PIGGS - A Novel with Bonus Screenplay by Neal Barrett Jr

handle that."   He let his hand rest on the big black pistol at his side.   "Might be good if you put your hands on your head now, sir.   I expect you know how to do that..."

Chapter Sixteen
     
    J ack thought about Utah, Arizona, maybe Montana, somewhere he'd never been before, somewhere they'd never heard of Mexican Wells or Cecil Dupree.   Canada maybe.   Canada sounded fine. He'd seen a thing on the Travel Channel, it sounded okay.   They had some nice babes up there; he'd seen them on the tube.   French babes, too, and everybody knew what they liked to do.
    What he couldn't do, he couldn't stay at Piggs.   You kick Cat Eye in the nuts, you don't want to work on the same fucking planet anymore, you got to go somewhere else.   Cecil wouldn't let Cat kill him, 'cause help is hard to find, but Jack knew he'd wish he was dead by the time Cat was through.   Cat was good at that.   Cat couldn't blink unless someone showed him how, but he knew how to hurt, he could hurt real good.
     
    T he sun was blazing hot overhead by the time he slipped into the hole behind Wan's.   He was tired, he was beat, his gut was on fire, but he felt okay, he was feeling just fine.   The cellar was cool, it was dark, and nobody knew he was there.   Funny how the place could do that, make him feel safe, make him feel everything would turn out right.   It fucking wouldn't, not until he got to the fucking North Pole or somewhere, but now it seemed fine.
    When his gut cooled off, he wished he'd thought to slip into Wan's, make a butter and jelly, get something to drink. That's one thing he meant to do.   Get a loaf of white bread, couple cans of something, bottles of water to keep down there.
    "This is what I got to start doing," he said to himself, "I got to start thinking, got to start planning shit instead of just letting shit happen, which is what it's going to do you're not thinking ahead.   You're not thinking, shit's thinking for you, and that's the kind of stuff you're going to get."
    Jack lay back on the concrete floor and looked up in the dark.   He could see little slits of light between the boards, but no one was up yet at Piggs, no one was moving about.
    Funny how he wasn't even scared.   He'd be scared later, when he had to figure some way to get a few bucks and get out of town, clear out of Texas before Cat knocked a few teeth out, broke a couple ribs.   Canada was further off than Kansas.   Further than the big square states that were stacked on top of that.   A few bucks wouldn't cut it; he'd have to get his hands on a bundle for a jump like that.
    See there you go again, not planning or thinking, just letting shit flow through your head...
    What did he think he was doing, running off to do dirty stuff with French babes, leaving Gloria behind?   He didn't want girls like that, he wanted her.   Jesus, what would she think, he did a thing like that?   It'd break her fucking heart, and they hadn't even had a date yet, hadn't even gone for pie.
    Jack felt awful, and promised he'd make it up to her somehow.   If he had to, he'd hold up a 7-Eleven, which would be a fucking chore. The way they did now, dumping cash right in the safe soon as some fucker gave them a twenty dollar bill, he might have to do three or four.
    If he had to, he would.   He wondered if Ortega would let him borrow his car.   He'd have to say it was medical, something like that.   Jack didn't like to lie to friends, but he didn't know Ortega that well, and who else would let him have a car?
     
    J ack dreams about Cecil and Grape.   They're talking, and Jack can hear everything they say.   It's like he's a fly or something, sitting on the wall.   He doesn't have to listen real hard, so maybe flies can hear better than we know.
    "...So the fucking kid's calling, Junior himself, he's getting on the phone.   I'm thinking, this little shit's not smart enough to dial, find the numbers on the phone."
    "Junior, the old man's kid, he's calling,