“Heck,” I whispered again, crouching down.
No answer. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, nothing. I wanted to shout at him, anything to wake him. But instead I reached out slowly, very slowly, and prodded his shoulder with the first two knuckles of my right hand. It didn’t feel right to touch him with the bare tips of my fingers.
Still nothing.
I pushed again, harder this time. Nothing.
I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t anything I could do except break the news. It was time to tell Fat Ernst. He’d have to call the ambulance, get Heck some help. I pulled my hand away from his shoulder.
Heck’s eyes popped open. His left hand, the one curled in his lap, shot out and grabbed the front of my shirt even before I had a chance to scream. His arm shivered slightly, shaking me, and wouldn’t let go. I grabbed his wrist and he flung his head back; his skull hit the wall and it sounded like a hard-boiled egg hitting the floor. Boot heels squeaked in the blood as his legs twitched, and one foot flopped back and forth. Something gurgled, deep in the back of his throat.
Heck’s head dropped forward, his mouth opened impossibly wide, and his entire body shuddered as if connected to a sputtering electrical current. A torrent of thick blood exploded out of his mouth and nose, splattering against the stall wall two feet away.
I screamed and ripped away from Heck’s grasp, my fingers scrabbling on the cold tile. Luckily, not much of the blood landed on me. Heck sank back against the wall and moaned something that only came out in frothy bubbles. I kept scrambling back until I hit the door. I managed to push myself to my feet, fumbling for the door handle. Heck’s eyes met mine for a brief second, and all I could see in them was a total, animal kind of pain.
“Uh, just … oh, God. Just take it easy, okay, Heck? You’re gonna be okay. I’ll get you some help. Just hang on.” Heck started to gag. I yanked open the door and screamed out toward the bar, “Call 911! Heck’s really sick! Call 911!” I turned back to Heck. He had slumped forward, facedown in the toilet. Every couple of seconds his back would shiver spastically and I heard more blood hitting the inside of the bowl.
Fat Ernst’s wheezing voice filled the doorway behind me, demanding “What the hell is going on?”
I whipped around, staring up into Fat Ernst’s wide face. I could see right up into his black nostrils, and for some reason this reminded meof Heck and my heart broke. “Call 911!” I shrieked, and was about to push out into the hall to make the damn call myself when Fat Ernst shoved me roughly against the sink as he took a step into the small restroom.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Fat Ernst asked, hands on his hips.
Heck feebly lifted his head out of the toilet bowl and worked his jaw up and down several times, like he was trying to say something but couldn’t get it out. Fat Ernst bent over slightly at the waist, like he was addressing a child. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” he said, carefully enunciating each word.
Slim appeared in the doorway and was just about to step inside when he saw the blood, froze, and said simply, “Sonofabitch.”
Heck started flopping around then like a fish that’s just been hauled out of the river and onto the rocks. His hands clawed at the air and he kept making those liquid moaning noises deep in his chest.
“We gotta call the ambulance,” I said in a high, taut voice. It was getting hard to breathe.
“Well, Ernst, looks like you got your hands full here,” Slim said. “I’ll settle up with you later.” He disappeared into the restaurant.
“Oh, that’s fucking great. Fucking perfect,” Fat Ernst said, watching the doorway. “Now it’s gonna be all over the goddamn county. Bastard’ll probably stiff me on the goddamn burger, too.” He swiveled his round head back around to stare down at Heck. “Thanks. Thanks a lot, Heck.”
Heck just sat there, eyes closed, with a sheet of dark, almost black blood seeping out of his mouth and down his chin.
“Well, goddamnit. We can’t just leave him in here. It’ll upset folks.” Fat Ernst flipped his hand at Heck. “Grab his arms, drag him out here. We’ll put him in the back.”
“But … but you gotta call the ambulance,” I stammered.
“I ain’t calling nobody, so shut your hole.” Fat Ernst suddenly grabbed a fistful of my hair and nearly lifted me off my feet. I got a quick flash that my head was on fire as he dragged me away from the sinkand flung me toward Heck. I stumbled into the wall and accidentally stepped on Heck’s left hand with Grandpa’s boot. Heck didn’t move.
“Drag him over here,” Fat Ernst snarled.
I grasped Heck’s wrist, trying to ignore the warm, sticky blood that coated his arm. I lifted it and tugged gently, pulling his body away from the toilet. Heck’s limp form slumped against my leg as I bent over and grabbed his other hand. He still didn’t move, and this time I was afraid he really was dead.
I dragged him out of the stall and Fat Ernst took a deep breath and bent over, reaching for Heck’s legs. He seized an ankle in each hand as if he were grabbing the handles of a wheelbarrow filled with firewood. He jiggled all three chins toward the door. “Move, dumbshit. Let’s go.”
I caught the edge of the door with my toe and swung it open. Heck’s head rolled over and hung limply between his outstretched arms. I shuffled backward, and we half carried, half dragged him out of the restroom and into the restaurant. We left a shining trail of blood behind us nearly two feet wide on the rough wood floor. I know I should have been worrying about Heck, but all I could think about at that second was that it was going to be a bitch mopping all that blood up if I didn’t get to it before it dried.
“Hurry it up, goddamnit,” Fat Ernst hissed from between clenched teeth. “This ain’t exactly healthy for business.”
We were halfway down the bar when Heck starting shrieking again. His body twitched and convulsed; as he jerked, I lost my grip on his right hand and his head and shoulder slammed to the floor. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whimpered, reaching down to pick him up again.
Ray walked in the front door.
CHAPTER 18
We all froze, except for Heck, who was shaking his head violently from side to side, spattering more blood all over the floor like a weak sprinkler on a dead lawn.
Ray swallowed, eyes wide. It was obvious he didn’t know what to say. A toneless “Howdy, Ernst,” tumbled out of his mouth. As if he were almost ashamed of not being sociable or something, he quickly added, “How’s business?”
Fat Ernst dropped Heck’s legs. They hit the floor and stayed there. Didn’t bounce, nothing. He stared at Ray. “Business? Business couldn’t be fucking better.”
Ray nodded as if that made perfect sense. He looked down at Heck. “Heck been drinking paint thinner again?”
“Shit. What do you think? Looks like it, don’t it?” Fat Ernst said quickly, words stumbling over each other.
“I don’t think—,” I started to say before I could stop myself.
“Shut. Your. Hole,” Fat Ernst said. “I ain’t paying you to think.”
Ray adjusted his hat and ambled over to Heck’s body. “Looks serious. Maybe I better take a look.” He knelt down and nudged Heck. “What’s wrong?”
Heck gasped once, and bubbles of blood erupted around his mouth and nose. Each muscle began to slacken, releasing its tension as one by one, the bubbles popped. Then he lay still.