“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t be like that, Hollis. We can work this out. You could even come into the studio and play on the tracks.”
I shake my head.
“I don’t understand,” Angela tells me. “I thought it was all about the writing. You told me that it was something you just had to get out.”
“A lot of it was about writing with you, or about how it made you think of me.”
I can tell Felix doesn’t like this talk. He’s about to interject when the baby reaches up, grasps a strand of Angela’s hair and gives a tug.
“This one’s about to pull me bald-headed.” Her accent slips in here. Felix looks shocked to hear his woman’s true voice. “Look, if you feel that strong about it just keep whatever songs you want. As for the ones you’ve already agreed to sell us, I’ll have the contract ready,” she says. “Full writing credits this time.”
I don’t really believe this last bit will happen. The lawyers will fight her. They can’t risk the myth they’ve built, can’t accept the possibility that the songs written by an unknown hunchback might have too much of the flavor of past hits. Once what’s false is rendered truth, it becomes vital to protect the lie. It’s not something I’m interested in, anyway.
Angela passes the baby to Felix, who lays him in the bassinet and comes to wrap his arm around her. It’s a chaste but territorial gesture, something he can do to fight the silent signals both Angela’s and my body are remembering. I’ve never made any man insecure before, much less a man like Felix. I ascend the stairs feeling proud.
THE RETURN
Day Five of the Contamination
Out on the street, I smell something bitter on the wind. The Explorer is still parked alongside the building, but the driver’s-side window is busted out. Tiny pellets of glass litter the ground and the deputy slumps in his seat. I know he’s dead even before I see the stain cascading down the front of his uniform. I turn to run, but it’s more an awkward waddle than a sprint. Boot heels slap the asphalt behind me. The sudden cold from a blade flicks against my earlobe. When the sharp tip presses into my neck, I stop.
Victor grasps a handful of my hair. I wait for my chin to be pried back, for the blade to bite deep toward my spine, but Victor just spins me around. I see him in blurred periphery as I twirl, his expression as hard to decipher as an old brand scarred into animal hide.
“Hold still,” Victor says. The makeup is gone from his face. Just a bit of corpse-fleshed gray remains in the creases of his neck. “I don’t want to cut you.”
The knife rests against my throat, but he eases back on the blade’s pressure.
“You gonna run?” he asks. “Or can we have a conversation?”
“I won’t run,” I say. “Don’t wanna look more foolish.”
Victor nods. “A man’s gotta keep his dignity. What little he’s allowed to keep anyway.”
The Colt rests in the holster slung low on his hip. I understand the smell in the air now. Gunpowder and cordite. Even with downtown deserted, somebody must have heard the shots. If I can stay alive a little longer, backup will be on the way.
“You understand what I mean about dignity, Hollis? When even the water is poison, a man doesn’t have any dignity left if he doesn’t do something about that. You agree?”
“I heard enough of this in the kitchen the other night.”
“I think you know I’m past talking.”
Then what’s with this monologue, I think. I nod toward the dead officer, making the blade prick my throat. “I suppose he was part of the problem?”
“He should have been looking for a way to put men like Watson in prison. Instead, he’s busy cracking heads at the protest downtown.”
The blade slides into the hollow of my clavicle. Did he see me coming out of the basement? I can’t let him go down there. Not with Angela and the baby below. Before that happens, I’ll pull the blade from my neck and thrust it into Victor’s eye.
“I’m pretty proud of that work,” Victor says. “How many YouTube hits now? Now how many people are following what’s happening here?”
“Who gives a fuck?” I say. It’s the wrong answer. The blade plunges a little deeper, releasing a welling of blood.
“You should,” Victor says. “Think about all those fucks who called you too ugly to contribute. Don’t you want to see something balance the books?”
I scan the street for help, but all I see is the Buick from the convention center. He must have been following me all along. No one is coming. If Angela could sneak in without being noticed, nobody will arrive in time to save me.
“Do it if you’re gonna,” I say.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, Hollis.”
I should let him rant. Just nod while he burns through all this rhetoric, only I can’t leave it be. Regardless of how foolish it is, I feel the words forming, ready to expel as involuntarily as vomit. I’ve never shrunk from bullies. Not after that final night with The Reverend.
“A murderer isn’t the kind of spokesman we need.”
“People are watching because of what I did. Next time will bring even more attention,” Victor says. “Don’t you ever wanna get even? Wouldn’t you like some payback on that bitch who climbed out over your back, like all you hicks were just crabs in a Goddamned bucket?”
I don’t speak. I feel the blood seeping from my cut. Victor releases my hair and the knife disappears into his coat pocket. He turns, walks down the street and leaves me beside the cruiser. The radio is crackling with the dispatcher’s voice. I don’t know how to work the receiver, but I pick it up, press buttons and shout for help.
* * *
• • •
Sheriff Saunders arrives to canvass the scene. She’s accompanied by two squad cars, precious resources in this time of crisis, but no officer is going to argue about being redirected when one of their own is down. There are no paramedics to spare, so the officers photograph the car before laying the dead man in the backseat of another cruiser. They cover his body with a plastic raincoat while Sheriff Saunders treats my neck with the first aid kit from her trunk. I can tell she’s done this before. Her movements are efficient yet tender as she wraps the gauze around my throat.
“You wanna tell me what you two were doing out here?”
There is anger in her voice, but I welcome it. Someone is dead because of me, and Victor is still free. If she wasn’t pissed, I might lose respect for her.
“I asked him to bring me here to meet Angela.”