Free Corrosion by Jon Bassoff Page B

bag and pulled out my snuff, stuck a pinch in my mouth. Then I nodded at the officer. Be seeing you around, I said. And I left.
    * * *
    I didn’t know what to make of all this. I didn’t have a friend in the world. Outside the air was cold and the wind was howling.
    I walked down the highway, sticking out my thumb. Every now and then a car would slow down, but when they caught a look at my face, they sped right on up. I buried my hands in my pocket, mumbled a prayer to God.
    When I finally arrived back at the Hotel Paisano, the moon was being smothered by a blanket of clouds. I snuck in the back door and walked up the stairs. Somewhere a phone was ringing, never picked up, lonely, lonely, lonely. I finally got to my door, shoved it open. It had been days. My suitcase was gone. And that’s not all. A skinny old man with a concave chest and Einstein hair was sitting on the bed, his eyes rolled straight back in his head. The town whore was sitting on her knees, humming an American tune. Her wig was pink and her back was bare. I watched for a moment. Then I shut the door.
    I sat in the hallway and played mumblety peg with my knife. And I got to thinking about how it sure was lucky that I’d gotten out of the war alive, and it sure was lucky that I’d been bailed out of jail, and it sure was sure that one of these days I’d pay Lilith McClellan a visit…
    I went down to the lobby. The blue-haired woman was behind the desk, head resting on the counter. I pounded on the counter a few times and she jerked awake. When she saw my face, she released a muffled scream. It took her a moment to compose herself.
    I’m sorry, she said. You startled me.
    My room, I said. I wasn’t done with it.
    I assumed you would be gone for some time…
    Where’s my suitcase?
    She nodded toward a closet. I’ll get it for you, she said. Miscommunication is all. I hope you return to the Hotel Paisano next time you’re passing through…
    * * *
    I stayed in my car that night. I snorted snuff, drank brandy, listened to The Handsome Family. At some point it started to rain and it was a lullaby and I drifted to sleep.
    I dreamed of Lilith and we were dancing in that old miner’s cabin and calliope music was playing and the floor was covered with rats, several layers deep, crawling over each other, gnawing on rodent corpses and I pulled Lilith close and her skin was missing, there was just a bleach-white skull, and I was walking down a darkened stairway…
    * * *
    I awoke to the sound of tapping on the window. My heart ruptured and my eyes flew open. With trepidation, I rolled down the window. A flashlight shone into my face. I squinted and shielded my eyes with my arm. The wind was howling and the rain was falling slantways. Winter trudging forward. The flashlight lowered and I saw cruel eyes under a gray wool hat. The stranger. I opened my mouth, ready to say something.
    He raised a 12-gauge pump-action shotgun and aimed it at my forehead.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 13
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Unlock the door, he said, motioning toward the passenger’s side. I pulled up the lock. The stranger walked around the back of the car, his shotgun still pointed at my poor head. He yanked open the door and sat inside. His eyes were all bloodshot and he smelled like Petron.
    Start the car, he said. We’re going for a drive.
    And so we drove. He guided my driving, told me how fast to go, when to turn, all the while keeping the weapon straight and steady.
    Eventually we made our way onto Highway 52. It was a good deal past midnight; there were no other cars on the road. I could hear him breathing, wheezing. I wondered if he was going to shoot me. I wondered if I’d see my body from above. Another couple of miles, he said.
    I didn’t ask him any questions. I didn’t ask who he was. I didn’t ask what he wanted. He’d tell me soon. Or he wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter. None of it really mattered…
    There was a sign for a town called Dacono. He told me