The Flight of the Guilty

Four survelience cameras watched Jeremy and Mr. Virgil close down and lock up Mammoth Paint and Sundries. Jeremy knew the cameras were there, yet they weren’t at all on his mind when he murdered Mr. Virgil. It was the strangest thing, really. He hadn’t so much as thought to sink the thing into his boss’s neck before the man was twitching on the floor, blood issuing playfully from his neck like water from a punctured balloon.

The sight astounded Jeremy, who lost his senses and went into an absolute panic. He threw the screwdriver into the trashcan, retrieved it promptly, then rushed it to the bathroom sink, where he left it without even running the water because he suddenly realized his desperate need for towels or rags or sheets or anything thing that could possibly hide what he’d done.

He tore open a bag of drop cloth and draped it over the thing that used to be his boss. Too terrified and distraught to consider any further course of action, he proceeded to pace franticly across the sales floor until Rosemarie’s song,

The way that she moved
When I was aroused....
The bass and the drums,
The music so loud.

played from his pocket. The sound was to Jeremy what a beam of light is to a man trapped in the basement of a fallen building. In short, he knew he was saved.

His hand shot into his pocket, flipped open the phone, and brought her voice to his ear. He told her again and again that he loved her and needed her, and each time she replied with equal care and yearning. Her light laughter eased Jeremy's mind and worked to restore his reason.

While talking lovely nonsense to his Rose, he took careful note of his surroundings. There was a lot of blood, of course, but the lights were off. The doors were locked. He had ample time before anyone would have any reason to review any footage. Still, he would have to work quickly and would surely need assistance.

"I need you to come to the store," he said. "Don't tell anyone."

His abrupt change in tone and strange demands scared Rosemarie more than a little. Still, she promised and did as her husband had asked. Her friends were sent home, their wine undrunk. Her luggage, a here to unused four-piece set, given by her uncle for their wedding, was filled with the happy couple's clothes, and her car pulled into the lot behind the paint shop without the aid of its headlights.

Jeremy was already outside. His pale skin and hair looked blue in the quiet moon light. He was wearing those white painter's overalls, and for a moment, Rosemarie imagined that they were playing some sort of sexy game.

Pissing in Nevada

It was the three of us. I sat shotgun with Jesse in the back and Greg driving. We were in his car, Miss Maxi, and the whole trip was his idea. He had been 21 for five months, Jesse for two, and it was finally my turn. I was to be properly initiated in Reno.

We were supposed to leave town right after class, but Jesse hadn't packed, and when we got to his place, Sarah was there. She was all made up and looking good to try to get Jesse to stay. She didn't trust him. They fought, so Greg and I bailed for tacos down the street at Javier's. They were good. We got a few to go for Jesse and went back.

The couple was on the curb sharing a cigarette beside an old red backpack. Jesse kissed her quickly, tossed his pack in the back, and followed it in. After getting gas and a quick stop for pot, it was dark and we were finally on our way out of Sacramento. "What a cunt," said Jesse with a mouthful of taco. "We're finally all 21 and she wants me to stay home and what? Watch Lifetime and bitch about her period? Fuck that."

If I were him, I'd have stayed. The trip sounded fun, but only on account of my lack of anything at all at home. At least in Reno there was the chance of someone happening. My theory is that Jesse only feigned resentment for Sarah. I know he knew Greg didn't like her. He probably thought it was the same with me. He didn't hang out anymore, and rather than take the blame himself, he blamed her. But I've seen the two together when neither thought anyone else was looking. The kid would die without her.

"You know what would show her who's boss?" said Greg. "If you got herpes from a hooker and wiped it all over Sarah's face."

Jesse laughed so hard he choked on his taco.

The Javier's hit us all at once, and we had to stop in Auburn. The gas station only had one toilet, which Jesse got to first. When he was done, Greg and I wrestled for it. He threw me into a rack of chips and hurried in. The impact made me lose my clench, and a little came out – not much, but enough. I sprang up straight and stood totally still till Greg finished. The smell in there was awful and hot and thick. The bastards hadn't left me much paper, so I had to use those rough hand towels. It stung. My shorts went in the wastebasket. I covered them with some more towels, washed up, and went commando to the check stand. I watched the tiles as I went.

"A pack of P-funks, please."

"Can I see your I.D.?" The woman's voice was pretty, and when I looked up, she was pretty, too. Her hair was gold and curly. I gave her the card and five dollars. She looked it over.

"Oh! Happy Birthday!"

"Yeah… thanks."

"You got big plans for tonight?"

"My buddies and I are heading to Reno."

"That sounds fun. I wish I could go."

"Yeah…well, have a good night."

I hurried out as soon as I had my change.

"What did you fall in?" asked Jesse. He was sitting on the curb with a cigarette looking impatient. Greg sat on Maxi's hood, legs crossed like Buddha.

I lit up, too. "I swear, that shit was better than sex. I must've lost like twelve pounds."

"You could use it, fatty," said Greg. "I seen you talking to that cutie clerk. Did you get a number or what?"

"I wasn't really in the flirting mood."

