drinks and hands one to each of us, then retreats behind me.
“I guess I’m just trying to figure out what I’m doing here, Eugene. Someone’s not paying you. Isn’t that what you have guys like him for?”
Eugene settles back, sips from his drink, and studies me. “Let’s not play coy, Jack. Okay? Don’t pretend you don’t already know about Tobias. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I know about Tobias,” I say.
“Tell me what you know.”
I can’t get comfortable in my chair. I feel like there are chains around my chest. I make one last effort. “Eugene. We had a deal.”
“Are you having trouble hearing me? Should I raise my voice?”
“He started selling two months ago. He had a rock. It was about the size of a tennis ball but it was heavy as a television set. Everybody thought he was full of shit. They were laughing at him. It sold for a little bit of money. Not much. But somebody out there liked what they saw. Word got around. He sold a two-inch piece of charred bone next. That went for a lot more.”
“I bought that bone.”
“Oh,” I say. “Shit.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, Eugene, of course I don’t.”
“Don’t ‘of course’ me. I don’t know what you know and what you don’t. You’re a slimy piece of filth, Jack. You’re a human cockroach. I can’t trust you. So don’t get smart.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“He had the nerve to contact me directly. He wanted me to know what he was offering before he put it on the market. Give me first chance. Jack, it’s from my son. It’s part of a thigh bone from my son.”
I can’t seem to see straight. The blood has rushed to my head, and I feel dizzy. I clamp my hands on the armrests of the chair so I can feel something solid. “How . . . how do you know?”
“There’s people for that. Don’t ask dumb questions. I am very much not in the mood for dumb questions.”
“Okay.”
“Your thing is books, so that’s why you’re here. We tracked him to this old shack in the bayou. You’re going to get the book.”
I feel panic skitter through me. “You want me to go there?”
“Patrick’s going with you.”
“That’s not what I do, Eugene!”
“Bullshit! You’re a thief. You do this all the time. Patrick there can barely read a
People
magazine without breaking a sweat. You’re going.”
“Just have Patrick bring it back! You don’t need me for this.”
Eugene stares at me.
“Come on,” I say. “You gave me your word.”
I don’t even see Patrick coming. His hand is on the back of my neck and he slams my face onto the desk hard enough to crack an ashtray underneath my cheekbone. My glass falls out of my hand and I hear the ice thump onto the carpet. He keeps me pinned to the desk. He wraps his free hand around my throat. I can’t catch my breath.
Eugene leans in, his hands behind his back, like he’s examining something curious and mildly revolting. “Would you like to see him? Would you like to see my son?”
I pat Patrick’s hand; it’s weirdly intimate. I shake my head. I try to make words. My vision is starting to fry around the edges. Dark loops spool into the world.
Finally, Eugene says, “Let him go.”
Patrick releases me. I slide off the desk and land hard, dragging the broken ashtray with me, covering myself in ash and spent cigarette butts. I roll onto my side, choking.
Eugene puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Jack, you okay? You all right down there? Get up. Goddamn you’re a drama queen. Get the fuck up already.”
It takes a few minutes. When I’m sitting up again, Patrick hands me a napkin to clean the blood off my face. I don’t look at him. There’s nothing I can do. No point in feeling a goddamn thing about it.
“When do I leave?” I say.
“What the hell,” Eugene says. “How about right now?”
We experience dawn as a rising heat and a slow bleed of light through the cypress and the Spanish moss, riding in an airboat
“I guess I’m just trying to figure out what I’m doing here, Eugene. Someone’s not paying you. Isn’t that what you have guys like him for?”
Eugene settles back, sips from his drink, and studies me. “Let’s not play coy, Jack. Okay? Don’t pretend you don’t already know about Tobias. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I know about Tobias,” I say.
“Tell me what you know.”
I can’t get comfortable in my chair. I feel like there are chains around my chest. I make one last effort. “Eugene. We had a deal.”
“Are you having trouble hearing me? Should I raise my voice?”
“He started selling two months ago. He had a rock. It was about the size of a tennis ball but it was heavy as a television set. Everybody thought he was full of shit. They were laughing at him. It sold for a little bit of money. Not much. But somebody out there liked what they saw. Word got around. He sold a two-inch piece of charred bone next. That went for a lot more.”
“I bought that bone.”
“Oh,” I say. “Shit.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, Eugene, of course I don’t.”
“Don’t ‘of course’ me. I don’t know what you know and what you don’t. You’re a slimy piece of filth, Jack. You’re a human cockroach. I can’t trust you. So don’t get smart.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“He had the nerve to contact me directly. He wanted me to know what he was offering before he put it on the market. Give me first chance. Jack, it’s from my son. It’s part of a thigh bone from my son.”
I can’t seem to see straight. The blood has rushed to my head, and I feel dizzy. I clamp my hands on the armrests of the chair so I can feel something solid. “How . . . how do you know?”
“There’s people for that. Don’t ask dumb questions. I am very much not in the mood for dumb questions.”
“Okay.”
“Your thing is books, so that’s why you’re here. We tracked him to this old shack in the bayou. You’re going to get the book.”
I feel panic skitter through me. “You want me to go there?”
“Patrick’s going with you.”
“That’s not what I do, Eugene!”
“Bullshit! You’re a thief. You do this all the time. Patrick there can barely read a
People
magazine without breaking a sweat. You’re going.”
“Just have Patrick bring it back! You don’t need me for this.”
Eugene stares at me.
“Come on,” I say. “You gave me your word.”
I don’t even see Patrick coming. His hand is on the back of my neck and he slams my face onto the desk hard enough to crack an ashtray underneath my cheekbone. My glass falls out of my hand and I hear the ice thump onto the carpet. He keeps me pinned to the desk. He wraps his free hand around my throat. I can’t catch my breath.
Eugene leans in, his hands behind his back, like he’s examining something curious and mildly revolting. “Would you like to see him? Would you like to see my son?”
I pat Patrick’s hand; it’s weirdly intimate. I shake my head. I try to make words. My vision is starting to fry around the edges. Dark loops spool into the world.
Finally, Eugene says, “Let him go.”
Patrick releases me. I slide off the desk and land hard, dragging the broken ashtray with me, covering myself in ash and spent cigarette butts. I roll onto my side, choking.
Eugene puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Jack, you okay? You all right down there? Get up. Goddamn you’re a drama queen. Get the fuck up already.”
It takes a few minutes. When I’m sitting up again, Patrick hands me a napkin to clean the blood off my face. I don’t look at him. There’s nothing I can do. No point in feeling a goddamn thing about it.
“When do I leave?” I say.
“What the hell,” Eugene says. “How about right now?”
We experience dawn as a rising heat and a slow bleed of light through the cypress and the Spanish moss, riding in an airboat
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