Read Online Going Native by Stephen Wright - Free Book Online Page A

rest of the house, her absence, sometime later, culminating in a series of clumsy kitchen sounds Mister CD refused to acknowledge. He was flat on his back, trying not to move too much because when he breathed, his insides made creaking ship-at-sea noises. He was dying exactly as Celia had prophesied when he walked out on her however many months ago it was now, in sweat and agony in a lonely place without a single nurse in attendance. Ha. Her curse. A woman who consistently pronounced his first name as if it were an adjective. The ease with which he could have strangled her, throttled the smugness swimming in accusatory preservative behind her goggle glasses. A done deed but for the silly frog crouching there on the crowded sill, emerald porcelain in a revelation of sunlight, a gift from little Benny to his mother. Nothing was insignificant. Everything was strange. The nagging image of his son in a suit he had never worn in life, laid out grotesquely in a shocking green coffin he had never occupied in death. What did that mean? What did he know? Mister CD's body seemed to be composed of an itchy synthetic material. On his last ejaculation a single drop of sperm welled like a tear in the eye of his penis. Behind these fragile crackling walls lurked -- what?. . . The DEA. . . the FBI. . . his wife. But why did he care? He was steel, will and flesh. He checked his pulse. We are as goddamned gods.
    Latisha reentered the room as he was doing up another bowl. He noticed at once the odd positioning of her arm at her back, the briefest glitter of the steak knife blade in her hand. He smiled benignly, extended the vaporous pipe in her direction.
    And afterward, confronting the cold television screen, she spoke, "I don't even have to do it myself. I've got friends."
    "What the fuck are you jabbering about?"
    "Killing you."
    He barked. "Yeah? And who might these friends be? Spitcurl? X-man? Gizmo? Or one of the other dwarves? Scary."
    "I know a lot of people."
    "Oh, yeah, wait a minute, I got you now. That faggoty kid, that Race, that what he call himself now? Race, what a fucking joke."
    "His name is Reese."
    "Whatever. The pissboy with the box-cutter. Keep talking like this. I like the way your mouth looks when you talk about murder. Talk more for me. Dust, whack, pop."
    "I'm outta here." She made a move to get up, but he shoved her down onto her back.
    "I'm not finished with this." He held her down, leering over her, searching the caves of her eyes for unaccounted shapes.
    "Reese didn't have any knife, Reese wasn't even there, how much you know."
    "I know enough to recognize a piece of sharp metal when it's stuck in my face."
    "It was a kid in white sweatpants I never saw before. And nobody got hurt, so what are you bitching about all the time?"
    "Who was the gangster in the leather cap?"
    "Nobody. I already told you that. God, you are --"
    "If Gizmo hadn't stepped between us. . ."
    "Nothing, that's what, absolutely nothing. God, you are so paranoid."
    "Careful, little lobo, I'm careful."
    "So paranoid in your old age you can't remember a fucking thing anymore."
    But he wasn't listening to her anymore, either; he had the pipe in his teeth and was sucking on the stem like a drowning man. Through the enveloping smoke one neutral eye fixed steadily on her, whatever posture she might assume, whatever betrayal her face might reveal. He arched a brow and said, "Put on your uniform."
    "Oh no, please."
    "C'mon, baby, Daddy needs a nurse. Bad."
    "Yeah? Well, so do I. Who's gonna nurse me?"
    "Oh please, please, it hurts so bad." He was rolling around, clutching hands between his legs in an obscene parody of pain.
    She went to the closet, rummaged through a heap of clothing. "I do this," she muttered. "I actually do this." She stepped into a wrinkled white dress, fumbled with the buttons.
    "No, idiot, not here, damnit. In the bathroom. Then you come in already dressed. Like on rounds, remember?"
    "Jesus fucking Christ."
    He settled himself into