Chapter 5

Ghoul woke up with sand in his clothes, to a morning that was cold and dim and gray. He was stiff in every limb, and chilled through by the damp cold of the ocean. His head was on Poison's shoulder, and Poison's arm was around him, but it slid away when Ghoul straightened up.

Poison was still asleep, his back against the wall of the house and his chin sunk into the collar of his jacket. When Ghoul leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, Poison stirred but did not wake. He wasn't shivering, and he seemed comfortable enough, so Ghoul left him there and went around the back of the house to piss. He hurt all over, but not too badly. Sleeping outside couldn't possibly be that much worse than sleeping on the bare floor, after all, and at least he'd gotten away from that little shit Kobra for a while.

He finished up, and when he came back around the corner Poison was already gone. There was a messy little crater in the sand where he had been sitting, but otherwise no sign of him. Ghoul was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to go look for him, when he heard music coming from around the front of the house. At first, he thought it was the radio, but it became obvious pretty quickly that it wasn't. It was too uncertain, too unpolished. And it wasn't good, but, for a moment, it sounded like it was.

The sun had just started to come up. There was a gray crust of hoarfrost on the sand, steaming as it evaporated. Ghoul went around front, and he found Kobra sitting out on the porch, his back against the railing, bare feet up on the step, and his guitar sitting across his lap. It was pretty cold out, but he was acting like he didn't feel it. His jacket was off, and all the hairs on his arms were standing up. There was a faint bluish cast to his lips, and dark shadows under his eyes. He stabbed his fingers vengefully into the strings, and he said, more muttering than singing,

As I went to the square, to see my brother hang
The only words that he could say:
Until we meet again

Ghoul wasn't sure if he could talk to him, if they were on speaking terms, but Kobra had his long legs sprawled all over the stairs and Ghoul couldn't get by. At last, Kobra came to the end of the bar and he scratched the last chord into silence. He rolled his eyes up to look Ghoul in the face.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Ghoul said. He dug the toe of his boot into the sand. "You sleep all right?"

Kobra shrugged. "I'll let you know when I get around to it."

"You've been up all night? I thought you had things to do today."

"Couldn't even close my eyes," Kobra said. "I just feel all strange inside, you know?"

"Yeah, I do."

The sun was higher now, its rays just beginning to fall on Kobra's face. He reached up blindly, and fumbled his big sunglasses off the top of his head and over his eyes. The sunrise put a little color back in his pale cheeks, but it looked like it had been painted on. He started to get up, dragging the guitar along by its neck. Halfway there, the strength seemed to go out of his legs and he gripped the railing to steady himself.

He was watching something behind Ghoul, something out in the direction of the ocean. "Look," he said.

Ghoul didn't want to. The truth was, even this new, improved, nicer version of Kobra made him feel awfully tired. But it didn't seem worth it to start up their bickering from the night before, and so he glanced back over his shoulder.

The sun had just crested the roofs of the houses, and the ocean was ablaze. Thick fog coiled off the surf, and the water looked red.

"I wish it really would burn," Kobra sighed. "I wish it would all burn, just like that. Don't you?"

Ghoul shuddered. "No."

"Really? I figured everybody did."

Ghoul looked violently away. By the time he had forced himself to turn back and face it, the illusion was already starting to face. "I guess you don't remember the Great Fire, do you?" he said.

"Sure I do," Kobra replied. "A little."

"Well, I remember it a lot."

Kobra turned slowly to look at him. The bottom half of his face was immobile, the top half obscured, and Ghoul honestly had no idea what was going through his mind.

"I didn't know," he said at last. "Sorry."

"No, you're okay." Ghoul's hands were shaking, and he shoved them into his pockets to hide it. A rivulet of cold sweat trickled down his back. "You didn't know."

"Guess you're not quite over it, are you?" Kobra said.

"I'm as over it as I'll ever be." Ghoul was not looking at him, could not bear to look at him. He had the horrifying feeling that Kobra was laughing it him from behind the shield of his dark sunglasses, and he knew he couldn't do anything about it. "I mean it's been, what? Fifteen years?"

"I was just a kid back then," Kobra said, and Ghoul couldn't tell whether he meant it in agreement or dissent. "You must have been too."

