The Ballad of Billy Badass, page 5
“Shut the fuck up.”
Bartender hands Billy bag of money.
“Christ there’s only a couple hundred bucks here.”
“It’s not about the money.”
Bartender takes a long look at Billy. Follows others into walk-in cooler in kitchen. Billy closes cooler door. Sticks ice pick into handle. Locked.
The motorcycle is registered. Some other guy’s name. Billy rides it out of the state.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Idaho. Coeur d’Alene. Suburban mall. Close to highway entrance. Parking lot corner. Flathead Twin Theater. “Deliverance” on a double bill with “Scarecrow”.
Other screen, “High Plains Drifter”. Saturday night. Last show just let in.
Billy sits in parking lot. ’72 Corvette. Black on black. Been watching since seven o’clock show. Big night. Box office sold out. Cash registers full. Manager emptied four times. Now adding up receipts, counting cash with cashier. On candy counter.
Dumb move. Has an office. But let’s too many kids go early. Saving a dime. Putting cash into bank bag.
Billy eats Ritz crackers from box. Dips them into peanut butter jar. Peter Pan crunchy. Sips Dad’s Root beer. Sings along with radio. The Who.
Car pulls up to theater. ’70 AMX. Glass packs gurgling. Parks with screech of tires.
Teen boy and girl run into theater, hand in hand. Billy feels a pang. Never had that.
Cashier sells teen couple two tickets. They’ll make it in time. Sixteen minutes of trailers before Clint.
Billy lids peanut butter. Closes Ritz box. Steps out of car. Opens trunk. Tiny trunk. Big enough for gym bag. Closes trunk. Walks to AMX. Never drove one before.
Door locked. Sets down gym bag. Unzips. Takes out hammer. T-shirt wrapped around hammer head. Secured with electrical tape.
Billy looks around. No one in sight. Swings hammer. Window shatters. Clears glass. Opens door from inside. Tosses gym bag onto passenger seat. Brushes glass off driver’s seat with hammer.
Reaches under dash. Yanks down ignition wire. Takes spare ignition out of gym bag. Puts away hammer. Alligator clips on spare ignition. Hooks up to wires. Engine starts. Good.
Goes back for peanut butter. Box of Ritz. Leaves Root beer. Decides to get Dr Pepper from concession stand.
Takes pistol from gym bag.
Walks to theater.
Boise. Switches AMX for Nova. Uses Nova to rob National Guard Armory. Easy. No guards. Just fat First Sergeant at desk. Duct tapes him to Steelcase chair.
Trades Nova for Buick Electra. 225. All power. Rides like a toboggan over big drifts.
Parks in an alley. Small town. Outside Billings. Steps out of car. Door shuts with loud thunk. Solid. Heard Detroit engineers design door sounds. Trunk. Hood. Get just the right thunk. Muffler just right. Masculine rumble for muscle cars. Low purr for rich folks. 225 purrs.
Billy finds electrical meter. On alley wall. Next to telephone box. Attaches white phosphorous grenade to circuit into building. Pulls pin. Jumps back. Spoon pops. Grenade flares. Brilliant white. Two thousand degrees. Melts case hardened steel.
Grabs shopping bag from Buick. Trots around corner.
Enters bank.
Dark inside. People mill about. Trying light switches. Man at desk punches adding machine. Useless.
Billy pulls CAR-15 from shopping bag. Loves this gun. Saw it in Armory, grinned. Memories.
Aims CAR at ceiling. Fires burst. Gets their attention.
Everybody freezes. Acoustic tile rains litter. Flutters down slow, like snow.
“Stay cool.” Billy speaks soft. “Everyone on the floor except the tellers.”
They go down. Billy steps over people. Pauses over guard. Takes the man’s pistol. Tosses it into shopping bag.
Holds bag out to first teller. Chubby girl, slides banded money across counter.
“Take it out of the bands.” She does. Hands tremble. Billy rifles the greenbacks. Finds dye packet. Tosses it. Shovels cash into bag. Second teller, old woman, Aunt Bee type, the same routine. Third is lying on the floor.
“Lila!” Teller number two hollers. “Get up and give him the goddamned money! Weren’t you paying attention?”
Lila rises warily. Empties cash drawer. Billy alert. All five senses cranked. Even a sixth working. Glancing at front door. At folks on the floor. There’s always one.
