The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(70)

Some birds flew. He stood leaning against the fender of the truck taking in the scene. A rope hammock slung between a pair of trees with shreds of the hammock hanging underneath where someone had fallen through it. A coiled plastic hose. A galvanized washtub. There was an alligator hide nailed to a tree with the feet sticking out. After a while he called again.

The door banged open against the side of the trailer and a deranged-looking man in a beard stood spraddlelegged in the doorway with a shotgun leveled at his waist. Who are you? he croaked.

Jesus, said Western. Dont shoot me.

Western?

Yeah.

What the fuck. Where did you come from?

I’ve been sent on an errand of mercy.

Did you bring whiskey?

I did.

Get in this house you son of a bitch. You’re goodern ary angel. Where’s the hooch?

Western opened the truck door and got the bottle of liquor from behind the seat. He made as if to bobble it and caught at it wildly with his hands.

Dont fuck around, Western. Get your ass up here.

How are you doing?

Not worth a shit. Get in here.

He sat in a moldgrown springshot sofa in the front room of the trailer. The place just smelled generally of rot. He looked around. Jesus, he said.

Borman stood the shotgun in the corner and sat in a brokendown lounger opposite and propped his feet on a plastic ottoman and took the bottle and twisted off the cap and spun the cap across the room. He took a pull and squinted one eye and stiff-armed the bottle across to Western. Whoo, he said.

I dont suppose you have any glasses.

They’re in the kitchen.

Western started to get up.

I dont think you want to go back there.

He sat back down again.

It aint a pretty sight. Sink’s so full of dishes you got to go outside to take a leak.

Okay.

I used to just set the dishes out in the yard. Somethin would always come along and clean them up. Then somethin started carrying them off. Maybe a bear, I dont know.

Western took a drink and passed the bottle back. Borman drank. The brown liquor boiled in the bottle. When he lowered it the bottle was a third gone and his eyes were watering. He wiped his mouth and held the bottle out. Hell, Western. I’ve drunk worse liquor than that. Here.

I’m done.

You goin to leave me to drink by myself like a common drunk?

You are a common drunk.

What are you doin out here?

Your family’s been calling about you. Red didnt know what to tell them. Whether you were alive or not. For instance.

He wouldnt come out though, would he?

He said the last time he went looking for you it was somewhere in California and you got him drunk and got him in a fight and got him in jail and when he finally got home six days later he was missing two teeth and had the clap.

You tell him when you see him that I said he’s just a big dripping pussy.

I’ll be sure to tell him.

You know what he told me one time?

No. What did he tell you one time?

He said he seen a dude in India drink a glass of milk with his dick. Do you believe that?

Jesus.

Borman drank. Western pointed at the wall. What is that? he said.

What is what?

On the wall there. What is that?

I dont know. Looks like dried puke. You sure you dont want another hit on this?

No thanks. This place looks awful.

It’s the maid’s day off. Hold it. Dont move.

What?

Dont move.

Jesus, Borman. Put that damned thing down.

Borman had put the bottle between his knees and fetched a pistol up from somewhere in the depths of the lounger and was aiming it at Western’s head.

Good God, Borman.

Dont move.

The explosion in the trailer was deafening. Western dove to the floor. He put his hands on top of his head. His ears were ringing and he’d hit his head on the table. He felt to see if there was any blood.

You crazy bastard. What the hell is wrong with you?

Got you you son of a bitch. Hell, Western. Get up from there.

Are you crazy?

It’s just ratshot.

Western raised up and looked at the wall behind him. The walls of the trailer were perforated all over with tiny holes in clusters and here and there small brown stains or blotches among the perforations. He looked at Borman. Borman was lowering the hammer on a Walther P38. Roaches, he said. It’s war, Bobby. I take no prisoners. Get your ass up. Hell. You aint hurt.

My goddamned ears are ringing like a snaredrum.

Yeah? I guess I’ve got used to it.

You dont get used to it. You get deaf.

I wish you’d of brought me out a can of SR 4756 and some caps. I’ve got an old Lee Loader around here somewhere. You could reload these things with river sand. Seal em with wax. When these sons of bitches find out I’m out of ammo they’ll take the place over. It’ll just be Katy bar the door.

When they find out you’re out of ammo.

Yeah.

Borman?

I only got one box left. Of the ratshot.

Borman?

Yeah?

They’re going to come and take you away. Do you understand that?

You think I’m losing it.

What else is there to think?

You’re a smart guy, Western. Do you really think they’re not coming anyway? You say we cant see into the future? We dont have to. It’s here. I still got five boxes of the hundred and eighty grain longnose for the rifle and maybe eight boxes of shotgun shells. There’s a fifty-five gallon drum of water under the house and enough staples for a pretty decent siege. Dried fruit. Crations. A couple of crates of MREs. There’s a trapdoor in the floor in there. I got a barrel sunk in the ground under the trailer. It’s sort of like a duckblind. Rocks piled around it. Loopholes in the key positions.