Man with No Name: A Nanashi Novella by Laird Barron Read Free Book Online Page B

dozens between. How many slobbering drunk renditions of “Green, Green Grass of Home” or “Folsom Prison Blues” had he delivered at yakuza bar haunts over the years? Lots and lots, was the answer.
    The woman gave a short, stifled cry when she saw him in the middle of the hallway between the bathroom and bedroom. He would’ve said something to reassure her except for the inconvenient fact that his insides were on the verge of erupting. The vertigo felt similar to falling from an apartment window toward the upward rushing concrete.
    This was the internationally renowned Susan Stucky in person, or in a dream that felt too close to reality for comfort. Lacking her customary pancake makeup and award-winning cinematography it had taken him a moment to place her. Shorter and thinner than he remembered, her blonde hair much darker and flung loose over her shoulder in a way she’d never worn it on celluloid; naked except for a pearl chain around her hips. Her flesh gleamed alabaster, pallid from shock or the soft low light that illuminated the passage.
    Behind her lay a spacious living room decorated with wood and leather and stone. Moonlight dripped from the scalloped ceiling. A deep, steady growl emanated from the shadows, and a giant white and gray Akita swaggered into view, stiff-legged, hackles bunched. Heart-shaped tags jingled from its spiked collar as it slouched forward.
    Nanashi smiled weakly at the brute and said, “Good doggie. Good boy.” He said it in English. He liked dogs. He gripped the butt of his revolver anyway.
    But neither the dog nor the woman were reacting to his presence. Muzaki stood in the doorway of the bathroom. The wrestler loomed larger than life, clothing shredded, blood coursing from a dozen vicious cuts and gashes. Part of his face was crushed into butcher meat. His left arm was gone, hacked away near the elbow to match the stump of his left leg. He smiled through a mouthful of pulverized teeth. Gore slopped from his lips. He winked his one good eye and toppled backward and the door flew shut.
    Nanashi heard Goodbye, goodbye, love, as a rustle of dry leaves in his brain.
    Now woman and dog finally registered Nanashi’s presence. She patted the dog’s head. Her expression lost its animating dismay and smoothed to ice. She inclined her chin toward the front of the house. “Company coming.”
    He almost asked who, and held his tongue. He knew exactly who. Word had traveled along the wire to Yokohama. Killers from the Heron would be en route. Possibly for murder, possibly for kidnapping. Either way it would be a routine clearing of accounts after the debacle with Muzaki, and lovely Susan Stucky wasn’t long for the world. Her future consisted of ropes, knives, and a shallow grave. He found his cigarettes, lighted two. He crossed the floor and gave her one of the cigarettes, which she accepted wordlessly. She stared at him and her eyes were cold enough to burn. He studied the ceiling.
    “You are remarkably composed,” he said.
    “So are you.”
    “Believe me. I’m shitting a brick.”
    “You must be a heavy.”
    “Oh yeah.” He cracked his knuckles and loosened his tie.
    She blew smoke. “Are you with me or against me?” No lipstick, no inflection except impersonal curiosity. Her scent was coconut lotion and sex.
    “That’s a tough decision.”
    “What’s the difficulty? I’ve got money if that’s the hangup.”
    “I don’t want your money. May not need it, either, depending on how this goes.”
    “It’s going to go shittily if past is prologue. You’re not stupid, not with that suit. What’s the real problem?”
    “I’m a lunatic or this is a dream.”
    “Oh? Transcendental meditation? A bad trip on some funky ‘shrooms?”
    He considered, shrugged. “Well, this scene doesn’t seem possible. Maybe I’m a ghost. Maybe I’m an astral projection.”
    She casually reached up and slapped him. She’d had practice. “Nope, no silver cord. You’re here for reals, as