Savage Season by Joe R. Lansdale Read Free Book Online Page B

along with some cooler air and a fat, doughy man with a shaggy haircut that didn't go with his receding hairline.  He wore a tie-dyed tee-shirt, faded jeans with ripped-out knees, and low-cut work shoes with thick white socks.  Except for the haircut and clothes, he was a pretty nondescript guy.  He had colorless eyes, shit-brown hair and smooth features.
    But the only thing regular about the man who followed him were the clothes he wore: a black tee-shirt with pocket, blue jeans and running shoes.
    The right side of his face was red and angry, obviously burn-scarred.  He had a lump like a melted candle for a nose.  His lips were two thin lines of purple leather.  His left ear was missing and there was a knob of wart-like flesh where it had been.  He was bald except for a tuft of hair over his right ear, and that ear seemed big enough and flared enough to pick up the BBC.  At some point his scalp had been torn off and resewn, and a poor job had been done of it.  The skin on the back of his head pouched up like a wrinkled pup tent.
    Trudy said to me, "I've explained to them that you and Leonard are with us."
    "Except I'm not giving my share to any whales or such," Leonard said.
    Trudy didn't bite.  She was learning to ignore Leonard.  Things went better that way.  She gestured to the doughy man, said, "This is Chub."
    Chub came forward, put out his hand and I took it and we shook.  "Real name is Charles," he said, "everyone calls me Chub because I'm a little pudgy."
    I didn't know what to say to that, so I smiled like a jackass and Chub went on to Leonard and shook his hand, said, "Trudy just told us about her hesitation in letting you in on our plans here, and I want to assure you it had nothing to do with you being black.  That isn't our way.  We make our decisions on a one-to-one basis."
    Leonard said, "You keep your dialogue on a three-by-five card?"
    Chub grinned.  "I accept that.  I learned years ago, if you express what you think and feel, you're better off than if you don't."
    "Chub's had analysis," the burned man said, "and he never lets us forget it."
    "It's done me a world of good," Chub said.  "There was a time when being the fat kid, the one who got chosen last in football, the one who didn't get the pretty girls or get asked to go riding around with the popular boys, was painful and important.  It carried over into being an adult.  But analysis has allowed me to move beyond that and I can accept who I am."
    "Yeah, but I don't think I can," Leonard said.
    "That's right," Chub said.  "Express yourself.  I'm not offended."
    "Before he expresses himself in a way you don't want, Chub," the burned man said, "let me introduce myself.  I'm Paco."
    "Paco what?" Leonard said.
    "Just Paco."
    Paco didn't come forward to shake hands, and we didn't go to him.  I stood there feeling foolish.  Leonard probably felt disgusted, and with good reason.  What had seemed like a good idea yesterday now seemed childish and pathetic.  Reality had taken hold and I felt like a little boy who had been playing at adventurer but had just been told by Mother to put my toys away and come in to supper.
    We stood that way a long time.  Leonard said, "Isn't anyone gonna ask me my sign?"
    Chub said, "I sense a lot of hostility in you, Leonard.  I'd like to know you better, have you think of me as a friend, someone you can talk to.  Being able to talk things out can really let off pressure."
    "Chub," Leonard said, "that analysis shit might be all right for an airhead like you, but you come at me again with that, I'm gonna let off that pressure you're worried about."
    Chub started to open his mouth, then mulled it over.  His lips twitched, like the words were living things trying to push out.  But he held them.  Leonard looked like a man who just might let off pressure.
    I felt sorry for poor Chub on one hand, but on the other he sort of asked for what he got.  Kind of wore a perpetual KICK ME sign around his neck and