"Yeah, I understand. I used to be a pussy, too."

"It's a little hard to spit game when you just pooed in your pants like a four year old. I don't know. It seemed like a bad omen."

"Man you're fucking disgusting."

"Well, your sister doesn't mind. Turns her on actually. That kid's a pervert."

"The key is in the ignition." The sweet and soothing sound of Maxi's voice.

The drive was fun. Greg had an ill mix on and Jesse was packing a pipe in the back. It had been too long since all three of us spent much time together. We passed the bowl around and suddenly it was just like high school. All the shitty adulthood in between was gone. No jobs. No serious girlfriends. No stress at all. I steered for Greg while he smoked, and he turned around to talk at Jesse, leaving me to navigate the Sierras from the passenger’s seat in the dark.

"You haven't been to the Casino's yet either, right?"

"No, man."

"Look at me about to bust two virgins at the same time. What a pimp."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

"I bet you're all nervous as hell. Just watch what I do and try not to lose all your money too quick."

"You listen to this guy, Kevin. Remember, he's been to Vegas a whole once."
I was nervous, actually. I never gambled much except poker for quarters with the younger kids at the movie theater. I didn't want to do it actually. The whole thing seemed retarded. I just wanted to drink and try my luck with the ladies.
But this is what I said: "The way I see it, I'm due to win a mad stack of bills. They're fools if I don't. "

"Who's fools?"

"The casino fucks. If I lose, I'll hate gambling and never do it again. Best thing for them is to let me win a bunch right off, get me hooked, right? Then I'll be pissing money into Nevada for the rest of my life."

"It's not rigged, idiot. It's just luck."

"No man, it's fate."

"Haven't you guys ever seen a mafia flick? The mob's got Vegas on lock down. They probably give Reno to their kids for practice, and you know they've got those three fate bitches locked up in some back room fucking cutting threads and rigging dice throws."

"Yeah that makes sense."

We came into Reno on the 80 and drove straight past the beckoning yellow, green, pink, and purple lights to dark and ugly Sparks where Greg's friend Cathy lived. He had it all set up for us to crash at her place. Apparently she wanted Greg's nuts, but we got lost as hell trying to find her in some sketchy crackville. There wasn't a single street light. All the houses had fading paint and fenced in lots of dirt covered with random junk: pieces of bikes, broken washing machines, those cheap little kiddy pools. I was itching to drink and sure we'd get jacked if we kept driving in circles.

"We're close right? Let's just find a well lit parking lot with a bar and have her find us there."

That turned out to be a marvelous idea. We ended up at a working class hick pub. Greg was right at home.

"My good sir," he called to the barkeep. "We're lost and want to get drunk. How's about starting a tab with a pitcher of Fat Tire?"

"I don't want my first legal drink to be regular ass beer. I want something fancy, with an umbrella."

"You want some girly drink, so be it. I'll have a beer."

"What about long island ice teas?"

"Allright, that sounds Kosher. We'll have three of them."

The bartender was short and bald with hairy arms. He didn't look amused at all. I tapped my feet and drummed on the bar to the Stones while he mixed our teas. There was a row of slot machines with dancing lights against the far wall. Three fat forty-somethings loaded them with quarters. They were the only women in the bar. A group of likely tweakers argued over a game of pool, and next to me on a bar stool, a lonely old man hovered over a tall beer. He watched it bubble as if he and it were all there was. When the drinks were finally done, we snatched them up and Greg proposed a toast.

"To Kevin - finally a real man!"

"Cheers!"

I'd waited a long time for that drink. It was bitter, but I liked it, because it was bitter. Jesse sipped at his through two little red straws and shuddered and coughed a bit like he'd never had a drink before. Greg handled his just fine. "Proper bar etiquette," said Greg, "demands that you always tip the bar tender. It seems like you're throwing money away, but he'll make you harder drinks and you'll save in the end."

"Well, proper birthday etiquette demands that you tip. But hey thanks for the advice."

"So are you gonna call that girl or what?"

He did. Cathy knew the place and said she'd come on down to meet us. In the mean time, we got that pitcher and moved to a table. Then we got another one and possibly a third. Somewhere in the midst of a loud discussion on the benefits and methods of masturbation we apparently offended the tweakers.

"Fuck you boys talking about?" Standing over us was a lean man maybe forty in a sleeveless flannel shirt with a clenched jaw and funky, yellow teeth. He wasn't really scary or intimidating, but he looked awfully serious. I had no idea what to say, but Jesse did.

"Prostate tickling. It's when you shove a finger up your asshole right before you cum. It's fucking glorious. You haven't lived until you try it."

That was not at all what we were talking about. Jesse was obviously drunk and suddenly a fighter. In high school, almost all our parties ended with him belligerent and swinging. We all knew he wouldn't shut up until the tweaker threw a punch, and then the three of us together might beat the guy's ass enough to make a point before his other friends broke our skulls. We were ready. We had the element of surprise.

"This here's a warning, all right? You faggots better quiet the fuck down before y'all ruin our night out and get us angry."