Movement catches his eye. Man at cubicle. Reaches up into desk drawer. Slow and stealthy. There’s always one.
“Mister. Don’t.”
Man looks at Billy. At CAR-15. Billy lowers barrel. Man pulls gun. Revolver. Aims at Billy.
Billy stitches line of bullets across man. Bullets roll him across floor.
A teller screams. Lila.
Billy rushes out. Drives away. Tries to feel bad. Doesn’t. Can’t.
There’s always one.
Billy’s new identities. Dead kid names from cemeteries. Birth certificates from County courthouse. Tells them he lost his in house-fire. Driver’s license, presto, New Billy. Always Billy. William. Will. Likes cruising cemetery for names. Wonders about those poor Billys. What would have become of them?
Wichita. Savings and Loan. Just a mobile home. Trailer on a square of concrete. Dying grass lawn. With a parking lot. Cut power with bolt cutters. Electrical tape on handles. Cut cable writhes across pavement like injured snake. Electricity arcs. Cable snaps like whip. Melts ‘Exit’ sign.
Billy walks out front door. Casual. CAR in shopping bag. Hops into Camaro. Out of parking lot. Half block to highway.
Heads south.
Driving. Van. Econoline. Owns this one. Bought in Oklahoma. Steals cars for bank jobs. Returns to van.
Pouring rain. Headlights shine on falling wet, silver daggers. Windshield wipers fight losing battle. Should pull over. Doesn’t. Four track tape. The Eagles. “James Dean”. Billy sings along.
Tosses empty bank bag out window. Last bank. For a long time. Plenty of money. Stashed at state borders. Doesn’t live big. Cheap motels. Fast food joints. Used books.
Passes figure on shoulder. Dark silhouette. Beaten by rain. Sad, woe begotten posture. Billy slows. Stops. Backs up. Checks pistol in door pocket.
Taillights bathe hitchhiker. Woman. Soaked. Illuminated she glistens like glass. Climbs into van.
“Thanks.” She shivers. Hugs herself.
Billy eases back onto highway. Signals. Stays under speed limit. Careful about traffic laws.
Turns heat up. Eyes girl.
American Indian. What do they call themselves now? Native American. Not pretty. Handsome. Strong face. Short. Muscular body. No fat. High breasts under wet shirt. No jacket. Long, black hair. Plastered against face, chest.
She looks him over.
“I’ll suck you off for twenty bucks.”
“I’ll give you thirty not to.”
She frowns at him.
“Is that an insult or some lame joke?”
“You pick.”
Frown fades. She smiles. Crooked grin. Great smile.
“There’s some dry clothes in the back.”
She thinks a moment. Cautious. Should be. Crawls into the back.
“In that green basket.”
His laundry. Just done. Folded neatly. Next to yellow basket. For dirty clothes. Billy is organized.
“Thanks. I’m freezin’ my tits off. Cold enough to piss an icicle. Been standin’ there a fuckin’ hour.”
She peels off wet shirt. Tanned. But tits pale. Glow in the dark. She sees him watching. Doesn’t cover up.
“Hard to see anyone in this rain,” he says. “You could get hit.”
She pries off black jeans. No underwear. More tan. More glowing parts.
“Yeah. My own fuckin’ fault. Little prick I was ridin’ with, an auditor he says, travellin’ executioner for bookkeepers, this little peckerhead thinks it’s two-for-one day and wants me to blow him again. Woulda told him to bite my ass but he woulda got off on it.”
She talks fast. Speed freak? Too much caffeine?
“I’m a business woman, ya know. But shit…every fuckin’ john thinks you gotta fall in love with him. You wanna ride the merry-go-round again, you gotta pop for another quarter. Right?”
Tugs on Billy’s jeans. A dry t-shirt. Flannel over that. Towels hair dry.
“Then he calls me a fuckin’ Spic. A Spic! Told the little jerk off, let me out or I’d cry rape out the window at the first Dudley-Do-Right I saw.”
“You got something against Spics?” Billy thinks of the Saenz family. First time in a long time.
“Nope. Don’t even like the word. Shouldn’t say it, I guess. I’m not gonna. There. But I’m a fuckin’ Indian. Native American motherfucker. You gonna call me names, leastways get it right.”
“A Native American whore. Right?”
She laughs. Great laugh. From deep inside.
“Yeah. But only temporary. Working my way to California. My brothers are in jail there. Raising bail money on my way.”
“How you doin’ on that?”
