almost okay

SEVERAL DEATHS IN
THE FAMILY
Chapter Eleven: Shocked By The Foul Evil Deed

My eyes were frozen wide open. Even so, I didn't see the cluster of shiny liquor bottles on the shelf behind the bar, no longer saw my reflection in the mirror there. Nor did I see my hands - my murderous, filthy hands - the right one clutching a bottle of Tecate, the left numbly wrapped around a double shot of cheap tequila.

No, I just stared straight ahead seeing only the ugly hole in the back of Ricardo's skull after I'd pulled the trigger. Then I saw myself slogging his limp body out to the dumpster, his forehead a blossom of crimson and torn flesh where the slug had pushed through. I relived my struggle to get him up and over the rim. Again and again I picked up the shoe that had fallen from his foot and tossed it in after him. Unblinking, I saw it over and over, the scenes often flashing by in double time, quick jump cuts, like a badly-spliced-together home movie. Except for the hole. That goddamn hole just floated there in front of me, burning a black spot on my retina. I was hoping if I drank enough, it wouldn't do the same to my soul.

“Aren't you going to drink it?”

Jarred back to reality, I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to force the horrific images from my mind. When I opened them, she was still there. And she was still damn cute.

“What?” I stammered.

“Man, you spaced out! I said: Aren't you going to drink it?” She was pointing a delicate index finger at my shot.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about somebody I used to know.” I tossed the tequila down and chased it with a long pull of beer.

“I'm relieved,” she said. “I thought for a minute there that I'd over-served you.”

“Not possible, my dear. Not possible.” I finished the beer and set it in the tip tray. She fetched another one. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Felina.”

“Really? Like that Marty Robbins song? I don't believe it. I've never met a Felina before.”

“My dad's from El Paso and it's his favorite song,” she said.

“I like it,” I said. “To your health, Felina!” I toasted with the new beer, drank it nearly half down. “Are you as wicked as that girl in the song?”

Felina eyed me, smiled and licked her lips, gave me a glimpse of her silver tongue stud. She had short-cropped hair the color of coal, artfully mussed. Her eyes were as black as the hair, framed with long lashes, her skin a golden shade of bronze. “Just try me,” she said.

“Don't mind if I do,” I said. “What time do you get off work?”

“Three.”

I winced. “Well, Felina, I'm gonna head back to my room and take a nap, but I'll be back for last call.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Motel 6 over on Mockingbird Lane. Room 106.” I looked her straight in the cleavage, her plump brown boobs squeezed together, the delectable flesh between exposed by a ragged vertical slash that opened up the neck of her black ZZ Top tee shirt.

“Mmmm, a high roller, I see.”

“Nothing but the best,” I said with a smile, pulling out a pair of twenties and putting them in the tip tray.

“Why don't you pick up some beer and I'll just meet you over there,” she said. “I might even be able to get out of here early. Earl owes me a favor.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

I pulled out of the parking lot of Pluckers, my gut full of barbecue wings and beer, my mind now awash in the image of Felina the bartender's sexy smile. The air was cool and fresh after the rain that had passed through earlier, and shallow puddles threw up dazzling reflections of neon and headlights. The world suddenly seemed shiny and clean to me. I rolled down the window and hung my arm outside so the night air could invigorate me.

I stopped at the gas station across from the motel and picked up a twelve pack of Tecate and a bag of ice. Once inside the room, I stoppered the sink in the john, slid as many cans of the beer in it as I could and covered them with ice. It was a little after midnight. After taking off my pants, I killed the lights and turned on the radio. Mariachi music. Not exactly nap-inducing. I twirled the dial until I snagged some country and western, set the alarm for 2 a.m., then hit the 'sleep' button...

A full bladder forced me awake around 1:30. I stumbled stiffly towards the bathroom, banged my knee on a chair, then limped the rest of the way to the toilet, cursing my clumsiness. When my eyes finally focused I noticed a trickle of blood running down my shin.

I plucked a can of beer from the sink, popped the top and dropped back into bed for a few more minutes of rest. I didn't really believe Felina would show, but it was good to be thinking about something other than my own problems for a change. In fact, I'd just about made up my mind that even if I killed every last rotten fucker in the Gonzalez gang, I wasn't going to let it bother me any more. This whole thing was their fault, not mine. I should be back in Detroit, drinking beer at Hot Tamales and stuffing bills in Sharon's ass crack instead of plotting revenge murder on a bunch of rat bastards that I didn't even know.

Just before two o'clock, a pair of headlights swung across the moss-colored curtains that covered the window in front of the room, briefly bathing the bed in eerie green light before going out and leaving me sitting in quiet darkness again. A car door thumped closed and I heard footsteps click up to the outside of my door. Then a gentle knuckle rap. I got up, went over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Felina alright, looking nervously around as she stood there. Looking a lot like she was having second thoughts.

I turned on the light, pulled back the deadbolt and swung the door open. “Entrez-vous, Ma'mselle...” I said with a flourish, waving my arm to direct her inside. “I'm very happy to see you.”

“What did you do to your leg?” she asked, noticing the blood.

I looked down. “Oh that,” I said. “Just a scratch. Nothing to worry about. Care for a beer?” She smiled and nodded. “Make yourself comfortable.”

When I came back with two fresh beers, Felina was sitting on the bed pulling the cork out of a half-empty fifth of Patron. “I boosted it from work,” she said to me with a wink. “I love these over-sized handbags.” She patted the brown and black leather tote that sat on the bed next to her.

The radio alarm snapped on, mid-song.

“...Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina, wicked and evil while casting a spell. My love was deep for this Mexican maiden; I was in love but in vain, I could tell...”

“No way!” she cackled. “No fucking way!”

“It's a sign this was meant to be,” I said seriously. “Now turn around and let me have a look at that ass.”