"Aww… why'd you have to go and call us a mean name like that? I was hoping we could be friends, you know, really get to know each other."

I swear he didn't just wink. He actually licked his lips at that asshole. That did it. The guy slammed a heavy fist right into Jesse's stomach. Before Greg and I could do a thing, Jesse opened his mouth, spewed frothy beer all over the guy, and fell to the floor. Greg busted up laughing. The tweaker stepped backwards, trying to avoid what was already on him, and tripped over one of the slot-machine ladies. They both fell, yelling and cussing. The bartender rushed out with towels and orders no one heeded.

It was pretty chaotic, so I figured I might as well steal some shit. I loaded my jacket with three shot glasses, a wallet one of the tweaker's buddies had left on the bar mid-payment, and the fire extinguisher. At some point Greg had pulled Jesse from the floor and the three of us were all outside and running. We never paid. Around the corner, we literally ran right into Cathy. What luck.

Greg formally introduced everyone. This Cathy wasn't near what Greg had led us to expect. She wasn't ugly, I guess, but she was far from hot. Just plain. Boring looking. Straight hair, flat clothes, not my kind of chick at all. Jesse's neither. He was too drunk to hide his disappointment. We hurried through an explanation of the bar incident and gave Cathy the keys to Maxi so she could get her and pick us up. Cigarettes were in order.

"I can't believe you puked on that guy. That was amazing."

"Yeah, it just came to me."

"So how 'bout that Cathy? You guys saw it, right? The lust in her eyes?"

"Sure, man. I got protection if you need it."

"You think I'd come all the way out here for ass and forget condoms?"

"I was talking about a paper bag, but yeah you should probably wear a few condoms, too."

"For real," said Jesse. He was puking again.

Cathy's house wasn't half as bad as it looked from the outside. She lived with two other girls, who were out unfortunately, and they all decorated the place with girly, glittery things and kept it pretty clean. There were flowers and little glass horses and mirrors studded with rhine stones. I think we all felt a little out of our element. I did anyway, until Cathy pulled a bottle of So Co from the freezer and poured a round of shots.

"No, no more for me," said Jesse.

"Well shit, I already poured it," said Cathy. "I guess the birthday boy'll have to take two. Don't say I never got you nothing."

"Mazle Tov!"

Greg followed the poor girl all over her house. He laughed at all her jokes, told her lies, and made a general ass of himself. I watched cartoons with Jesse on a girly pink couch with fluffy hair. It was awkward to see Greg so desperate and polite. He used to do just fine with girls. He lost his virginity years before I did, and didn't have to act any differently to do it. I didn't see why this Cathy was worth the effort and to be honest, didn't care much. I was bored with the whole situation.

"Cathy! Can we blaze in here?"

"Not without me, bitches!"

She hopped over the couch and landed in between Jesse and me. Greg slumped into a chair across a coffee table from us. He looked pissed but smoked anyway. Ren whizzed on the electric fence, and Cathy made some sort of sex sandwich joke. When the bowl was cashed, Jesse passed out and Cathy wanted to go to bed, too. It was twelve. My birthday had come and gone.

Greg went with her to her room, leaving me alone. I prayed for Cathy's roommates to come home. We strike up some clever conversation and have some drinks and then an awesome threesome. It turns out one of them is moving to Sacramento for some reason. The hot blond one. She's fun and understanding and saves me from my wretched life. There are quiet, tender moments shared, after sex while my fingers skim up and down her thigh. There are fights with tears and screaming. I finally care enough for something to know that I'm alive.

"You still awake? Let's get the fuck out of this piece!" It was Greg. He didn't have that post-coital glow.

"Wow. I always figured you'd suck in bed, but I never thought you'd shoot that fast."

"She's tired or whatever. I'll see about tomorrow. Anywho, it's still your birthday and who gives a shit if this fuck's passed out? We should still hit up a casino."

"Word is bound, son!"

We took a taxi to the El Dorado and found it full of old folks, so we moved on to the Silver Legacy without gambling a dime. The Legacy was more of the same so we stayed. I followed Greg first to a roulette table and then to Black Jack. Apparently it's bad luck to gamble with stolen money, because I lost like hell. I burned through the tweaker money quick and well into my own. Greg wasn't doing much better.

The free drink service was slow enough for me to sober some, and the quiet, dying people with sagging skin that pulled their faces into scowls and my dwindling chip-stack and the absence of ladies and the mechanical music of slot machines depressed me. It was a terrible experience. Only the dealer spoke. The rest of us looked on, weary-eyed in a cloud of our own smoke and wished we were someplace else.

Greg got up to pee. I wandered through endless rows of slot machines in search of someone worth sitting next to. I found a woman in a low-cut, white halter. She was probably thirty-five and all emaciated looking. Her hair was curled and greasy with hair spray, and there was a bit of tattooed flower visible on her chest. She made obnoxious smacking sounds with her gum.

"Having any luck here?" I asked.

"My luck just got a whole lot better, handsome."

There was no doubt that she was hot in her day. She was dumb enough to spout cheesy pick up lines and desperate enough to spout them at twenty-one year olds. Her beauty was all she ever had and that was gone.

