Joe R. Lansdale Vanilla Ride
ALSO BY JOE R. LANSDALE
In the Hap and Leonard Series
Savage Season
Mucho Mojo
The Two-Bear Mambo
Bad Chili
Rumble Tumble
Captains Outrageous
Other Novels
Freezer Burn
A Fine Dark Line
The Bottoms
Sunset and Sawdust
Lost Echoes
Leather Maiden
For all you Hap and Leonard fans. Bless your little weird hearts.
The pistol is the devil’s red right hand.
—Steve Earle
Man turns everything into a weapon. Even his tongue.
—Hap Collins
1
I hadn’t been shot at in a while, and no one had hit me in the head for a whole month or two. It was kind of a record, and I was starting to feel special.
Brett and I were upstairs in our little rented house, lying in bed, breathing hard, having just arrived at the finish line of a slow, sweet race that at times can seem like a competitive sport, but when played right, even when you’re the last to arrive, can make you feel like a winner.
In that moment, life was good.
Brett sat up and fluffed her pillow behind her back and pushed her long bloodred hair to the side with one hand, shoved her chest forward in a way that made me feel mighty lucky, said, “I haven’t had that much fun since I pistol-whipped a redheaded midget.”
“You don’t know how romantic that makes me feel,” I said. “I think Little Hap just went looking for a place to hide.”
“I thought he just came out of hiding,” she said, and winked at me.
Thing was, she actually had pistol-whipped a midget. I was there. She was trying to find her daughter and save her life, but still, it was ugly, and I was a party to it. I will say this, however, in favor of the midget: he took his beating with stoic pride and refused to take it while wearing his cowboy hat, an expensive Stetson. He wanted it right on the skull and that’s where he got it.
“You know, I think they prefer being called dwarf instead of midget, or little people,” I said.
“No kidding. I don’t know about the rest of them, but the one I worked over, I just call him Pistol-Whipped.”
“Do you ever feel bad about it?”
“Nope.”
“He died, you know.”
“Not from the pistol whipping.”
This was also true. He ended up dead another way, but, man, that had been some pistol whipping. She had also set her ex-husband’s head on fire and put it out with a shovel, which is a far cry from a water hose. My sweet baby, at times, could make a man nervous.
She said, “Speaking of little guys,” and took hold of my crotch.
“Little guys?” I said. “That’s supposed to fire me up?”
“No. I’ll fire you up.”
She chuckled and slid over close and I took her in my arms and we snuggled. Things were looking operational when there was a knock on the door.
Typical.
I looked at the clock on the nightstand. Eleven p.m.
The knock came again, louder.
I got up and pulled on my robe and bunny slippers, and cursed. “Keep that thought. I’m going down to kill a late-night Bible salesman.”
“Will you bring me back his head, please?”
“On a platter.”
2
Downstairs, I went to the window, eased back the curtain and took a peek. Two big black guys, one supported on a stick, were standing on the steps. My best friend, Leonard Pine, and an ex-cop buddy, Marvin Hanson.
I opened the door.
“Sure isn’t good to see you,” I said to Leonard.
Leonard pushed on in. He was decked out in cowboy boots, jeans, a faded snap-pocket shirt that was a little stretched across his broad shoulders, and a shit-eating grin. “Now that’s no way to be,” he said.
“Your timing as usual is impeccable, brother,” I said.
“Thank you.”
“Leave your horse and hat at the corral?”
“The horse is wearing the hat,” Leonard said. “After the fun me and him had, I thought he deserved a little token of my appreciation. You can bet he’ll call tomorrow.”
“You’re funnier earlier in the day,” I said.
Marvin came in more slowly, using the cane.
“Like them foot rabbits,” he said, nodding at my shoes.
“Yeah, me and them are buds,” I said. “You’re getting around good.”
“You should have seen me before we went dancing. Those hip-hop steps have a way of making you weak.”
“We went for tacos,” Leonard said. “This guy, you can’t get him to do nothing fun. His idea of a good time is chewing gum with a fruity flavor.”
“Where’s the love of your life?” I asked Leonard.
“John?”
“No. Winston Churchill.”
“He’s mad at me.”
“Imagine that.”
“It’s nothing much. I think we called each other bitches and then I got mad enough to take a dump in the middle of the bed, and did.”
“Overshare,” I said.
“We both forget what started it, and we’re both holding out for an apology. I will, of course, cave, and then we’ll be back to normal. You got anything to eat?”
“I thought you ate tacos?”
“Two, maybe three hours ago.”
“I’m not feeling all that friendly right now,” I said. “Why would I want to feed you?”
“Interrupt something?” Leonard said, sliding into the kitchen to open the refrigerator.
“Yeah, me and Brett were just setting up the checkerboard. Marvin, why do you hang with this riffraff?”
Marvin found a soft chair and was sitting there, stretching out his leg, rubbing his knee. “I hang with him because I pity him.”
“So why let him bother me?”
“Leonard said you love late-night company.”
“He’s a lying sonofabitch.”
“Hey, boys,” Brett said.
I turned and saw her coming down the stairs. She had on a white shorty robe and her hair was bed fluffed and her legs were long enough to make a giraffe drown himself. Her eyes were half closed and she was beautiful.
Leonard came back into the living room, empty-handed.
Brett finished off the stairs, said, “Hi, Leonard.”
“Hi, Brett. You got anything to eat?”
“John lets you out to play this late?” she said.
“I’ll make it up to him tomorrow,” Leonard said. “I’ve got some moves, honey. If you like, I could show Hap some of my tricks, though it would be purely theoretical, of course.”
“Your biology sucks,” I said. “John. Brett. Different plumbing. Wouldn’t work.”
“Hi, Marvin,” she said.
Marvin smiled, gave her a little wave.
“I’m having milk and cookies,” she said. “Anyone else?”
“Me. Me,” Leonard said. “Are the cookies by any chance … vanilla?”
“They are,” Brett said. “Hap keeps them just for you, baby. There’s also your favorite. Dr Peppers. These are from the only plant where the original formula is used. We drove over there special to get them.”
“We were passing by the plant,” I said, “so I thought, why not.”
Leonard looked at me and batted his eyes. “You are the sweetest bastard ever squatted to crap over a pair of shoes.”
“Cookies aren’t just for you,” I said. “I like them too. And Dr Pepper.”
“He’s a liar,” Brett said. “He keeps them for you. He drinks that diet crap. Go sit down. Milk or Dr Pepper with your cookies?”