"Yeah," Ghoul replied. "I was little. Four or five. Or six. It's fucked up, I don't even know how old I really am. But that's not even the most fucked up thing. The worst part is, I can't even remember what it was like before. I just have these flashes. I can't even tell if they're real, or things I made up. False memories. Like, I know there were these things: a family, a house, a school, a church. But my first real, concrete memory is watching them all burn."

Kobra was watching him intently, his lips curled into a curious and dreamy smile. "They're real," he said.

"How the fuck do you know?"

"I know because you're so goddamn good. All those good-people things, they got inside you. And even if you wanted to get rid of them, even if you wanted to be a little bit bad, someone like you wouldn't even know where to start."

Ghoul said nothing. He knew that Kobra was looking him up and down, knew by the bloodless, reptilian quality of his stare.

"I'm going to go make some breakfast," Kobra said. "You want anything? We got toast. Just toast."

"Don't put yourself out," Ghoul told him coldly.

Kobra laughed, unpleasantly and without humor. He turned, dragging his guitar behind him, and went inside.

They took the Trans Am into the city. Once they got away from the beachfront real estate, there were a lot of square, flat-fronted, Spanish-style buildings. The storefronts had big looming billboards over them, and the apartments all had narrow, efficient balconies that did not overhang the street.

There weren't a lot of people out. Most of the shops were boarded up, and the residences had a dejected, abandoned look to them.

Poison was driving, and Kobra was up in the front seat, in Ghoul's old seat. He had the window down and his arm out in the stifling air. The needle on the gas gauge hovered at empty, but Kobra was sure they could make it. They went through an industrial section of town, with a lot of locked-down warehouses and old boat shops and tour companies, and when they came out the other side they were in the hills. It was a lot hotter than it had been down by the ocean, but green succulent bushes and creosotes grew thick along the sides of the road and made for a pretty nice drive.

The houses were adobe, and painted pastel colors. Kobra pointed one out, and Poison pulled off onto the gravel track that led up to the dirt lot out front. There was a well-tended vegetable garden in one corner of the yard, and a big new-looking yellow Hummer pared on the side of the house. It wasn't what Ghoul had expected, and he knew that if the place hadn't been so goddamn pleasant and homey, he wouldn't have had half the misgivings about this that he did.

A little darkeyed kid of ten or eleven came out the front door and stood silently watching them as they piled out of the Trans Am.

"You're here for El," she said, not making it a question.

Ghoul was a couple of steps in back of Jet, and he almost stumbled over him when Jet drew up short all of a sudden. He shuddered, and a strange, faraway look clouded over his face. Ghoul pretended not to see; they had always extended one another at least that much courtesy.

Jet crouched down on his heels opposite from the kid, so he could look her in the face. His voice when he spoke was unsteady, as if he was remembering a way of talking that he had assumed he'd never need again. "Hey there. What's your name? Is this where your parents live?"

The girl stared at him steadily, without blinking. "I'm Grace."

"That's a pretty name," Jet practically sighed.

Kobra rolled his eyes and pounded on the screen door. Grace's shoulders drew up at the noise, and her eyes darted toward the source. When she saw that it was nothing to worry about, her gaze swung back in a slow, almost unwilling, pendulum to Jet's face.

The door opened from within, and Ghoul filed in after Kobra and Poison. They left Jet in the yard, talking in an undertone to the weird, quiet kid. Inside, they were shown into a sunny front room with a decorative fireplace, a big oak dining table, and a bunch of Ansel Adams prints hanging on the walls. Kobra introduced them to a tanned, blond, middle-aged Americano with a bald patch in back, a receding hairline up front, and a good deal of muscle tone remaining under his paunch.

"This is El Chupacabra," Kobra said. He nodded to Poison and Ghoul. "They're a little extra protection I picked up. Hope that suits you."

"It suits me fine," said El. He glanced at Poison. "But he looks like he's the one I really ought to be talking to."

"He's my partner," Kobra said icily. "You can talk to us both."

"Whatever you say." El held up his beefy hands in a gesture of goodwill. "It's you that has to split up the pay for this little errand."

"What exactly is this errand?" Poison said.

"Kobra didn't tell you?"

"I'd rather hear it from you."

El shrugged. "You head up to Salton and deliver a certain suitcase to a certain address. You'll roll out tomorrow evening, make the border crossing over night, and if you're back here by ten in the morning, I'll have 500 USD waiting for you."