We talked for a while. She flirted pretty aggressively and I played along. Worse come to worse, I figured she was good for a BJ in a bathroom. Sex was her only solace. You could tell. She escaped then, on her back oblivious to life and its misery, but all sex really gave her was two kids she didn't love, each from a different husband - one a drunkard who worked construction, the other a drunkard who moved furniture. Both kids were with their dads that night. The woman was taking full advantage of her freedom.

"And what do you do?" she asked.

"I'm a drunkard."

She laughed and I gave her a cigarette. She took it and smoked it without spitting out her gum which disgusted me. Throughout the rest of our encounter I couldn't stop imagining the gum absorbing the smoke and her smacking and chewing it and tasting it over and over. Thank Christ Greg showed up then and pulled me away with a giant grin.

"Where're you boys going?" the desperate woman called after us.

The fuck had won three grand.

"You know I think slots are gay, but on my way back from the bathroom, this machine just called to me. You were right, man. It was Fate."

Somehow the money made everything better. The depression was gone. It didn't matter that Greg won the money and not I. It was practically mine and it made me giddy. The money, won through sin, was due to be spent on more of the same. But what exactly?

Drinking and drugs hadn't fixed me, and even after winning big, I still hated gambling. It didn't take us long to decide in favor of boobies.
We had to ask some bum for directions to a strip club. He helped us out, nice guy really, led us right to it. We tipped him a hundred bucks. The hand he thrust out to take the money held a crack pipe.

Inside, the place was somehow dark despite the bright lights on the stages and behind the bar and all the walls made of mirrors. There were two stages, one in the middle of where a crowd would be if there were more than a dozen people and a main stage against the back. A pretty naked girl strutted and danced on each. We went to the bar first for beers and took a seat by the main stage. I always pictured strip clubs packed full of frat boys laughing and shouting at the girls. The lack of patrons there made it feel dirty and perverted, which I liked.

The first two strippers were good: they pulled our faces into their breasts and rubbed their asses on our erections and made a lot of money off us, but the third stripper wasn't a stripper at all. She was prettier than the others, younger with dark black hair, but she couldn't work the pole at all. Her tall platform shoes kept clunking against the stage. Her eyes never once met ours, though I watched them in the mirror. It was well into her second song before she finally peeled her bra away and let it fall like a leaf from a tree. She danced with her hands over her tits until Greg offered her dollar. She had to let go to take it. It was obviously her first night. They put her on when it was slow to test her out, and things weren't going well. I loved her, though. The timid eyes, the blatant shame. Who knows what brought her to the pole, but I’ll be damned if I let my baby stay there.

"I want a lap dance!" I yelled, waving a shiny twenty.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide with fear. She looked past me, to a manager I think, nodded dimly at some unseen signal, and then stepped off stage and took my hand. Avoiding all eye contact, she led me to a little booth where I broke every lap-dance rule I've ever heard existed. I groped her. I said unrepeatable things. I pulled her underwear away and peeked at the one thing I wasn't supposed to see. I offered her more money for sexual favors. I called her a whore, a slut, a bitch, a worthless object. She didn't respond at all to any of it. She just sat on my lap with her back to me and moved out of time to the music. I still wasn't wearing any underwear (remember I shat them), and my hard-on was pressed against the inside of my zipper. Her rocking rubbed it raw and made it sting.

It felt good to be a hero.

When it was over, I tipped her again and slapped her ass. She was crying, but not in any way dramatic, just pathetic. There was no wailing. She stood and sniffled with two mascara –blackened tears running down her cheeks. Beautiful. She disappeared into a dressing room, and I knew she’d never dance again. I strode out toward Greg and the stage and gave him a cheesy, eighties-style high-five.

"Look at this shit!" he said. "The last chick took my shirt off and like dry humped my chest." He held up a curly pube.

I didn't tell him what I did with my stripper. I didn't have to. She was pointing at me saying, "It was that guy," to two large bouncers. I was scared. Greg was confused. We stood to leave, but they were already upon us. They were ready to pound us, or at least me, and we wouldn't have been able to do much to stop them, except that I had a plan in my pocket. And by plan, I mean fire extinguisher. I unleashed the thing from my coat, sprayed the hell out of the bouncers, and ran out the door before anyone knew what was happening.

We ran for two blocks. It was late by then, like three, but I was in too good a mood to sleep, and Greg was pretty jacked from our escape.

"Let's get fucking wasted."

We did. I only remember bits and pieces after that. At one point we were taking shots with a group of hotties. I believe I could have nailed one until I told her my dick still hurt from the stripper. I guess the girl missed the point of that story entirely. Then I remember Greg blathering about how great Cathy was, that she was different than other girls, that he loved her. Then we were pissing together in the street, stumbling and laughing with our arms around each other's shoulders. I think we went back to a casino, because when I woke up later, I had four black chips with the letters “N.C.V.” in my pocket. We must have had fun. I don't know how we got back to Cathy's house, but there I was, on the hairy pink couch, alone.
Cathy was yelling like a crazy person. It made my head hurt. I tried to shut her up by closing my eyes, but when that didn't work, I rolled off the couch and hobbled down the hall to find Jesse in her room with a bottle of blue Powerade in his hands. Cathy looked pissed. So did her roommates, who weren't so hot after all.

