Rumble Tumble

Leonard twisted the key in the trunk and hopped back. The trunk lid flew up and Red’s hands appeared over the edge. “Don’t shoot,” he said, and came out of there with his cowboy hat crunched down on his head, his eyes barely showing beneath the brim.

“Come over here,” Leonard said.

Red sighed, sauntered over to him.

“You want it with the hat on, or off?” Leonard said.

“What a choice,” Red said.

“The hat would cushion it some, but it’ll get all bloody.”

“This is a Stetson,” Red said, “they’re expensive.” He took it off and straightened it out and lay it on the ground, sighed, stood in front of Leonard. “Maybe we could talk before you start hittin’?”

“I ain’t hittin’ shit,” Leonard said. “Least not yet. She’s doin’ the work.”

Red studied Brett. She was walking toward him with the long-barrel revolver held by her side. Walking like a woman with a mission.

Red looked at me. “You don’t want her to do this. Stop her.”

“I don’t like it,” I said, “but you talk, you won’t have to have it.”

“Talk about what?” Red said, and suddenly Brett was there. The pistol went out and caught him alongside the head and dropped him. When he went to his knees, Brett whipped the pistol back, got some skull with it, whipped it again, like she was trying to cut a Zorro Z.

Red fell face forward and groaned and tried to rise up on his hands, but he wobbled and went down again. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “I didn’t think it would hurt that bad.”

“Hell,” Brett said, “I haven’t even got my swing yet.”

“Hold it, for Christ’s sakes,” I said.

I went over and got hold of Red and tried to pick him up. He said, “I think I like it better on the ground. I’m gonna take a beatin’, least I won’t have to keep gettin’ up.”

I let him go. Brett said, “You told me my daughter was here.”

Red shook his head, and I saw a moonlit glob of blood fall out of his bright hair onto the ground. “I said she had been here and might still be. I didn’t say she was definitely still here. I never said that. You, Hap, you were there. I didn’t say that, did I?”

“Reckon you didn’t,” I said.

“What I want to know is where she is now,” Brett said, “and if you’re smart, you’ll tell me while you’ve still got teeth to talk around.”

“Maybe I ought to sit up,” Red said.

I got hold of him and helped him to his feet. I walked him over to the car and opened the front passenger door. He sat down, his feet hanging outside the car.

“Damn, Hap,” Leonard said. “Why don’t you give him a pillow and a soft drink?”

Brett said, “Maybe I should hit him some more, just for grins.”

“That’s enough,” I said.

“It’s only enough when I say it’s enough,” Brett said.

“Goddammit!” I said. “That’s enough!”

Brett gave me a look I didn’t like.

Leonard said, “He don’t talk, you can hit him some more, Brett. I promise.”

I looked at Leonard. “I don’t want it to come to us finding out who’s the toughest, brother,” I said.

“Me neither,” Leonard said.

“Then I advise you not make loose promises.”

Leonard grinned at me. I turned back to Red.

“Red,” I said, “I want you to tell your story, and boil it down to the essence. Tell it straight. We got questions, you answer them, quick like. You’ve caused us trouble. I’m past irritable myself. I’m damn near sick with this mess. You fuck around, we might all have pistols and a need to swing them. Hear what I’m saying?”

Red nodded, used his hand to wipe away a trail of blood that was flowing from a pretty deep cut across his forehead, a cut made from the sight on the revolver.

He said, “I knew y’all were folks would beat a midget.”

“I might kick a puppy, it bit me,” Leonard said.

Red made a grunting noise. “I believe you would, mister.”

“My whippin’ hand’s gettin’ itchy,” Brett said. “Talk, or your brains’ll see moonlight.”

“Ah, a line for the movies,” Red said. “Save it for when you write your life story, lady. They pick it up for film, they might even let you play the part.”

Red bent forward and let blood drip off his head and onto the ground. When he sat up, he was pressing his fingers against the wound. He said, “I told you how me and Wilber had our problems with Big Jim, and how we left out of here on our way to Mexico.

“Well, me and Wilber started to have a change of heart about the time we got near the border. It was shortly after Wilber strong-armed a diner owner and cook, a Mexican. I, on the other hand, took money from the cash register and stayed away from that sort of thing, which I not only prefer not to participate in, I prefer not to witness. I only engage in violence when it’s absolutely necessary and the money’s right.”

“Would you get on with it, you windbag?” Leonard said.