The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(72)



Probably. Yeah.

What’s the worst thing you can be?

Borman thought about that. A piece of shit. There aint no reprieve from that.

Total contempt.

Total.

No such thing as an apology.

Not for that.

Are you a son of a bitch?

Me? Absolutely.

No question.

No question. Goldplated with a warranty.

Is that why you’re out here?

You mean did God send me out here to waste away in the swamps because I was a son of a bitch?

Yeah.

Probably.

Do you believe in God?

Hell, Bobby. Who knows.

If somebody calls somebody just a plain fuck it just means they left off the adjective?

Plain is an adjective.

Is Long John a son of a bitch?

No. He’s too pathetic.

Is he a sick fuck?

Let me put it this way. If you look up sick fuck in the dictionary you’ll find his picture. Damn I hate that about Oiler.

You want to go into town? Get something to eat?

I guess. Sure.

He drained the last of the whiskey and reached under the lounger and pulled out a pair of red and blue bowling shoes with the number 9 on the back of the heel.

What are those?

Shoes.

Is that all the shoes you’ve got?

Is that all right?

I guess. What happened to your regular shoes?

Boots. Pretty nice pair of Tony Lamas. I’ve got to guess they’re in a bowling alley somewhere.

I didnt know you bowled.

I dont. Are you ready?

They walked out in the yard and stood looking at Borman’s truck. Borman seemed little the worse for wear for a man who’d just drunk the better part of a quart of whiskey.

The fuel pump was goin out and I kept crankin it and it finally backfired through the carburetor and when it done that it broke about half the teeth off the starter gear.

Not the flywheel.

No, thank God. I pulled the starter. It’s layin in the floor yonder.

We could take it in and get a rebuilt. It wouldnt cost much.

Yeah. What are you goin to do about the tires?

Western looked at the tires. Yeah, he said.

Fuck it, Bobby. Let the son of a bitch set there. I’ll get it up and runnin one of these days.

All right. You ready?

Yeah. You’re liable to try and shanghai me.

I’ll bring you back. Hell, Borman. I dont care if you lay out here and die.

Spoke like a gentleman. All right. Let me lock up.

Lock up?

Yeah.

All right.

Borman looked around. Somewhere out here the last ivorybill died. Thirty years ago probably. I still listen for them. What sense does that make? They’re gone forever.

I didnt know you were a bird watcher.

I’m not. I’m a forever watcher.

Forever is a long time.

Tell me about it. I have weird dreams, man. I dream about animals sometimes and they’ll be dressed up in robes like judges and they’ll be trying to decide what to do with my ass. In the dream I dont know what it is that I’ve done. Just that I’ve done it. You may be right. Maybe I need to get out of here.

They went to a cafe on Fourth Street and ate porterhouse steaks with baked potatoes and hot apple cobbler with vanilla ice cream. Borman went to the counter and came back with two cigars and sat and handed one to Western. Western smiled and shook his head.

Fuck you, said Borman. More for the rest of us. What are you? Turning into some kind of an aesthetic?

Ascetic.

Whatever.

I never did smoke cigars. You’re thinking of Long John.

Yeah. I get you two mixed up all the time.

He bit off the end of the cigar and spat and lit the cigar and shook out the match and laid the mate in the ashtray. He leaned back, blowing smoke. I hate this goddamned town.

Go somewhere else.

Sure. I could go back to fucking McMinnville.

Go somewhere else. The world is wide.

Yeah. It’s wide and then you fall off. I read somewhere that on Jupiter or someplace if you had a powerful enough telescope you could look and see the back of your own head. Is that true?

I dont know. Maybe. The gravity’s pretty strong so maybe it bends the light around like that. Theoretically I suppose it could be true. Of course you wouldnt be able to hold up the telescope because it would weigh five hundred pounds. And you wouldnt be able to stand up or breathe or anything like that. Probably if you looked down your eyeballs would fall out of their sockets and break on the ground like eggs.

You like all that shit, dont you?

Western shrugged. It’s interesting. I used to be pretty good at it.

Yeah? I was a pretty good ballplayer. Middlin good. I went to the minors. One year. I knew I wasnt ever goin to the show so that was that. Did you know that Oiler used to play the clarinet?

I did know that.

That’s some weird shit.

I guess it’s not something you would have expected.

People are a fucking puzzle. Did you know that?

Western sipped his coffee. It may be the only thing I do know.

You still play music?

No.

I’d expect it from you.

Playing music?

Yeah.

Because?

I just would.

You think it’s not a guy sort of thing.

You know I dont think that. I saw you in action at the Wayside Inn one night.

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