"Fuck you bitches. I'll puke wherever I want."

He meant it.

"Get this asshole out of here!" screamed Cathy.

"What time is it?" None of this situation made any sense. I needed some concrete facts.

"It's four in the afternoon. You and Greg have been asleep all day, while this PRICK! has been rampaging all over my house. Now get him out of here! I'm waking Greg up, and you guys are leaving." That was good enough for me. I picked him up and dragged him to the car where I threw him in the backseat with a window rolled down just in case. I didn't want to go back inside. I figured I'd let Greg try and smooth things over with this girl he loved so much and probably blew it with. Sitting shotgun, I closed my eyes.

"Hey happy birthday, Kevin," Jesse mumbled. "I think I puked a little in there. That…that's your present. Did I ever tell I love you? Cause I do, man. I really do. You're a good guy. The both of you. You're both good guys and I love you. And I love Sarah…" He was quiet for a minute, then, "Hey, can you keep a secret?"
I told him I could.

"Shhh… I had sex with what's-her-face last night. Don't tell nobody. It's a secret."

Greg got in and started the car and changed the CD and drove off without saying anything. I couldn't tell if he knew about Cathy and Jesse, or if he were just pissed about the puke and forced exile. I wasn't about to tell him. It was a secret. We got coffee and gas, and Greg spoke, but only business.

"We'll be home about six."

"Yeah."

"Fucking Jesse."

"Yeah."

And that was my twenty first birthday. We drove home in silence. Jesse got laid, Greg won three thousand dollars, and all I had to show for it was a sore penis and four black chips. I didn't even know what they were worth.

The Twin Whores of Connolly Valley

Lily and Peach came to town about the same time as all the other children and wives, but these twins stood out from the rest. They were about ten and blond with joyful, porceline faces. When you saw them, you felt this divine contentment and knew the Lord had achieved perfection with them, and achieved it twice. Such beautiful little girls...

Still, I hated the women's advent. Once it started, they coursed by mule like blood down the winding trails of the Sierras wearing bonnets and grasping umbrellas for shade. THey were either married or young, and I was neither. I was only the lonely record keeper for Connolly's lumber mill.

Mr. Phil Connolly founded our little town after nearly starving in the mountains on his way to San Francisco. He saw the river winding throug the wide valley and the next batch of peaks byhond and said he'd be damned if he didn't learn his lesson in the first batch. So he stayed put - collected things, cut wood, built a home and sold provisions to wagon parties. Eventually some miners found a vein nearby and gave all its gold to Connolly . Craftsman and traders sprang up, sold other things and new services. A town grew, and the wilderness was tamed. The men took trees and stone and turned them into buildings and businesses and law. Then the women came, because their men had finally sent for them.

The twins' dad was called Artie. When he paraded his girls down Main Street, he wore a huge grin, like nothing I'd never seen. He'd beaten the curse (he claimed to be cursed, which I doubt, although his luck was certainly rotten). He blamed the curse for killing his wife only three weeks after he left for California and for taking his money when he bet to double it for the pilgrimage home. So he stayed in Connolly Valley and swung an axe into trees until he could make a home for his daughters.

Every morning, I met Artie by the well filling his canteen for the day that lay ahead and every morning, he steered every conversation toward his girls. They were learning to sew apparently, and Lily had a suitor called Jeremy Mansbridge. I tried to avoid old Artie, for his joy overshadowed mine. I failed, though. I had no route but past the well and always found him waiting, whether I were late or premature.

His happiness lasted three years, until he fell a tree onto his leg. Jack Gifford and Billy Stern hacked the mangled thing from his torso, and Dr. Kane sewed him up. It was a bloody mess of an ordeal, but Art was so drunk on whiskey and pain he never recalled a minute. He just woke up legless and jobless, his girls crying on either side of his bed. Everyone took pity on him and helped however he could. Mr. Descariot, the grocer from Baltimore, gave the family food on credit the Ms. Scarlet cooked and served. I often brought whiskey and let old Arite just ramble on for hours. He was a good man whom I respected, which is why I waited for him to die before I ever bought his daughters.

They turned to whoring by means of Miss Rosemarie who, having nowhere else to go after her own husband's death, assumed the role of matron at Artie's cabin. She cleaned and cooked and held back Mr. Descariot for as long as she could, but the grocer eventually demanded payment. The girl's only hope was Jeremy, who gathered the girls' prayers and left for the mountains. He promised to return before winter with enough gold to save their home.

By next summer, no one had heard from Jeremy, and Descariot owned everything. He let the family stay. They worked at his store and mended coats for nickels but fell furtther into debt. They were damn near destitute when I chanced to overhear the twins talking in the woods.

"I don't want ya'll's dad to know nothing."

Lily and Peach were both crying, not hysterically with shock, but as thought they'd seen it coming all along.

