LATER THAT SAME day, Smiley Wimple was sitting in a Morgan City Laundromat, reading a Wonder Woman comic, when two men came in the front door. He had not seen them before, but he knew their kind. Their tight suits had a liquid shine; they wore hairstyles and sideburns that were thirty years out of fashion; they stank of pomade and deodorant and made Smiley think of walking chemical factories. They always had cigarettes either in their mouths or cupped in their hands, as though they were fire dragons, the inventors of flame, a fiery force that caused people to melt like wax from their heat. Their eyes ate up the scenery and the people in it. Their meters were always running, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick.
The two men walked straight to Smiley’s chair. He was wearing a safari hat and Ray-Bans. He peered over the top of the comic like a smiling angel-food cake. “Hi, hi,” he said.
“Come with us,” one of the men said. His black mustache had gray hair and tiny pieces of food in it.
“I was taught not to talk to strangers, even though they might be nice.”
“That’s us. Nice,” the same man said. When he grinned, the skin around his mouth looked shriveled, like it was rubber or it wouldn’t work right.
“My friends call me Smiley, although my real name is Chester.”
“Yeah, we know that,” the same man said. “My name is Jerry Gee. You don’t remember us from Miami?”
“I’m from New Or-yuns.”
“Great city,” Jerry Gee said. “They got, what-do-you-call-’em, beignets that melt in your mouth. The broads the same way. Whatcha reading?”
The clothes in the dryers were spinning and falling, buttons clicking against metal, cloth toppling across the glass, like living creatures inside a bathysphere that had broken from its cable. The air smelled baked and clean and comfortable, like a womb Smiley didn’t want to leave. He dropped his eyes to his comic. Wonder Woman was deflecting bullets with her magic bracelets.
“Hey, you hearing me?” Jerry Gee said.
“I’m reading about Wonder Woman.”
“Yeah? She’s a chunk, huh?” Jerry Gee said.
“Don’t be disrespectful of her,” Smiley said.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I dig her, too,” Jerry Gee said. His dark hair glistened with oil, one strand hanging through an eyebrow, an impish working-class kid out of a 1930s Bowery Boys film. “There’s a fat envelope for you in our car. It’s from a mutual friend.”
“Then we can have some lunch,” the second man said. He was taller than the other man and wore his shirt lapels outside his suit, exposing his chest hair. There were rings on his fingers inset with stones, more like brass knuckles than jewelry. “My name is Marco. Like Marco Polo. After we have lunch, we’ll come back and help you fold your clothes.”
Smiley rolled his comic and sat with his hands clamped between his thighs. “I have to go wee-wee.”
“We’ll go with you. To watch the bathroom door,” Jerry Gee said. He leaned down. “This place is full of cannibals, man. You ought to find a better part of town.”
Smiley squeezed his penis. “I’m going to wet myself.”
“Go. By all means,” Jerry Gee said, stepping back.
The men followed Smiley to the restroom and waited outside. Marco combed his hair in a mirror, squatting to get a better view of himself, patting his hair with his free hand. Jerry Gee hit the door with his fist. “Roll up your wiener. There’s people waiting here.”
The two men laughed without sound.
“I’m going poop,” Smiley replied through the door.
“You can take the trash can with you,” Marco said.
Smiley opened the door. A piece of toilet paper was stuck to his shoe. Marco glanced back into the Laundromat, then shoved Smiley into the alley. “Get in the Buick. We’re gonna have a talk.”
“No, you made fun of me.”
Jerry Gee opened the rear door of the Buick. Marco hooked one finger in Smiley’s mouth and slung him inside and climbed in after him. Jerry Gee got behind the wheel, locked the doors, and started the engine. In seconds they were on the four-lane, ascending a bridge that overlooked the Atchafalaya River and miles of flooded woods where frightened egrets lifted into the air like snowflakes blowing in a violent wind.
• • •
JERRY GEE DROVE along a levee and parked in a grove of persimmons by a bay. Through the tree trunks, Smiley saw the sunlight blazing on the water and a half-sunken shrimp boat circled by alligator gars that rolled like sea serpents. Jerry Gee got out and opened the back door. He pulled Smiley onto the ground, which was covered with damp yellow leaves that were spotted with black mold. Jerry Gee scooped up a handful and stuffed them into Smiley’s mouth. Smiley gagged and tried to crawl away. Jerry Gee kicked him between the buttocks, then stood on his spine.
“This is the preview. Don’t make us look at the main feature. You had a job to do, but you didn’t do it. You were supposed to call in with what you learned or clip the guy.”