?There was a propane accident in his kitchen. Some vandals blew the tires off his car at about the same time. Everything is under control. Here?s the good news. You said you were looking for a broad.?
?No, I said Preacher was looking for a broad. He?s got an obsession about her. You said you shot out his tires? What the fuck do you think this is? Halloween??
?Man, you just don?t listen, do you??
?About what??
?The broad and the soldier you?re looking for. She has chestnut hair and green eyes, looks like a fine piece of ass, sings Gomer Pyle spirituals to beer-drinking retards who don?t have a clue? If that sounds right, I know where you can find her.?
?You found Vikki Gaddis??
?No, Michelle Obama. You got a pencil??
?There?s one here somewhere. Hang on.?
?One day you guys have to explain to me how you got into the life.?
Inside the motel room, the women got up and dressed in the bathroom. The woman from the dollar store came out first, blotting her face with a towel, smoothing her hair out of her face. She was overweight and round-shouldered, her arms big like a farm girl?s; without makeup, her face was as stark as a pie plate. ?Where?s the pizza?? she asked.
?The guy must have got lost,? one biker said.
The other biker wanted to use the bathroom, but the second woman had locked the door. ?What are you doing in there?? he said, shaking the knob.
?Calling my son. Hold your water,? she said through the door.
?I love family values,? he said.
The second woman came out of the bathroom. Unlike her friend, her bone structure looked like it had been created from an Erector Set. Her face was triangular in shape, her skin bad, her eyes filled with a glint that seemed to teeter without cause on malevolence.
?Your kid okay?? one of the bikers said.
?You think I?d be here if he wasn?t?? she replied.
?Not everybody is such a good mother.?
The two women went out the door. A beaded sky-blue sequined purse hung on a string from the overweight woman?s shoulder. She looked back once, smiling as though to say good night.
Tim came back into the room and sat down in a chair by the window. He pulled off his metal-sheathed boots and cupped his hands on his thighs, staring at the floor. ?We?ve got to clean this up.?
?You talk to Josef??
?To this lamebrain Hugo. He says we spit in the tiger?s mouth.?
?A guy on crutches with no car or house? I think this guy is some kind of urban legend.?
?Maybe.?
?I?m hungry. You want me to call the pizza place again or go out??
?What I want you to do is let me think a minute.?
?You should have got laid, Tim.?
Tim stared at the nicked furniture, the yellowed curt
ains on the windows, the bedclothes piled on the floor. On the chair by the television set was a gray vinyl handbag, the brass zipper pulled tight. ?There?s something wrong,? he said.
?Yeah, we?re wandering around in a giant skillet. Is this whole state like this??