She climbs back up front. Sticks her hands in front of hot air vents.
“They got arrested. Some protest or some shit. Delano, my older brother, he’s always agitatin’ ‘bout some shit or the other.”
She drops her head. Ruffles her hair in hot air blast.
“Back home he was always in and outta jail. Fightin’, assault they call that, stealin’. B and E. In the pen he got politicized. Became a fuckin’ radical. Been organizin’ in Cal. I thought he’d kinda gone straight. And he did. Opened an Indian center. Gets our people to march and shit. Still gets his ass busted. Figure that.”
Combs her hair with her fingers.
“Blue, my other brother, sweet guy, he’ll do anything Delano tells him. And that’s his problem. Doesn’t have the cojones to take the heat, ya know? Jails suckin’ his soul dry. You got anything to eat?”
Cooler behind his seat. Can of deviled ham. Tosses her one. Box of Ritz crackers. Coke in the arm console.
She eats with enthusiasm. Makes little sandwiches. Popped whole into her mouth. Gulps of Coke. Billy’s a sipper. A muncher.
“We’ll stop for burgers in a bit. I’ll buy.”
“Hot damn. I found my prince.” Cracker crumbs on her shirt. “What’s it gonna cost me?”
“What’s a square meal worth?”
“Hell, I’d fuck a Republican for a Big Mac.” She laughs. With her whole body. “For a large fries I’d even kiss him.”
Billy laughs. Loud and hard. First laugh in a long time.
“I’ll take an IOU”
She examines him. Doing the math.
“Either you’re queer or I’ve gotten ugly. Uglier. You got some VD phobia? Hell, I’m clean. Fuck, I’m so clean you could eat off me. Or something like that.”
That laugh again. Billy joins her.
“I’m Catalina.” She smiles. Shy now. Girl changes like the wind. Next she gets serious. “Why not?”
“I’m in a hurry. Need to get some place fast.”
“Where?”
“Some place that’s not here.”
“You on the run?”
She nods. Answers her own question. “You’re some kind of outlaw. I know your kind,” she says. And she does. “I’ve seen those eyes before.”
Billy drives through the night. Stops to piss. Fuel up. Grab food. Catalina talks, eats, talks. Crawls into the back. Curls into poncho liner. Sleeps.
Sunrise. Welcome to Flagstaff.
Billy cruises into town. Wanders a bit. Finds bus station. Stops.
Non-motion wakes Catalina. “We there?”
“I don’t know where ‘there’ is but this is where we part.”
“Oh, right.” Disappointment? “Flagstaff.”
Billy nods. She ties her shoes. Gathers her clothes. Starts to unbutton shirt. “Keep it.”
“Thanks.”
She climbs over seat. Wide awake. Opens passenger door. Turns to look at him. He hands her money. A few hundred.
“Why don’t you catch a bus the rest of the way.”
“Wish I could say no thanks, that you done enough already, but…shit.” She takes the bills.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I just came into a bit of money.”
He grins. She grins. Wolf like. Walks around van. Leans into driver’s window. “You ever get to LA, look me up. I owe you one. We’ll fuck our brains out.”
She pops inside. Kisses him. Shy like. Then runs across the street. Stops outside bus station. Waves. Billy waves.
Drives away. Watches in mirror. She enters station. Gone.
College campus. University. What’s the difference? U of Texas. Austin. Huge campus. Billy waits. On a bench. Observing. Strange world. Lots of young faces. Fresh faces. Anybody that innocent? Billy wouldn’t know.
Kids. Just kids. Intense discussions. Arguments. ‘Cardinal Newman.’ ‘Perverted priorities.’ ‘The man.’ Three Stooges impressions. Reading while walking. Joking. Necking. Billy feels something. Envy? Grief?
Girl comes over. Sits. Pretty. Cheerleader type. Wind-blown hair. Freckles. Cute. Peasant dress. Tits unfettered. Smells of patchouli. Digs into purse. Canteen of water. Two bananas.
“You don’t mind if I have lunch, do you?” So polite. “Would you like a banana?”
“No.” He remembers. Courtesy. “Thanks anyway.”
“Well, here’s what I found so far. In Ohio.”
Digs in purse. Notebook. Opens it. Purse must weight fifty pounds.
“Logan, Ohio. 1952. Mister and Mrs. R. Walters. Killed by her ex-husband. Jealousy the apparent motive. Shot both multiple times. Waited for police on the porch. Both children shot. One recovered. Poor girl.”