"You won't have to do it for long. These men'll give everything they got to be with twins. It really could be worse. You could be ugly."

"I'd rather be ugly than a whore." I'm not sure which girl said that, but I think it was Peach because she turned turned to her sister and asked, "You don't think Jeremy will come?"

"He's dead. Eaten by a bear. I dreamt it so clear last night, I know it's true."

The next night I saw them outside The Clamper's Saloon. They were dressed up in matching lace bodices and green skirts. Big feathered hats nearly hid their faces, except for the golden curls and bright red lips. Miss. Rosemarie was their auctioneer, and the winner was Phil Connolly himself. That man of sixty-four years bought the pair of virgins for a hundred dollars a head and led them quietly into his house.

The next day in Connolly's office, I heard all about it. He claimed that they were so nervous and cute that he almost didn't fuck them. But he got past it. He laid them side by side and moved from each to each, becoming in the process obsessed with blending their hymen's blood.

"It was great," he said.

In time, our twin whores grew less ashamed and more confident. Other girls joined them. Rosemarie kept a gun and part of the profits, and soon they had a decent business going. Artie lived to see his debts paid, but didn't seem to care. He never asked where the money came from, and I'm damn sure no one told him. It doesn't matter, though. THree days after his last bill was paid, he died for no apparent reason.

The girls took about a week off to mourn and according to some, almost left for San Francisco at Peach's urging. I guess Lily talked her out of it, or else it was never even an issue, becasue on the following Friday night, I had them both. Lord knows if it's for show, but the two are polar opposites in bed. Lily was half drunk, laughing, and going wild, while Peach abstained entirely from alcohol. She was tender and romantic like we'd been courting eachother for months and finally found ourselves alone together.

It was great.

After that I had at least one every pay day. Peach always told me that she loved me when it was over. Lily always begged me to buy her again. Sometimes I did. I liked her more because with her, it was simpler, and Peach could hardly act.

I asked Lily about it once. I said, "How come you never tell me you love me, like your sister does?"

I expected a joke in return. I was surprised when her smile faded and her eyes cut through me.

"I've only ever told two men that. I intend to keep it that way."

"Well, damn," I said. "You wouldn't have to mean it."

Five years came and went. THe gold was mined out, and the town's entire economy became dependent on our whores. Men came from all over California and Nevada to be with Lilly and Peach. They stayed in Mike's hotel and ate at the Clamper's and fed their horses at Connolly's Feed and Supply. The town was prosperous but completely transformed. THe twins were our prized possessions. We were proud of them like other towns were proud of courthouses and churches. We didn't need that junk. We had pure, perfect beauty - twice. And we could fuck it for a fee.

For all the change in Connolly Valley, my life was much the same. I still sat bored at an office desk every day and alone most evenings with a pint in the Clamper's Saloon. The working men avoided me on account of my education. I'd never known a glimpse of their hardships, and they'd never thought near the thoughts that I thought.

One day I took the twins riding through a meadow stocked with purple wildflowers. It was fun until Lily thought she saw a phantom standing quietly near a tree. When she turned to look more intently, he was gone, but not quite, becasue she sort of saw him almost hiding behind a juniper shrub. Peach and I had no idea until we stopp to picnic and found Lily terrified beyond all reason. She refused to speak, forcing Peach to confusedly console her and ruining my plans for free wilderness sex.

I saw the phantom myself that evening, and clearly. Both girls were upstairs with other men, but I swear to the Lord, we in the bar saw it just appear from amidst the twilight. Its eyes were empty black. The rest of him was a mess of tattered rags, long hair, and gnarled beard.It began to rain.

In flashes of lightning, we watched him run a sharp blade over his face and scalp. The phantom was Jeremy Mansbridge! He gathered his cleaven hair in the wet dirt and divided it into three piles. The first, he doused in oils and set ablaze; he threw the second into the wind; and he took the third and rubbed it all over his bits, then laughing, scattered the hair over the fire.

All of that was very strange, but the incredible part was when he calmly entered our saloon, sought the bar man, and produced a rock of gold like a fist from some secret place within his rags.

“Tell the piano man to play something softer,” he said.

The barman snatched the gold, and immediately the music was morose and quiet, a song called “Longing for Snow,” which Mr. Benway played in an eerie minor key. From the dumbstruck men, there arose a gentle murmur, which gradually became a chorus of shouting and praise.

“I knew you’d make it!”

“Jeremy, back from the dead!”

“Hooray!”

“Let me buy you a round!”

“Tell us what happened!”

Jeremy’s eyes darted wildly about the barroom and drinkers and card players. His teeth were clenched so that the veins showed on his neck. He looked downright mad standing there newly bald and bleeding some, draped in stinking, mismatched hides poorly stitched together. An odd talisman made from a squirrel’s skull and a handful of bear’s teeth dangled from his throat.

“So the bear was real?” cried the men.

“And you killed it alone?” I asked.

But he responded thusly: “The spirits warn of a larger bear, immune to the weapons of man.”