"What happens after ten?" Poison said.

"After ten, I won't be here anymore. And you might not like my replacement."

Ghoul was suddenly aware that Poison was looking at him. His eyes had shifted, almost imperceptibly beneath the veil of his long lashes, to Ghoul's face. He was asking something, waiting for something, and Ghoul was frightened, for he had no idea what they ought to do, what they even could do in a situation like this. But he tilted his head slightly, a nod of ascent, and Poison turned back to El and said, "We accept."

"I knew you were the one who was really making the decisions," El said. "Knew it from the first time I looked at you."

Poison narrowed his eyes. "You might pay our transportation expenses up front, as a gesture of goodwill."

"Sure," El said. He made a vague wave towards the front of the house. "If Grace is out there, she'll show you where we keep the gasoline. You can fill up your tank, just don't get greedy. I have to make a living here, after all."

"Yes, you are very much a capitalist," Poison said with wintery disdain. He turned on his heels and went out, leaving Ghoul to stumble after him. Kobra came up behind them more slowly.

Jet was still crouched down talking to the kid, and he straightened up, looking a little embarrassed, when he saw them. Grace looked at them without much trust, but without much fear, either.

"You're supposed to help us fill up the car," Poison said.

Grace squinted at him, as if gauging his sincerity, and then she motioned vaguely for them to follow her. Poison and Ghoul hauled a couple of ten-gallon cans and a funnel out of the shed that she showed them, and as they were siphoning the fuel into the Trans Am, Kobra wandered over, looking sullen and sulky. He was probably upset that they'd made him look bad in front of his friend. But, Ghoul thought vindictively, he shouldn't be running around with such shitty friends in the first place.

Kobra folded his arms and watched them gas up the car. While he was distracted, Grace slipped up next to him and boldly reached for the pistol on his hip. Before she could get it out of the holster, Kobra slapped her hand away.

"What the hell is a little kid doing in a place like this anyway?" he snapped.

"It's not like I haven't been other places before," Grace shot back. "What's wrong with this place?"

"Nice little girls shouldn't be hanging around meth labs."

"Nice little boys shouldn't be hanging around you-know-where, but that didn't stop you, did it?"

Grace dodged back, as if she expected Kobra to make a grab for her, but he didn't. He only stood, rigid and pale, no longer looking at her, or at the car, or at anything, really, save whatever scenes might be running through his head.

When she saw that he wasn't after her, Grace jammed the toe of her canvas sneaker into the dirt and kicked a spume of gravel in Kobra's direction. Then she took off running, dodging around the back of the house and out of sight.

When they got back to the house, no one really felt like talking much. They had almost thirty-six hours until they were scheduled to pick up the suitcase from El, and if Ghoul could have worked out in his head how many seconds that was he was sure he would have counted down every one. It was too much time to just wile away doing nothing, and too little to accomplish anything. In a fit of impotence and irritation, he wrapped himself up in one of the worn out blankets and went to sleep on the floor.

He woke up to late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and Jet slinking around trying to talk someone into going into town with him. He was pretty adamant about it, and Ghoul figured he was still bothered by that kid – Grace – who they'd met earlier. He felt a little bit bad for him, and a little bit sick of being the butt of Kobra's sly glances, so he agreed to go along.

But as soon as they got off the beach and up on the drag where all the bars were, Ghoul knew he couldn't go through with it. It was too loud, the press of anonymous bodies too tight and hot and close. He felt like he was there all over again, on the floor of that dirty shack in the desert, with a heavy hand in his hair and a knife at his throat. Knowing that all he was anymore was meat. Just meat.

Jet was looking at him in concern, was offering him a shot. But it was Jet that was the illusion and the Zones that were real.

"I'm sorry…" Ghoul whispered, and he headed for the door, leaving Jet to practice his Spanish on the pretty bartended.

He was glad for the chance to walk home alone. The cold air revived him a little, and by the time he made it back to the beach, he had his thoughts in order again. He knew he couldn't keep dropping off like that if they were going to head back across the border. He'd only end up a liability if he kept it up.

