Free The Fugitives by Christopher Sorrentino Page B

blow smoke rings, or play a harmonica. An activity. He always kept two beer cans nestled just so in the gravel beneath his chair. One he drank from. One he spat in. Becky’s mother worked as a clerk-typist at the State Farm bureau and started drinking a jug of Gallo chablis as soon as she walked in the door at six thirty. By the end of the night it would always be gone. Becky was lousy at math but she could draw anything. Becky and she had gone wading in a shallow lake and then they’d both gotten some kind of skin infection. Becky was the best baker she’d ever known. Becky figured out how to ride a bike and to tie her shoes before Kat had. Becky also showed her how to masturbate using a pillow between her thighs, but Kat never got the hang of that one. Becky had bet her a hundred dollars that she wouldn’t leave for Ann Arbor. Kat had never collected.
    “Yeah?” When she came to the phone, Becky sounded out of breath. Kat wondered if she’d finally put on all the weight her mother and grandmother had carried around.
    “Hey. Me.”
    “Well Jesus H. Christ.”
    “I got your e-mail.”
    “So you did. Jesus, it’s weird to hear your voice.”
    “It’s good to hear yours,” said Kat.
    “What I meant.”
    “That’s your kid, huh?”
    “Oh yeah. Ten going on thirty-five, that’s Brandon. You met his dad that time.” Neither of them spoke for a moment. “We ain’t together no more.”
    So there it was. Kept tabs until the field was sown.
    “And you’re back there, huh?”
    “Been back five years. Mom’s emphysema got real bad.”
    “I’m sorry. Is it under control?”
    “Well, in a ways. She got lung cancer and died a couple years ago, ennit.”
    “Geezum.”
    “Yeah, I’ll say. By the end it was like looking after a puddle. That’s all there was of her. And you know what? She still wanted to drink.”
    “Your dad?”
    “That fucker a while back got squashed by his van when he was underneath it.”
    “Was he working on it?”
    “Nah, sleeping it off, I think.” She laughed, and Kat did too. “So, Mrs. Danhoff.”
    “I ain’t Mrs. Danhoff no more.” Kat put her hand to her mouth in surprise.
    “What’d he, die?”
    “No, we split up.”
    “Guess I can’t say I’m surprised. Old guy like that. Gave you what you needed though, huh?”
    “If he had, we wouldn’t’ve split up,” said Kat.
    “But you use Danhoff. The name I mean. How I found you.”
    “Yeah. Clips, you know. I wanted it to be consistent.”
    “Yeah? Huh. So you married again, or what?”
    “Yes.”
    “What’s the dude’s name?”
    “Justin Lake.”
    “Jumps in Lake? Sounds like a step in the wrong direction, girl. Lake. Almost could be an Injun name, you know?”
    “I kept Danhoff.”
    “Yeah? I guess I know that. I found you. And how’s Jumps in Lake feel about that?”
    Kat paused for a second while it occurred to her that she didn’t know. She said, instead, “How’s the rez?”
    “Same old shit. Fighting over bread crumbs. Tribal cops running wild.”
    “What about the casinos?”
    “Yeah, right, the golden goose. I’ll tell you. That thing I wrote you about? Tip of the iceberg, you know? Everybody gets this whatchamacall, balance sheet, every six months? Tells us how all these millions of dollars are coming to us. Two percent kickback, they say. But the school’s still shit. The government houses are still shit. The roads are still shit. The health center’s still shit. Everything’s shit. Where’s that money going, you know?” Kat didn’t. “Anyways,” continued Becky, “that’s kind of why I wrote you. That whole big sell, and it’s all a bunch of crooks. Thieves on top of thieves on top of thieves, you know? And then I see the guy who’s stealing from the guys who’s stealing, pretending he’s something he ain’t. Just pissed me off.”
    Kat glanced at the clock and then opened her notebook. “How was it you were working up at Manitou Sands if you’ve been back in Nebising for