Not one of us knew what to say to that, so he left. The Clampers’ had gone completely quiet except Benway’s piano, and if the other men felt what I had, their silence was a symptom of fear. The whole episode seemed like more than the ravings of a loon. The ritual with the hair, the lightning, and above all that massive lump of gold just given away for nothing – it leant weight and credibility to his mysterious prophecy. Five years is a long time to spend face to face with death, but that Jeremy, he persevered, fighting and clinging to life until he could make good on his promise to Lily. It seemed to me that such a resolute will brought back to that ancient animal state, straddling that little line between the basest of nature and the supernatural beyond, well, seems like he’d come away with something – some incommunicable understanding, some strange ability to listen. When folks began to speak, they swore that he was crazy, gone out of his skull from years of solitude and scavenging. I swore it, too, but I was lying. When Peach was done with Gifford, I told her everything. She thanked me, remounted the stairs and stayed all night alone with Lily. I wonder what she told her.

It was two days before anyone saw Jeremy again. He strolled up to Connolly’s feed store around nine in the morning. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and most of the sky was a blue like Lily’s eyes. The air was ruined though, by a thin brown haze of smoke that hung over Sherwin Ridge. Jeremy wanted to buy a horse.

“I need a fast one.”

“Well, none of these is broke yet, Mr.”

“I’ll buy one with gold, for escaping.”

Connolly named the price at a hundred fifty dollars. There was no damn way any one would pay that much for a wild horse, but Mansbridge produced the rock. A nigger brought a scale, which he handed to Connolly, and the horse’s tack, which he dropped on the ground. Connolly found the gold’s weight, which I multiplied silently by its value. To the cent, the rock was worth one fifty.

Jeremy was no whisperer. He saddled the wild horse, hopped casually on, and was bucked right back off. He climbed on again, and this time the horse shot out like a bullet through the open gate and out toward town. Jeremy bounced and flailed wildly but managed to hang on somehow. Lily finally saved him. She smelled like bourbon, too much like it, like she had swum in it instead of drinking. The horse stopped for her apple, which she held out like a matador’s cape. Lily calmed the horse and told it she loved it. Jeremy jumped to the ground.

“Been a while,” she said.

“Your soul smells strange, Lily,” he said.

“Why didn’t you come home sooner?”

“I promised you gold.”

A curious crowd had gathered, myself included, to see this odd reunion. Neither mad man nor whore retained any trace of the hopeful child the other had loved five years before, but there they were, hugging in the dusty road. Lily was sobbing, but I didn’t see any tears.

“It’s OK,” said Jeremy. “I’m here now. I’ve come to save you.”

Lily led Jeremy to her house. Ms. Scarlet and Peach were out, so the two would be alone. Peach would come home later, and with Jeremy’s gold, she’d finally get her wish to leave for Frisco. To tell you the truth, I was painfully jealous, and a touch angry. What right had this crazy fool to make good on his word four years too late and take from us our beloved whores? I stormed on over to The Clampers’ to warn Ms. Scarlet. I thought maybe she could stall Peach, maybe Lily and Jeremy might leave without her. I wanted to keep at least one. I guess I was desperate.

But I couldn’t find Ms. Scarlet. Word was she was off with Descariot. So I stayed at the saloon and got piss drunk. It was a Saturday, and the place was lively and full, even at noon. A few hours later, stumbling and bleary-eyed, I bumped into Lily herself. She was alone. Not really alone. She was surrounded by men, but none of them was Jeremy. I knew she wasn’t Peach from her laugh and from the beer in her hand.

I barged on through the huddle of men to my precious Lily and slapped a wadded bill into her palm. Upstairs, we fucked like animals and basically destroyed the little room we had. I’d never let loose like that before and haven’t yet since.

“Well shit my friend,” she said once I was spent, “I never thought you had it in you.”

“I’m just happy to see you,” I said, barely awake. “I was sure you’d be long gone with Jeremy by now.”

“Jeremy?” she gasped. She looked shocked and a little scared. I didn’t really care. I sleepily watched her cover herself with my shirt. I was out before she fled the room.

When I awoke, it was night and everything was over. Lily and Peach were both dead and Jeremy was gone. Course, I had no idea. I dragged myself home, oblivious, and passed out on my porch in a pile of vomit.

Next morning by the well, Jack Gifford sat on a tree stump staring at nothing. He didn’t notice me till I’d finished filling my canteen and asked him what the hell was the matter.

“It’s the twins, friend. A bad sign.” He hadn’t moved or blinked, just kept staring. I was too hung over for patience and already walking away toward Descariot’s for eggs and butter when he said, “I can’t believe our whores is dead.”

“What?”

“Probably my fault, too. They was packing when we bust in. Her and Jeremy was. We listened first, real quiet like. We were after his gold, ya see. Mr. Descariot and me. It was his idea, I swear. I wouldn’t o thought to rob nobody, but he needed someone strong, ya know. Sounded like a good idea the way he told it.

“Well we heard em talking about heading to San Fran and I kicked in the door and threw that boy to the ground. I beat him but good. Lily was screaming and all, but Mr. Descariot held her tight and told her to shush. She didn’t listen none. She kicked him square in the balls and run off into the woods somewheres. Scared as all hell I’d say.