The moon wasn't up yet, and the beach was almost completely dark. Ghoul stumbled along until he caught sight of the house. There was a dim light on in one of the windows and Ghoul followed it. When he opened the front door, the first thing he saw was Kobra, sprawled all over Poison's lap, fingers in his red hair and lips up against his ear.

Ghoul's lips felt numb when he tried to speak. "What the fuck?"

Poison stood up at the sound of his voice, dumping Kobra off his lap and onto the floor. Kobra just sat there, trying to look dignified. It was pretty fucking funny, actually, but Ghoul couldn't have laughed if he'd wanted to.

"I didn't know you'd be back so soon," Poison said mildly. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.

"What were you…?" Ghoul started to say, but he didn't give a shit what the answer was going to be.

Kobra was smirking up at him from his perch on the floor. One hand crept across the boards and began to slowly, possessively ascend the curve of Poison's calf. Ghoul clamped his mouth shut so hard that his teeth ground together, then he turned around and walked out.

He heard someone come out the screen door behind him, but he didn't look back.

"You know we never made each other any promises," Poison's voice drifted after him.

Ghoul stopped. He didn't want to, but in spite of everything he felt himself called back. Bending, bending, beneath Poison's inexhaustible will.

"That's not an excuse," he said quietly.

Poison came towards him. His boots made two clean tattoos of sound on the stairs, and then no noise at all as he stepped onto the sand. "I'll stop right now, if that's what you want. You know, he was always the one who wanted me. He was always the one who started it."

Ghoul turned on him, and even in the low light he could make out the calm, slightly bemused look on Poison's face. It was just another apology to him, just another irritating, nonsensical ritual that he had to go through to get back on Ghoul's good side. He wasn't sorry, and he didn't understand a thing about real suffering. And suddenly Ghoul wanted to hurt him, the way only he could. He wanted to make him sorry for every time he had ever been kind, or almost thoughtful, or gentle.

"Sure, he liked how pretty you were. Who could resist that? You're so fucking pretty." Ghoul's voice had become both shrill and hoarse. "Is that how Korse liked you, Poison? Pretty?"

He didn't see Poison's hand come up, but he certainly felt it when he hit him. Ghoul was no glassjaw, but he went down hard. He blacked out for not more than a couple of seconds, and when he came to he was laid out flat on the sand and he could taste blood in his mouth. He lifted his head in time to see Poison turn away.

"Gerard!"

Poison snapped his head around to look at him. "I told you not to call me that."

"Gerard, Gerard, Gerard! I'll call you whatever I want! And you'll look at it! You'll fucking face it."

For a second, he thought Poison was going to hit him again, but he shoved his clenched fist into the pocket of his jacket and he walked away. Ghoul let his head fall back against the sand and felt the blood run down his throat. He heard the Trans Am start up, and for a moment the headlights washed over him. Then Poison pulled out and drove away.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, tasting blood and self-pity in equal parts. After a while, Kobra came out of the house and stood over him.

"Tide's coming in," he said.

"Go fuck yourself," Ghoul muttered.

Kobra crouched down and helped Ghoul to his feet, and Ghoul let himself be prodded inside. Kobra piled up all the blankets so Ghoul could have something to lay on that wasn't the bare floor, and then he fed him a couple of shots of tequila and pressed a handkerchief to his nose and eventually the throbbing in Ghoul's head quieted down.

"Feeling better?" Kobra said.

"As soon as I am, I'm going to kick your fucking ass, homewrecker."

"Why the fuck are you so mad at me?" Kobra tossed his blond hair. "I heard most of what you said out there. You know, Poison never told me anything about you. I had no way of knowing you two were serious."

"Poison doesn't know any better…"

Kobra laughed, bitterly. "So, Poison is the innocent, socially-retarded victim here, and I'm the ex-fucking-hooker that played upon his innocence. Guess you'd better hurry up and kick my ass then."

Ghoul groaned and let his head fall back. "I'm not going to do that. Just… I don't know. I need this place, and I guess you need it to. So do whatever you want. Keep fucking him. You're probably better at it than I am. I've got so much shit wrong with me. But I don't care anymore. I don't care about any of it."

He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Kobra looking at him with curious sympathy.

"Do you want another drink?" Kobra asked at last, quietly. "I can play you a song. Sometimes it helps. You're right, you know. We're both here, and we don't have anywhere better to be. Might as well make the most of it, right?"