places: second wake

I stood over him with the 45 leveled at the crown of his head.

“I underestimated you…I shouldn’t have tried that.”

“Don’t try anything else.  I don’t want anymore surprises.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m done.”

“I lost my gun.”

I sat down next to him.  We were looking at each other in the darkness.

“I can’t seem to find it.”

“I had checked your pockets.  Where did you get the piece?”

“Always check the trunks of bad men like myself.  I’ve got guns in my trunk.  Bad men like me have to play dirty to live.  You never know what’s around the corner.  Magicians pull rabbits out of their hats.  Me, I pull guns out of mine.”

We sat there together.

“You wouldn’t mind fetching something from my trunk would you?”

I glanced at him.  “I didn’t think so.”

“Clayton, Give me a lead on the Soviets.  Give me some names.  Some places.”

“Places?  The only places I know Johnny are your places – the places I sent you.”  Clayton moved his hands around his torso, the folds of his shirt, trying to put a finger on his wound.  He felt the cold in his extremities, yet warmth pooling on his lap.  He kept talking. “I’m going to tell you everything, because I am at my end.  I am going to tell you because we have so much in common.”

“We’ve got nothing in common.”

“Oh yes.  We’ve got things in common.  Camille…we have her.”

“I said don’t...”

“What are you going to do - shoot me?”  I can talk about her all I want.  Did you know she was my sister?”

“No, she told me you weren’t related.”

“She told you what I told her to tell you.  It’s not her fault.  I made her promise.  She’s a good sister.”

“Camille is one and death is another commonality.  You and I are both dead men Johnny.”

“Where have I heard that before,” I replied.

“You have no hope Johnny.  I have no names for you.  Even if you did have names, you could do nothing about it.  I’ve naturalized a lot of aliens as of late.  I’m sure they’ll make fine outstanding citizens.  If you get in their way - they’ll kill you of course.   If I were you, I wouldn’t stand in the way of their progress.”

“Thanks to you.”

“...and you.”   He was shivering.  “I’m catching a chill.  Can I have my coat and hat?”

“Sure.” I obliged.

“You have no hope because you are outnumbered - outnumbered by people you’ve never seen.  I have no hope because you are going to let me bleed out.”

I lit one of his cigars.

“I can’t blame you.  After all, I did try to kill you.”   Clayton paused, and continued like a talkative drunk. “I got my orders from couriers, and I deliver my packages to addresses by courier.  That’s it.  That’s all you’ve got.  I could help you more, but I kind of hope you experience the same kind of bad luck as me.”

“I thought you were going to be hard to get to talk.”

“Oh yes.  I have just recently discovered that I am very talkative when I’m dying.”   He fidgeted a little. “This is taking forever.  Where did you shoot me anyway?”

“I can’t tell.  It’s dark.”

“You’re not very sympathetic.”

“I did get your coat and hat.”

“Yes – yes - you did at that...and my Cubans.   I am sleepy.  I’d like my bed.  I want my warm bed.”

Clayton fell back on the ground.

I don’t know why I lingered there.  Most men I’ve seen die - died quick.  Tonight I had to watch two kinds of men die.  Clayton seemed to have been trying to talk me to death.  I wanted him to spill it before the guns were pulled.  The conversation was over.

I had no good reason to help him live.  I’ve known men like Clayton before.   He wasn’t going to see morning no matter what he said or what angle he played.  I was going to get it in the back if I let him live.

Adam should’ve bit the head off that serpent - that’s what a sister once told me.  That nun had a hardness on her face - a look as if she'd bit several heads off herself.  A man in my place is going to have to treat them all the same.  I can't afford to look back.

“Let’s end this now.  What do you say?”

The grip tightened on my gun.

Clayton clumsily rolled around and got to his knees.  “I don’t want to die here.  I don’t want to die like this.”  He struggled to stand to his feet and then started to walk away as if he were leaving for an appointment.  He put on his fedora and tipped it my way.  He coughed a little and cleared his throat.

The last thing Clayton said was, “You can keep the cigars.”

I knew he wasn’t going far.  He walked away.  Not knowing where he was – Clayton walked the wrong way into the woods.  I watched his form until he was gone – beyond sound – beyond sight.

I drew on the cigar in the darkness, felt the warm of it on my fingertips.