Bad to the Bones(15)
“Ain’t that the truth!” guffawed Mann Montana. “Do you mind if I use that tagline for my campaign? Sounds trendy and optimistic.”
Knoxie then saw the source of the hilarity. A newspaper photographer was following Montana around, snapping away. Knoxie had been the subject of several of these human interest stories. No doubt they were displaying how much of an Everyman Montana was, getting along with people from all walks of life. Duji, Tuzigoot, and the Prospect Bobo Segrist were all posing behind the politician, their mouths frozen open with glee. Tuzigoot cheerfully hoisted a can of beer even though it was eleven in the morning. This would show that Montana was a man of the people. Knoxie didn’t knock Montana. He just didn’t know him.
Rising, Knoxie told Bellamy, “Since you’re used to bikes, ride out with me to Madison’s, two up. My ride’s just basic black, but I think you’ll appreciate it from the * pad.” He’d banged a lot of cunts since Nicole had left, but he’d never had a back warmer.
Knoxie bumped into Kneecap as he left the grill. That was the Ronald McDonald buffoon. It all happened so fast, the way Knoxie truly accidentally bumped him. When he realized who the asshat was, though, Knoxie shouldered him so violently the guy went flying into the glass, all smashed against it with his mouth open aghast like some kind of road kill. But Knoxie had to follow Bellamy, so he didn’t want to create a scene. He sure wished he knew why Nicole had spread her legs for that mascot clone. He would’ve felt better if it had been someone stunningly handsome, like one of the Illuminati brothers.
Out on the sidewalk, Slushy took him aside. “Now, don’t go all cowboy on us, hot stuff. Just keep your eyes on the prize. Maddy’s been briefed, so she knows what to do. She’s going to try and convince Bellamy to see her shrink. In the meantime, she’s certifiably cuckoo, Knox. Good luck with that. You might try googling ‘deprogramming.’” He thumped Knoxie on the back and went back to his glad-handing. “Hey, did you know I ran into this doofis Montana at the improv club the other night?”
“You go to improv?” Duji asked.
“Sure, doesn’t everyone? Anyway, we were standing in line…”
Knoxie carefully eyeballed Bellamy as she turned down the side alley that led to the lot where his ride was parked. She was definitely waifish from this point of view, underfed, underloved. The thought of that fake swami playing Hide the All-Beef Thermometer with this innocent, impressionable young woman made him sick.
She had told him she was seventeen when she joined the cult. That was much too young to know what one wanted. Hell, at seventeen Knoxie had thought he’d travel the world as a SEAL, taking out bad guys, planting incendiary devices. Which was pretty much what he’d done until an injury had sidelined him from active duty. But the point was, even if he hadn’t been discharged into the world, being a badass mercenary was hardly a f*cking lifetime career choice.
Just as marrying Nicole hadn’t lasted as long as he’d imagined it would. Shit happened, things changed, and Bellamy was going to find that out either way. Knoxie was determined. She was not returning to that goddamned prison camp.
CHAPTER FIVE
BELLAMY
It was wonderful to catch up with Maddy.
I was blown away by her house. There were three levels, and almost all the rooms looked out onto some red sandstone spires, the Red Rocks of Pure and Easy fame. Their master bedroom had one of those heavy wooden beds, an oval ceiling, and curved glass windows separated by columns. Oh, and a f*cking fireplace in the bedroom. There was a chandelier in the bathroom, and those neat glass blocks created the shower enclosure. The kitchen, though, the kitchen looked like a library with rich cabinets smelling of linseed oil. All the food was carefully hidden away, and just a few shelves with cookbooks.
I was eaten through with jealousy. I know jealousy was wrong. Jealousy was society’s way of dividing and ruling us, and we couldn’t fall prey to it. But…but…how had Maddy lucked out so heavily? We were both from the same downtrodden part of Cottonwood. We had both smoked Lytton Driving Hawk’s Young Man Blue pot up there in Coyote Buttes. We had slept in the same clothes that we wore to school during the day. We stole steaks from the supermarket, cans of beef jerky, oranges. Maddy’s mother was arguably a bigger witch than mine—we used to fight over that, comparing witches. “Well my mother said Led Zeppelin is supernatural music.” “Well mine smashed a clothes iron over my head.” “Okay, you win.” Maddy’s iron would always win out over paranormal music any day.
But while Maddy had gone onto the straight and narrow nursing path, I had continued to lose my way. She had yanked herself up by her boot strings, vanishing mysteriously when she was about seventeen. I still had four more years, now without my mentor Madison Shellmound, and you know, the fact is…I didn’t make it. I never graduated from high school. It’s embarrassing to admit, but the pressure was just too much, the classes too hard. I was seventeen and a senior—just nominally, I barely attended, mostly just to get warm in the winter—when I bumped into Bulsara and Mandinga selling peanut butter near City Hall. They convinced me of the warm, loving arms of the master, and sold me when they said the master is a boat. “Once the disciple crosses the river, the boat becomes unnecessary.” I was excited and thrilled like I hadn’t been in years. I was beyond sick of sleeping in the same clothes, in the moldy sleeping bag, feeling obligated to make out with any boy with a rice rocket, long hair, and a six of beer.