“He told me to strip that boy’s clothes off and I did, but we couldn’t find no gold. You seen him pulling them nuggets right outta his pockets, huh friend? Well me too, and I wanted one. But we didn’t even find no pockets in his messa rags. I beat him some more. ‘Tell me where that gold is,’ I said. But he wouldn’t tell nothing. He just laughed and laughed.

“You shoulda seen him. He’s crazy ya know. Got demons in him. He was a bloody damn mess just laughing. Talkin bout…well…I don’t wanta say exactly, but he said they was coming. Dead injuns or something. Spirits wantin revenge on us white men. Blood gonna be spilt.

“I swear he meant it too. It weren’t just no bunch a talk. The look in his eyes. That boy was dead serious, knew just what he was sayin. It scared hell outta me and Mr. and we left him there and run down to the creek and washed his blood off. Whole way there, we heard him laughing, like we was the ones got our asses beat insteada him.

“They’d a been in Frisco by now if we hadn’t bust in like we did. But they’s dead instead and Jeremy’s done run off. Just look up yonder, friend, and tell me it ain’t some sorta sign."

I looked up and saw the sky was dead with smoke.

“Well, what happened next?” I asked.

“You better ask ol’ Dr. Kane bout all that. I waddn’t around fore the rest, but he
sure was.”

Dr. Kane was sitting at his desk in his office fiddling with a bit of string. His diploma was framed on the wall as were pictures of skinless people all skeleton and muscle. He didn’t look like a doctor, though, not that day. He looked like a scared little boy aged thirteen.

“I heard you saw what happened,” I said.

“Yes, I did.”

“Well?”

“I’m not a superstitious man,” he said. “But I don’t know if science has any explanation for the things I saw last night.”

He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar, a curious course of action for an adolescent.

“I was here, of course. Mrs. Beatrice has some sort of infection. I was looking through the journals when I heard him.”

“What’d he say?” I asked.

“I told you I’m not normally superstitious. But I’ll be damned if I repeat his words. They were evil, friend.

“When he was done ranting, Lily started up. ‘You’re too late,’she screamed. Said she was a goddamned whore and liked it. Said there wasn’t any going back and that she hated him.

“Naturally, I went to the window to watch. It was open already and the blinds were drawn. It was pretty warm last night if you remember. Well, they were right in the middle of the road. Jeremy was completely naked, completely bald, and covered in blood. Lily was wearing a man’s dirty under shirt.

“Jeremy’s voice was a growl, inhuman and terrifying. ‘You promised!’ he said.

“With that, he lifted a large rock and lobbed it at her head. Her cranium caved in. A gush of blood spewed from her ear, and she fell to the ground, dead.

“I watched the whole thing. I probably could have stopped it at some point. Couldn’t I have? But how do you see that coming? How was I to know?

“At any rate…when the rock hit, I drew my pistol. You’ve seen me shoot before, right? I hit every bottle the other day behind Mike’s. Well, I fired six rounds at a full grown man last night and hit nothing. The bastard escaped into the forest.

“The townsfolk gathered then and covered Lily with a blanket. Ms. Scarlet set out in search of Peach. I’m glad it wasn’t me that had to do it.”

I found Ms. Scarlet where she found Peach - in the cabin that Artie had built eight years before.

“It was all my fault,” she said.

“When I got here, the first thing Peach said was, ‘We’re finally getting out of here. We’re going to the city where we won’t have to live in shame. Nobody’ll know the life we lead.’

“She was smiling so big, like her daddy used to. There was dried tear tracks on her cheeks and twigs in her hair. I told her about her sister. It was the hardest thing I ever done. Before I said the last ‘duh’ in dead, Peach was crying. She wasn’t actin neither. I never seen a person so miserable. Can you imagine? She had her sister right there beside her her whole damned life. Then all a sudden she’s alone in the world? I knew she couldn’t cut it on her own.

“I tried to comfort her. She wouldn’t have it. She clawed my cheeks to death. I went to Mr. Descariot for help but couldn’t find him, and when I come back to the cabin, I opened the door and there she was, hanging from the banister by a halter rope. Those damned eyes of hers…”
It was dark when I left Artie’s cabin that Saturday to go to sleep alone in my own house. The next morning, I rose early for Church and dressed well. It had been a long time.

I arrived around seven forty but Father Mersh never showed. Three of the more pious families were also absent – the Grants, the Coens and the all the Connollys but Phil. The rest of us, the entire town, knelt and prayed. We all waited till eleven thirty in desperate need of guidance, not knowing what to do. Descariot rose first and quietly left. We all followed him, trickling from the church like blood from a wound.

I left last. It was noon and it was dark out. I was terrified, but I couldn’t bring myself to pack up and leave. Where we would I go? And from what would I be hiding? No one else left either. I think we were all secretly content in the knowledge that we’d earned whatever destruction God wrought upon us. We waited impatiently, but no one was really too surprised when the Indians never came.