“No,” Billy says.
“Chillicothe. ’53. Nice sounding place isn’t it. Very alliterative. Mrs. Agnes Goodyear. Killed. Her six-year-old son disappeared with the father. She was beaten with a hammer. Allusions as to her moral character.”
“No. Go on.”
“Rubyville. ’53 again. Parents killed by oldest son. Seventeen. Cops said drugs. Of course.”
“Next.”
“Bowling Green. ‘54”
Billy’s heart leaps. Bowling Green. Maybe this is why he likes the name. The song.
“Mister and Mrs. Dugamon. Bludgeoned to death. Child disappeared.”
“How old?” Billy feels a hunger. “The kid. How old?”
“Seven. A daughter. Jennifer. Her body was found four months later when some dog dug it up. That’s it.”
Billy lets out his breath. Didn’t know he was holding it in.
“I’m finishing up Michigan. Lots of murders there. The library has the Detroit Free Press, Grand Rapids Press, an Ann Arbor and a Saginaw paper.”
“Don’t bother.”
“What? You’re not giving up Mister Williams. We’re only half done. Michigan. Wisconsin. I was thinking Pennsylvania. Indiana. Illinois.’
“You’ll get paid for the whole job. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not that. Though it helps. I mean, it’s not like pouring over microfilm and cataloging these horrible stories is doing my karma any good but…”
“Karma…”
“Maybe if you gave me more data. Narrowed down the parameters.”
“There was a cat…” Billy musing. Soft smile. “I’ve given you what I have.”
“I know. A place with snow in the winter. Blueberries. Rural. Parents killed. Child disappeared. ’50 to ’55. You’ve piqued my interest Mister Williams.”
“I what?”
“Never mind.”
“I appreciate your help. But I’ve decided I don’t need this information after all. I mean. What’s the point?”
“Well…only you would know.”
Billy hands her the envelope. Prepared for this. Thought about it. A lot.
“Here’s the rest of your money. And a bonus. Thanks.”
Billy rises. Walks away. She watches. He turns back. Looks at her. She wants to follow. He knows. ‘Piqued.’ That’s how you say that.
New Orleans. Billy loves New Orleans. Even likes the damp decay. Lots of outlaws. Who welcome strangers. Great music. Criminal entrepreneurs embraced. Robs. Steals cars. Great food. Fences everywhere. Cars driven to port. Shipped out. Great bookstores.
Billy in mustache. Long sideburns. His old self pictured in Post Offices everywhere. Jeans. Jean jacket. Cowboy boots from Austin.
Movie theater in Metairie. Heat wave hangout. “Jaws”, “Aloha, Bobby and Rose”, “The Yakuza”, “Mandingo”. Hundred and ten outside. Hot wet towel humidity.
Ticket seller. Different girl.
“Where’s Cookie?” he asks.
“Didn’t show up. Mister Pior’s really ticked off.”
“Give me a ticket.”
“Which show?”
“You pick.”
Ticket girl confused. Pushes button. Machine spits “Mandingo”.
Billy sees all four movies. Last movie done. Lights up. Auditorium filthy. Candy, popcorn, soda chaos.
Place closing down. Fat woman counting receipts.
Billy pissed off. Cookie a no-show. Nice smile. Cute. Made his day.
Hand in pocket. Thirty-eight Special. Fingers wrap grip. Familiar. Comfortable.
Ticket girl cleaning concession stand. Looks up.
“She didn’t come in.” Billy’s been asking. Between shows. “I called her place. She wasn’t there. Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“No offense but Cookie’s kind of a flake,” Manager says. Never looks up. Keeps counting.
Billy curls finger around trigger. Clamps jaw. Was going to ask Cookie out. Jet black hair, brilliant smile. Big almond eyes.
Billy gets ready. Slides gun out easy. Careful. Hammer catches on pocket. Smiles at Ticket girl. Thin smile. Jaw clenched.
“If you see her, tell her Billy stopped by. “
Billy idles toward fat woman.
“Tell her I’m leaving town. Just wanted to say goodbye.”
Billy stands in front of woman. Gun hidden behind leg.
“That’s too bad.” Ticket girl leans over counter. Name tag. ‘Kathleen.’ “I mean, some people wouldn’t mind saying goodbye to you. That didn’t come out right. You know what I mean?”
