The Informers
“Why?” he asks.
“I’m pretending that I don’t notice you talking to me,” I say, hoping he will go away.
“Why?”
“You’re a little f**ker who is asking me a stupid question like it’s important,” I point out.
“Don’t you think it’s important?” the kid asks.
“You talking to me?” I ask the kid.
He nods his head proudly.
“I don’t know why you need to ask me this, man, I just don’t know.” I sigh. “It’s a stupid question.”
“What’s ‘need’?” the kid asks.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter.
“Why is it stupid?”
“It’s needless, you f**kin’ little retard.”
“What’s needless?”
Fed up, I make a move toward the kid. “Get outta here, you little f**k.” The kid laughs and walks over to a woman drinking Tab and staring at a Gucci purse and I dry the Volvo fast and Asylum tells me about a girl he f**ked last night who looked like a combination bat and large spider and I finally open the door for the woman with the Tab and the kid and suddenly it’s so hot I have to wipe sweat from my face with a smelly hand and the kid keeps looking at me as she drives off.
Peter goes out around ten because he has to do some business and says he’ll be back at midnight. I try watching some TV but the kid starts moving around and I get freaked out so I go into my room where Mary is laying on the mattress, the lights off, the room dark, with the windows open but still hot and I look over at her and ask if she wants to split a joint.
She doesn’t say anything, just moves her head real slowly.
I start to leave, when Mary says, “Hey, man … stay … why don’t you … stay?”
I look at her. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking?”
Her mouth moves, eyes rolled up. “… No.”
“I’m thinking, man, this girl is so f**ked up,” I tell her. “I’m thinking any girl who hangs out with Peter is so f**ked up.”
“What else are you thinking?” she whispers.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’m … horny.” Pause. “Peter won’t be home until—when? Midnight?”
“And … what else?”
“Shit, why not stick around and see what happens.”
“You …” she swallows. “Don’t … want to see that.”
I sit down on the mattress next to her and she tries to sit up but settles for leaning against the wall and asks me about my day at work.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You want to know about my day at the car wash?”
“What … happened?” She breathes in.
“There’s a car wash,” I tell her. “There was a freaky little kid. It was all really interesting. Maybe the most interesting day of my life.” I’m tired and the joint I light goes out too soon and I reach over her and take matches that are next to a spoon and a dirty plastic bag on the other side of the mattress and light the joint and ask her how she met up with Peter.
She doesn’t say anything for a long time and I can’t say I’m surprised. When she does it’s in a low soft voice that I can barely hear and I lean in closer and she mumbles something and I have to ask her what she’s saying, her breath smelling like something almost dead. From the radio the Eagles are singing “Take It Easy” and I’m trying to hum along.
“Peter did some … bad stuff out … in the desert …”
“Yeah?” I ask. “I, like, don’t f**king doubt it.” Another toke and then, “Like what?”
She nods like she’s grateful I’ve asked.
“We met a guy in Carson … and he turned us on to some real heavy … shit.” She starts licking her lips and I’m getting sad. “And … we hung out with him … for a little while … and the guy was real nice and once when Peter went out to get some donuts … he went out to get some donuts … and this guy and I started fooling around. It was nice… .” She’s so far off, so druggy, that I get turned on and she stops and looks at me to make sure I’m here, listening to this. “Peter walked in …”
My hand is on her knee and it looks like she doesn’t care and I nod again.
“You know what he did?” she asks.
“Who? Peter?” I ask. “What?”