh yeah, he knew how this one ended. Gentle hands reaching out to pull the nasty trap away, hands that would barely make a mouthful but they don’t even shake, and the girl’s eyes are kind and unafraid—
He was beginning to worry she was right about the both of them being bananas.
“So, what’d you do?”
“I . . . I mean, I pulled the six-pack ring off. I could tell by then it wasn’t gonna hurt me. It had the weirdest eyes I’ve ever seen. They were people-smart, and colored funny. Kind of like yours, actually.” She laughed. It was a laugh that had some thoughts about things but wasn’t telling. “I pulled it off and freed the thing and the air sorta rippled and it was gone.”
Plop, went Luce’s stones. The water was too shallow here for a really satisfying splash. These were just enough to pleasantly break the dusk quiet. Plop plop.
“Jesus. I’ve seriously never told anyone that story before. Not even my ex-husband.”
Joe didn’t know how to respond.
“Well. Thanks for trusting me,” he finally said, and meant it. He really, really meant it. He didn’t quite know why he meant it so damn much, but he did, with all his heart and kidneys and every other plentiful organ inside his big dumb body. “Thank you.”
She smiled. For the second time in a month she reached out and took his hand.
But nothing gold could stay. Dragons knew that. They fought their whole long existences against it, for all the good it did them.
All opposition to Raymond’s river-spanning construction project had been bulldozed, bribed, and broken down. That only left the cleanup—the ones that knew a little too much, the associates who had helped and lent a hand at risk of outlasting their shelf lives. Raymond had a list. There was nothing personal about the list. It was all business. Raymond gave the list to Joe, and Joe did what he had always done. He followed orders. He went home and washed the Super Bee and splashed Rita and Luce with the hose and gave work no more thought. Most of the ones getting their t’s slashed and their i’s dotted were bad men, like him. No great loss, he told himself. None of my business.
The number of names on the list dropped. Autumn loomed. Only a few more loose ends flapped in the desert breeze. One was a drifter named Maria.
Maria was about ten thousand years old. She had come to town to collect on a debt Raymond owed her and he had graciously put her in a motel for the weekend while he got the paperwork drawn up. He didn’t explain why he needed a toothless old woman crossed off his special list, and as usual Joe didn’t ask. He took a look at the photograph, pocketed the address and room number Raymond gave him, and headed off with another one of Raymond’s fixers, a no-nonsense guy with a pencil-thin mustache named Dave. Dave never talked a lot of shit. He just did his job, like Joe.
The hotel looked nondescript when they pulled into the parking lot, indistinguishable from a million others slowly rotting beside the exit ramps of every major and minor city across the sad, scarred continent. Peeling paint, grackles picking through the gravel, vacancy sign valiantly flashing against the midafternoon sun. Only one or two other cars parked, none of them in great shape. But as soon as Joe stepped out of the Lincoln they were driving, a cold shiver ran down his back. He looked down at his goose bumps in wonder. The thermometer on the car’s side mirror had said 98°F.
He exchanged a look with Dave, who nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I feel it too. Something’s frickin’ weird. Watch your back in there, buddy.”
Maria was in 15, a downstairs room opening onto the parking lot. Joe had expected they’d have to pick the lock, but the knob turned easily in his hand. They eased into the ruddy gloom with way more caution than one old women necessarily called for. The lights and TV were off, the shades drawn. A hunched figure sat against the far wall opposite the window and bed.
“How kind of Raymond to send me company,” the shadow said. Her voice was drier than August. Something in her hand went click. In the flare of the lighter Joe saw a withered face, iron-gray hair, a hand like a claw tattooed with a warding eye. Inexplicably, she was also wearing a battered top hat. The smell of fresh cigar smoke cut through the motel room mustiness. “Who needs one of those bracelets in case you fall over in the bathroom when you’ve got such good friends? Come to carry my groceries for me, boys?”
Joe’s eyes were adjusting to the shadows. He could see other things now, too: symbols drawn on the walls, a broad circle scrawled overhead on the ceiling. Tarot cards fanned out on the stained carpet. The air was vibrating on some frequency that made his teeth itch. His thoughts and words felt as if they were bubbling through tar. Beside him Dave winced and rubbed at his temples.
“Nothing personal, lady,” Joe managed. “It’s just . . . business.”
Cackling laughter. The cherry of her cigar bobbed merrily in the semi-darkness like a red eye.
“Is that what you tell yourself, boy?” she rasped. “If it wasn’t personal, he wouldn’t have sent you, of all people. Or should I say, of all un-people. What an incredible bastard that man is. Asks me to do a job and then kills me for doing what he asked without even paying. The cheek! I hope the next witch he double-crosses opens a portal to hell in his asshole.”
Dave took a lurching step toward her, fumbling at his holster. He moved like a blind man in a drainage ditch.
“Is that all you got to say for your last words, a bunch of crazy talk?” he said. “You don’t wanna pray or something?”