Death Echo

waiting some more.

11
    DAY ONE
ON THE RESERVATION
11:17 P.M .
    A fter walking deeper into the forest for about half a mile on the dirt track, Mac came to the edge of a clearing. Waist-high weeds, several rusting wrecks, and one ancient flatbed truck piled with corroding crab traps landscaped the area around the old trailer house.
    He paused in the shadows as he always did. And, as always, he felt like he was back in a war zone.
    Maybe that’s why I hate coming here.
    He shifted the bottle of bourbon and wished it was that easy, but he knew it wasn’t.
    Tommy was all tied up with Mac’s own past, the wild times from child to man, running free when someone should have hauled him up by the scruff and shaken some sense into him. He’d been the youngest of three. His father had hit the road just after Mac’s birth. His mother hadn’t left physically; she’d just quietly drunk herself into an early grave. Hard work, but she’d kept at it until she reached her goal.
    Tommy was headed down that same early-grave road. It wasn’t alcohol that would get him there, though it was certainly greasing the way. Tommy’s reckless rage was what would kill him, hiscertainty that someone or something had stolen everything worth having, leaving him with a double handful of dog shit.
    Once, Mac had felt the same way. Then he’d grown up, taken responsibility for his choices, and clawed his way out of a life that should have destroyed him the way it had his mother and two older brothers.
    He didn’t even know if one of his brothers was still alive. The other had died in a single car rollover on the highway outside Rosario an hour after the bars closed.
    Maybe that’s why I visit Tommy. He’s all that’s left of my childhood.
    Pathetic.
    Both of us.
    Get over it, he told himself grimly. That boat sailed and sank a long time ago. Looking back is just another way of drowning.
    The breeze shifted, bringing with it the stink of a trash fire smoldering in a fifty-five-gallon fuel drum. The rank odor of an overflowing outhouse lay heavily beneath the smoke. Light from a bare bulb gleamed weakly through the dirty window in the front of the trailer. Heavy metal music from his and Tommy’s childhood hammered through the darkness, making the mold-streaked trailer vibrate.
    Mac walked swiftly across the clearing and pounded on the front door. “Yo, Tommy. You still awake? I brought the bourbon you said I owed you.”
    It was the kind of bourbon Tommy couldn’t afford but knew he deserved.
    Mac pounded harder. “Tommy, it’s Mac. You in there or did I make the drive for nothing?”
    Part of Mac hoped that Tommy was gone. A big part.
    The music stopped.
    â€œWho’s there?” The voice was hoarse, wary.
    â€œMac.”
    â€œDude! It’s about time. I thought you forgot me and sucked down the righteous booze alone.”
    The door opened, framing Tommy’s narrow body in light. The smell of rancid takeout pizza rolled over Mac, competing with the other rank odors of the night.
    â€œA whole bottle?” Mac said, shaking his head. “I never could drink like that.”
    â€œYeah, true fact. You’re a white pussy. Don’t just stand there looking stupid. Bring that bottle in.”
    Mac walked inside and saw that it was still the maid’s year off. Even for a bachelor sea captain, the place was a mess.
    Tommy opened the bourbon bottle and took a long swig. “Damn, but that’s primo. Just in time, too. I’m broke and tired of being straight.”
    â€œI hear crabbing is really down,” Mac said.
    â€œYou hear right.” Tommy took another swig. “But I got me a sweet gig coming.”
    â€œGood,” Mac said quickly, not wanting to hear more about any sweet gig Tommy might have.
    Too late. Tommy was already talking.
    â€œGonna get rich, richer than the ass clowns that run the casino.”
    Mac nodded and kept his mouth shut. He’d heard it all before, and if he came back to the rez, he’d hear it again.
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Tommy said. “I know you don’t believe me. Nobody believes me.”
    â€œIf getting rich was easy, there would be a lot more rich people,” Mac said mildly.
    â€œIf they can’t see the way, too bad.” Tommy took another long swig and sighed. “Better than a woman, not as good as crank.”
    Mac frowned. “Thought you gave that crap